The Strigoi
…originating deep within the mountains of Romania, tales of loved ones returning from the grave, of stolen life force, and of cursed beings that seem to defy the laws of nature.
What I present to you now is my investigation into the truth of these legends, whose sources are as steeped in shadow as their subjects. The strigoi, as they are known, are not a supernatural phenomenon, but nor are they a hidden subset of humanity. They are victims, trapped in a cycle that, in the most severe cases, causes them to forsake all thought but one: to feed.
I ask only that before you write my off work as madness, to listen to my findings in full. The danger is real, and, should it be allowed to thrive as it has for centuries, could extend its insidious reach beyond its current relative isolation--and become a global threat.
As you likely know, Romania is rich in both folklore and tradition, and its people have long nurtured the legend of Strigoi--the very word rooted in ancient Roman and Greek myths, and evolved from the legend of the Strix, a nocturnal creature known for its craving for human flesh and blood.
Traditionally, Strigoi are depicted as having pale skin, long claws, red eyes, and a grotesque, emaciated countenance, often with pointed ears and sharp teeth. The thirst for blood is a consistent theme, linked as it is to life and vitality. Many of the stories claim that this creature’s true thirst is for the energy of life itself.
Additionally, Strigoi are traditionally believed to possess the ability to transform into animals, become invisible, and even fly.
Needless to say, most of these traits border on the supernatural, and of course, they are considered by many to be supernatural entities.
The path to becoming a strigoi, according to the folklore, is highly variable. Some say that it is an affliction born of a witch’s curse. Others say it is the result of a life of sin. Still others claim that all that is necessary is to die without having married.
Of course, though these accounts have their own merit, they are inaccurate. But as with most myths and legends, we can trace direct lines back to a small grain of truth.
I began this investigation hoping for information that might shed light on a certain contagion that ultimately leads to an eerily similar transformation in its hosts. But what I found in those mountains is entirely unrelated--though in many ways, it is no less disturbing.
The affliction begins in mundane, nearly imperceptible ways. A cool drink from a mountain stream. A bare foot on contaminated ground. A handful of single-celled creatures enter the body, an environment wherein, over generations, it has adapted to thrive. But before we can understand its effects on the body, allow me to establish some context. The Carpathian Mountains, from where the Strigoi legend originates, have a unique geological history. Over time, tectonic movements have trapped ancient pockets of water beneath layers of rock, creating isolated subterranean ecosystems. It's within these deep, untouched reservoirs that Carpathium strigosa may have proliferated for millennia. This species or its progenitors may have first come into contact with mammals via springs and aquifers used for drinking water. In humans, however, it likely found an ideal host. In any case, the modern species can be divided into two primary life stages. In its trophozoite form, Strigosa exhibits on an amoeboid structure. But when subjected to environmental stressors or when outside a host, it transforms into a cyst stage. This dormant, more resilient form ensures its survival through extended periods in unfavorable conditions. But the life cycle and mechanisms described thus far aren’t terribly out of the ordinary for protozoa. What sets Carpathium strigosa truly apart is its unusual form of parasitism. I was, in all honesty, truly startled to discover that it is uniquely suited to harness the adenosine triphosphate of its hosts’ cells. Indeed, via methods will discuss shortly, strigosa extracts and metabolizes ATP directly from the host cell. The direct siphoning of ATP, however, is only the beginning. As part of this process, the infected host is drastically altered on a systemic level, and within mere days, it becomes clear that the grotesque horror of the strigoi legend are not so far-fetched after all.
The sequence of infection proved unusually difficult to document. This was, in part, due to high variation between individuals, but also to the challenge of finding infected specimens in the first place.
After some time and much observation, I have assembled what I believe to be a consistent sequence, though much more study will be necessary to fully account for outliers.
Upon successful transmission, commonly initiated by ingestion as previously mentioned, dormant cysts reacts to the temperature and pH levels of the stomach, prompting the release of the trophozoite form. These active protozoa begin their migration toward the small intestine, where they begin to penetrate the intestinal lining. During this time, the host may experience initial symptoms such as cramps, mild fever, and an overall feeling of unease.
