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The history of humans keeping animals as pets is a rich and storied tale, with some archaeologists suggesting that human ownership of dogs as pets may date back to at least 12,000 years ago. There is physical evidence of the ancient Romans openly grieving for their cherished canine companions, with inscriptions left marble tombstones commemorating the life and death of a furry friend. Those who rode war horses into battle also developed a deep bond with their mounts, often becoming as famous as their owners, such as Alexander the Great’s beloved ‘Bucephalus’. The ancient Egyptians were known to keep even more exotic animals such as Lions or Baboons as pets, and as time progressed, mankind’s collection of animal companions only grew larger, stranger, and indisputably more deadly… …culminating in one Florida Man, who would live to regret his choice of animal acquaintance in a big, big way.
For seventy five year old Marvin Hajos, the animal he chose to keep on his property, just outside of Gainesville Florida, was the Cassowary. Cassowaries are large, omnivorous, flightless birds that are native to the tropical forests of Indonesia, Papua New Guinea and north-eastern Australia. They have an almost prehistoric appearance. Their bright blue faces are topped with a hornlike ridge and their bodies are covered with dark feathers. At full sprint they are capable of reaching speeds of up to thirty miles per hour, and can use their powerful legs to jump up to five feet in the air. Adult females have been known to reach over six and a half feet in height, weighing over a hundred and thirty pounds, which makes them some fearsome, feathered foes when angered. But perhaps the most terrifying aspect of the Cassowary’s physiology are the razor sharp, five inch claws that adorn their three toed feet, eerily similar to that of the long extinct Velociraptor. The Cassowary will throw kicks that bring these slashing claws across the face and throats of those that stray into their territory. These claws can inflict devastating, even fatal wounds, giving rise to its nickname of “the world’s most dangerous bird”. So as insane as it may seem, it was this kind of animal that Marvin Hajos opted to keep as a pet.
Marvin didn’t just keep the Cassowaries as pets though, he also raised and bred them, auctioning off the exotic birds as a way to make a living. So his property just outside of Gainesville was equipped with several large enclosures, mostly constructed right next to one another so that his beloved birds wouldn’t get too lonely. Then, on April the 12 th , 2019, Marvin was undertaking one of the riskiest activities in his entire calendar. It was breeding season, and during that time of year, Marvin would have to make regular checks on his Cassowaries eggs; ensuring they were at the right temperature, of the right size and shape. But naturally, his Cassowaries were extremely protective of their eggs, and would throw a fit every time Marvin ventured near them, attempting to rip him to shreds with their daggered claws through the bars of their cages.
All was going well with the egg checks, until while moving between a narrow passage-way between two enclosures, Marvin began to lose his footing. His foot dragged against fencing of one of the cages, causing him to crash into the dirt, winding him in the process. Marvin lay there for a moment, catching his breath, but before he could bring himself to his feet, he felt an intense pain on the back of his neck. One of the Cassowaries, boiling with rage that the man had just molested their beloved eggs, had rushed to the edge of the cage, stuck it’s leg through one of the narrow gaps in the fencing, and was using it’s razor sharp claw to slash at Marvin’s head, neck and shoulder. Marvin tried to use his hands to cover himself, but the Cassowary slashed them so deep that it exposed the bones in his fingers. He tried to bring himself to his feet, but the sheer force of the bird’s blows sent him crashing down into the dirt again. And when he tried to crawl away, down the long, narrow passageway, the Cassowary simply following him, sticking it’s let through the gaps in the fencing, as it continued it’s vicious, visceral attack. All Marvin could do was scream, and scream, and scream…
A couple of Ranch employees eventually heard his cries for help, but by the time they were able to scare the Cassowary off of their employer and contact emergency services, the damage was already done. Marvin Hajos more than a dozen lacerations across his face, neck, back, abdomen, thighs, legs and right arm, including catastrophic damage to his brachial artery, the major blood vessel of the upper arm. Emergency workers rushed to try and retrieve his bleeding, dying body, but were unable to do so for quite some time as the Cassowary that had attacked Marvin also tried to injure them too. In the end, Marvin was transported to a nearby hospital, but died of blood loss after being admitted. Paramedics found him unresponsive and barely breathing when they began treating him a mere fourteen minutes after the attack was thought to have commenced. Twice over the next twenty eight minutes, as paramedics applied chest compressions, Marvin’s pulse didn’t register, and eventually it gave out altogether.