Having passed through the intestinal barrier, drawn by specific compounds therein, the trophozoites traverse into the bloodstream. In ideal conditions, this circulatory invasion is swift, and the protozoan often establishes a widespread presence before the host's immune system can mount an effective response. Even so, the victim may now begin to experience symptoms such as high fever, fatigue, jaundice, and severe dehydration. These symptoms often resemble a severe flu or hemorrhagic fever, complicating diagnosis.
In its initial interaction with a host cell, usually an erythrocyte at this stage, Carpathium strigosa expresses specialized surface receptors specifically tailored to recognize and bind to host markers, a mechanism similar that of Plasmodium species in malaria.
Now bonded, strigosa then triggers a series of molecular signals that induce invaginations in the host cell, encapsulating the parasite within what is known as a parasitophorous vacuole. Thus, it gains access to the host cells’ interior, protected and hidden.
Notably, the protozoan frequently occludes some of the smaller blood vessels, particularly those areas with intricate vascular networks, such as the ears and nose. Diminished blood flow to these regions causes localized tissue stress and, eventually, cartilage degradation. In the ears, cartilage of the posterior helix is primarily affected, gradually thinning, and in some cases giving the ear a pointed appearance.
Simultaneously, the nasal cartilage, particularly around the bridge and tip, weakens due to inadequate nutrient and oxygen supply, and will eventually begin to decompose.
Reproducing via alarmingly rapid binary fission, within two to three days of successful infection, strigosa will have established a stranglehold on the circulatory system. But of course, it doesn’t stop there—at this point, it will begin to seek out food.
Amazingly, I have observed that strigosa’s movement throughout the body is not entirely passive.
Specialized ATP-sensitive chemoreceptor proteins on its surface signal areas of higher ATP concentration, such as muscle tissue. Then, utilizing a process of enhanced chemotaxis, the protozoan directionally migrates toward virtually every bodily region rich in ATP.
And as it embeds itself into these cells as well, the process of feeding can begin. Under direct observation, once can see pseudopodia—thread-like extensions of the protozoan’s cytoplasm—begin to reach outward, particularly toward the mitochondria, or the powerhouse of the cell.
Facilitated by transport proteins within, these extensions appear to act as a kind of conduit for the active transport of ATP.
It is apparent that efficiency is a defining characteristic of this creature, and the speed with which it depletes ATP from host cells is unparalleled.
As a result of this rapid fuel loss, the host mitochondria begin to overproduce ATP, and at this stage, the infected individual may even notice an increased vitality. This boost, however, is fleeting—the protozoan's voracious appetite quickly consumes any surplus.
Ultimately, the repercussions of this rapid energy drain are profound. At the cellular level, this ATP deficit, particularly in muscle tissues, disrupts regular cellular functions, leading to cellular fatigue.
Over time, as more cells are impacted, the infected individual manifests even more pronounced symptoms. The most immediate of these is a severe lethargy, as the body struggles to meet its energy demands.
Muscle weakness becomes evident, and fine motor skills may deteriorate. The body, recognizing the energy crisis, ramps up its metabolic rate in an attempt to compensate--but as the protozoa proliferate, the body simply cannot keep up.
By day five, organs have often begun to fail, and heart rate begins to slow. In some cases, the victim may even slip into a deep comatose state, even appearing for a time to be clinically deceased.
The protozoan, having consumed an immense volume of ATP, now seems to enter a period of dormancy, giving the body a kind of fragile respite. Cellular processes, though strained, attempt a tentative recovery.
Frequently, at approximately one week, and in response to the widespread cellular distress, the body releases a surge of growth factors and various tissue-repairing hormones. These molecular agents attempt to mend the extensive damage, in essence reinvigorating dying cells and triggering the regeneration of damaged tissues.
The host, who had been in a deep, death-like stupor, begins to stir. Muscles twitch, breathing and heart rate increase, and the eyes flutter open. This resurgence, often described as a resurrection by the stories, is an admittedly disconcerting sight to behold.
However, counterintuitively, this surge appears to aid the protozoan infection. Indeed, in their dormant state, the organisms sense this influx and are roused from their slumber, perhaps even more voracious than before.
By the tenth day, as the protozoa continue to multiply, the body’s balance tilts once more in favor of the parasite.
The heightened metabolic activity designed to generate more ATP not only fuels the protozoa but also generates metabolic heat, elevating the host's body temperature to a feverish state.
The host, already weakened, now grapples with intensified muscle atrophy and cognitive disruptions. Episodes of disorientation become more frequent, and the individual may experience hallucinations and severe mood swings.
Around the same time, the protozoan's entry into the spinal fluid induces a localized inflammatory response. Its presence in regions surrounding the intervertebral discs or vertebrae can lead to improper calcification or fusion, resulting in kyphosis, or "hunchback," appearance. This spinal deformity is likely an inadvertent consequence of the host's immune response attempting to contain the infection. But the protozoan's effects aren't limited to the physical body.
By the second week, from an outside perspective, it becomes increasingly difficult to distinguish between the host and the parasite.
At this stage of infection, the organism has released a series of peptides that facilitate an up-regulation in the expression of certain genes associated with neural plasticity.
Memories remain, but their emotional underpinnings seem to shift, making past attachments less compelling and newly-formed, protozoan-influenced... urges more dominant. As a result, an individual's intrinsic behaviors and instincts are recalibrated to prioritize the parasite's survival and propagation.
In fact, in the interest of propagation, the organism employs another, extraordinarily unique change in its host.
Through the release of a molecule similar in structure to the human growth hormone, but with a specific affinity to the receptors present in the pulp cells of the teeth. This specificity results in the rapid production of dentin—interestingly, predominantly in the upper central incisors. The reason for this is unknown at this time, but notably, the dental growth isn’t always so selective. Some specimens I have studied exhibit abnormal growth in all incisors, while others had no growth at all. Once again, a larger sample size is necessary to fully understand this effect.
In any case, though the mechanism of this growth isn’t clear, the reason most certainly is.
By this point, driven by both the metabolic urgency resulting from the protozoan's energy drain and the parasite's own biological need for transmission, the host manifests an aggressive compulsion to feed. Loved ones, and in fact, anyone nearby, become mere vectors of transmission. The infected will lash out, viciously biting, sometimes piercing flesh down to the bone—a far cry from the twin pinpricks commonly described in the lore.
No matter how the protozoa enters the bloodstream of this new host, the process of infection, of course, is once again initiated.
Depending on the severity of the infection in this new host, stories of a draining of life force certainly begin to make sense.
It is solely this behavior that I suspect birthed the legends of the drinking of blood. Of course, this is not the intent, per se—rather, coupled with the presence of the protozoan in the host's saliva, it ensures that the parasite finds opportunities to invade new hosts.
It should be noted, however, that the infection doesn’t always progress to this level. Additionally, the host’s response is only rarely so dramatic--in many cases, the protozoan fails to establish a foothold in the circulatory system, and the victim may recover after only a brief period of illness. In other cases, systemic failures result in the victim’s demise, while still others may exhibit no symptoms at all. This variability has made legitimate cases of strigosa infection difficult to find, much less verify.
But indeed, there are many cases, some of which I have observed, in which the host is seemingly transformed into another creature altogether.
At this point, systemic strain caused by battling the parasite, combined with potential malnutrition has even weakened the hair follicles. Along with the protozoan's metabolic byproducts altering the scalp environment, this results in progressive and widespread hair loss, a defining trait of infected individuals.
Finally, in late-stage individuals, I have also observed a pronounced circadian shift with strong preference for darkness. This shift is accompanied by changes in the host’s retina--study reveals increased rhodopsin production in the rod cells, presumably making them more responsive in low-light conditions, and the density of the rod cells themselves is greatly increased. In short, sight is greatly improved in late-stage infected, even in near-complete darkness.
Of course, these changes are triggered by the protozoan itself, seemingly through the release of an unidentified and highly specialized enzyme, as well as growth factors targeted at rod cells, specifically. The reason for the changes in the eye, specifically, were not immediately apparent.
But upon closer study, it appears that strigosa is particularly susceptible to UV damage--specifically, UVB rays produce frequent pyrimidine dimers in its DNA, abnormal covalent bonds that prevent accurate replication and transcription, thereby hindering the protozoan's ability to multiply and function. As such, it is beneficial to its continued survival to avoid sunlight altogether.
In any case, in those individuals who have survived the process so far described, within approximately three weeks, the first stage of transformation is complete. In striking contrast to the romanticized conception of a vampire, however, strigoi are something to be pitied: higher brain functions reduced to animalistic instincts, the body pale and emaciated, skeletal structures deformed, and even toward loved ones, driven to feed and withdraw.
These drastic changes will only increase in severity over subsequent weeks, and if you should happen upon a strigoi at this advanced stage, you would certainly be forgiven for thinking it an otherworldly and supernatural creature.
By now, my dear listener, you likely have many questions. Unfortunately, the answers are few. For example, what is the reason for this organisms prolonged isolation in this region? I have yet to determine the precise answer, but I suspect that the unique geological and environmental conditions of the Carpathian Mountains played a significant role. Over millennia, these ecosystems, shielded from external influences, have fostered a setting where only highly specialized organisms like Carpathium strigosa could thrive. My concern is that, with increasing global interconnectedness and potential disruptions to these ecosystems, the barriers keeping Carpathium strigosa confined are being weakened. It is only a matter of time before this ... affliction ... spreads.
Of course, with a lore so deep and varied, there are many alleged traits of the strigoi that have little grounding in fact. First, there is the common notion that strigoi are immortal, or exhibit extended lifespans. In reality, though Carpathium strigosa induces numerous physiological changes, longevity is not among them. In fact, due to the strain on the body, metabolic changes, and systemic complications such as reduced blood flow and tissue degradation, the lifespan of infected individuals is reduced, often to a few years or even months post infection. It also commonly believed that garlic can act as a protective measure from infected individuals, but once again, there is no scientific evidence to suggest that individuals infected by Carpathium strigosa have an aversion to garlic. This myth might stem from garlic's historical use as a general health remedy and deterrent for various pests and evils. Finally, there are aspects of the tales that seem impossible, but may have a grain of truth. One of these is the belief that strigoi cast no shadows or reflections, or can become invisible at will. In short, in a time of outbreak, an invisible threat that comes during the night certainly aligns with the nature of the Strigoi. Similarly, unexplained or sudden deaths might have been attributed to an invisible Strigoi attack, particularly in the absence of tangible culprits like wounds or other signs of violence. In reality, this unfortunate victims may have simply been infected simply by drinking water from a nearby spring. In many other regards, I suspect conflation with another transformative infection, though I have yet to obtain evidence of this. I intend to return to this subject in due time.
With a lore as rich as we find in the strigoi, even I can admit the challenge in discerning where fact ends and fiction begins. My position has always led me to tread the line between these two, and I believe that in all my travels, I’ve done so with success. It is my hope to find the true source of this parasite--perhaps an isolated, subterranean colony that could be sequestered, halting its spread indefinitely. Until then, my dear listener, I caution you to treat all water harvested from the wilderness--especially in the mountains of Romania. The likelihood of successful infection may be low, but if carpathium strigosa finds a foothold within you… well, you will likely discover that fact is far worse than fiction.
As you likely know, Romania is rich in both folklore and tradition, and its people have long nurtured the legend of Strigoi--the very word rooted in ancient Roman and Greek myths, and evolved from the legend of the Strix, a nocturnal creature known for its craving for human flesh and blood.
The Discovery
Throughout my career, I have made many solo journeys to in search of mysteries--both real and imagined. But I must admit that in seeking the truth behind these ancient reports, when I made my way to the Carpathian mountains, I have never felt the absence of my team more deeply. Time may heal all wounds, but it is a poor companion. Not since my youth had I taken on every role in an investigation, and I had become unaccustomed to teasing out information from wary locals. That was Alison’s strength. Nonetheless, through meticulous research, countless conversations, and dusty tomes of ancient knowledge, I eventually honed in on the epicenter of the strigoi legends--surprisingly, a particular geographic region that seemed to spawn a majority of those stories.
First Contact
For centuries, small villages and towns throughout Romania have reported instances of inexplicable… transformations. Whispered tales of once familiar faces turning alien, some even risen from the grave, and with an unquenchable thirst for blood, seem to be common here. Yet, what is intriguing is not just the pervasiveness of these tales, but their pointed concentration in one geographic area. Of course, though skepticism is a luxury I am hardly ultimately afforded, I approached these tales as just that, at first attributing them to a shared cultural folklore. However, my investigation revealed something much more tangible and, dare I say, extraordinary. I procured samples and conducted preliminary tests on-site, and the results were… staggering. Though I had thought it possible, it wasn't a virus, bacterium, or any known pathogen that caused these transformations. Instead, lurking in the very tissues of the affected was a unique protozoan, which I have called Carpathium strigosa. This microscopic entity showcases properties and behaviors as yet unrecorded in parasitology. In fact, I would argue that its very existence challenges our understanding of symbiotic and parasitic relationships, in more ways than one.The affliction begins in mundane, nearly imperceptible ways. A cool drink from a mountain stream. A bare foot on contaminated ground. A handful of single-celled creatures enter the body, an environment wherein, over generations, it has adapted to thrive. But before we can understand its effects on the body, allow me to establish some context. The Carpathian Mountains, from where the Strigoi legend originates, have a unique geological history. Over time, tectonic movements have trapped ancient pockets of water beneath layers of rock, creating isolated subterranean ecosystems. It's within these deep, untouched reservoirs that Carpathium strigosa may have proliferated for millennia. This species or its progenitors may have first come into contact with mammals via springs and aquifers used for drinking water. In humans, however, it likely found an ideal host. In any case, the modern species can be divided into two primary life stages. In its trophozoite form, Strigosa exhibits on an amoeboid structure. But when subjected to environmental stressors or when outside a host, it transforms into a cyst stage. This dormant, more resilient form ensures its survival through extended periods in unfavorable conditions. But the life cycle and mechanisms described thus far aren’t terribly out of the ordinary for protozoa. What sets Carpathium strigosa truly apart is its unusual form of parasitism. I was, in all honesty, truly startled to discover that it is uniquely suited to harness the adenosine triphosphate of its hosts’ cells. Indeed, via methods will discuss shortly, strigosa extracts and metabolizes ATP directly from the host cell. The direct siphoning of ATP, however, is only the beginning. As part of this process, the infected host is drastically altered on a systemic level, and within mere days, it becomes clear that the grotesque horror of the strigoi legend are not so far-fetched after all.
Transformation
By now, my dear listener, you likely have many questions. Unfortunately, the answers are few. For example, what is the reason for this organisms prolonged isolation in this region? I have yet to determine the precise answer, but I suspect that the unique geological and environmental conditions of the Carpathian Mountains played a significant role. Over millennia, these ecosystems, shielded from external influences, have fostered a setting where only highly specialized organisms like Carpathium strigosa could thrive. My concern is that, with increasing global interconnectedness and potential disruptions to these ecosystems, the barriers keeping Carpathium strigosa confined are being weakened. It is only a matter of time before this ... affliction ... spreads.
Of course, with a lore so deep and varied, there are many alleged traits of the strigoi that have little grounding in fact. First, there is the common notion that strigoi are immortal, or exhibit extended lifespans. In reality, though Carpathium strigosa induces numerous physiological changes, longevity is not among them. In fact, due to the strain on the body, metabolic changes, and systemic complications such as reduced blood flow and tissue degradation, the lifespan of infected individuals is reduced, often to a few years or even months post infection. It also commonly believed that garlic can act as a protective measure from infected individuals, but once again, there is no scientific evidence to suggest that individuals infected by Carpathium strigosa have an aversion to garlic. This myth might stem from garlic's historical use as a general health remedy and deterrent for various pests and evils. Finally, there are aspects of the tales that seem impossible, but may have a grain of truth. One of these is the belief that strigoi cast no shadows or reflections, or can become invisible at will. In short, in a time of outbreak, an invisible threat that comes during the night certainly aligns with the nature of the Strigoi. Similarly, unexplained or sudden deaths might have been attributed to an invisible Strigoi attack, particularly in the absence of tangible culprits like wounds or other signs of violence. In reality, this unfortunate victims may have simply been infected simply by drinking water from a nearby spring. In many other regards, I suspect conflation with another transformative infection, though I have yet to obtain evidence of this. I intend to return to this subject in due time.
With a lore as rich as we find in the strigoi, even I can admit the challenge in discerning where fact ends and fiction begins. My position has always led me to tread the line between these two, and I believe that in all my travels, I’ve done so with success. It is my hope to find the true source of this parasite--perhaps an isolated, subterranean colony that could be sequestered, halting its spread indefinitely. Until then, my dear listener, I caution you to treat all water harvested from the wilderness--especially in the mountains of Romania. The likelihood of successful infection may be low, but if carpathium strigosa finds a foothold within you… well, you will likely discover that fact is far worse than fiction.
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