Bill Grotjahn, a representative of the Medical Examiner’s Office, who headed up the investigation into Marvin’s death, told news outlets that he had died from the trauma inflicted in the attack, calling it an “unusual situation”. “I’ve been doing this for 18 years and I’ve never had a thing like this,” he said. “I’ve had them killed by alligators and snakes but never by a bird like that. I know ostriches and emus have their moments, but cassowaries are an extremely, extremely dangerous bird. You don’t want to fool around with them. They have no sense of humor. The female cassowary, which is the larger of the two birds, saw he was messing with the eggs and you know how that goes, it was like a mama bear protecting her young.” But perhaps one of the most confusing things regarding the whole attack, is the fact that the Cassowary that killed Marvin Hajos was not put down, either during, or after the incident.
In fact, the very same bird was to be auctioned off as normal in order to pay for Marvin’s funeral costs. The owners of Gulf Coast Livestock Auction in Madison, Florida, said the auction of the Cassowary in question would be open to the public. But on Facebook they insisted that the news media would be excluded from the event and risked the destruction of their equipment if they attempted to document the proceedings. Jammi Wilson, the group’s office manager, said the Hajos’s family had asked them not to release any information to the news media. Ms. Wilson said the group organized the auction of the bird, along with hundreds of other animals kept on the ranch, because Mr. Hajos wanted them to be sold after his death. Elsewhere on the group’s Facebook page, condolences poured in for the Hajos family. A video posted there showed a man identified as Mr. Hajos riding a camel on a gravel parking lot under a cloudy sky in February of 2018, something one might typically expect of a Florida man. “He was a great friend”, the video’s caption read.
Even after the deadly attack, the Florida Fish and Wildlife Conservation Commission enacted no new rules or restrictions about owning Cassowaries. “If the animals are being used for commercial breeding, they are considered domestic animals and aren’t required to have a permit”. Only in the state of Florida it seems, could a large and deadly bird be classed as a domestic animal in the same way a Cat or Dog would be. And it almost comes as no surprise that Florida Man’s choice of pet would be something distantly related to one of the deadliest creatures to have ever walked the earth; a creature that arguably put’s Joe Exotic’s choice of furry friends to shame. But regardless, what happened to Marvin Hajos is a tragedy, and even with regards to the Florida Man meme, should not be taken lightly. May he, and the rest of the Hajos family, find some semblance of peace.
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[Whisper Child] - Part 3

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“Can you hear the whispers?”
Eli Sapat has never spoken to a hive of hornets. He’s never ridden on the back of a jaguar, stolen a sword from a specter, or lost a duel with a demon. All Eli knows is a quiet life on his father’s farm. His room is a tiny closet on the hall, and he finds comfort in making music with a lute.
But all that is about to change when a demon descends on his hometown of Springbrook. In an instant, Eli loses everything: his home, his eyesight, and his family. Thrust blindly into a world of magic, intrigue, and prophesy, he must find the strength to achieve the great destiny that awaits him… If Eli can survive the journey.


Eli flees and the demon pursues him. The trail to Angela’s cottage is narrow. Moss covers rocks. Ferns grow at the winding path’s edge. Exposed roots snake across the path and Eli tries to avoid them.
Behind him: the crunch of gravel, a grating snarl, and whispers in the wind.
“Ch-child,” the demon says. Angela’s voice is croaking. The words leak from her lips with stained effort, as if the old healer tries to resist, but the demon is stronger.
She shrieks and it sounds like a wounded animal.
“Whisper! Ca-can you hear it?” She says.
Eli can barely hear her over the sound of his footsteps, his pounding heartbeat, the sound of branches cracking and snapping behind him. She is gaining ground. Eli panics and at this moment, loses focus.
So far, the hornets have guided him. They call out each step like marching orders. Lower! Right! A root, here, a rock! Eli does nothing but trust them and run, knowing that anything else means certain death. He cannot see the demon behind him, cannot see anything, and this may be a blessing.
Behind him is the sound of snapping bone and tearing flesh and Hive refuses to say what is happening to the old woman. It is better to not know. Better to run.
“Ch-child,” the woman says, but this comes out as a snarl.
Eli runs headfirst into a branch. He startles back, stumbles, and his boots catch in the nook of an exposed root. He falls. The ground scrapes his elbows raw, and he crawls forward, trying to stand and regain his balance.
“Hive!” Eli screams.
The hornets are quiet. Hundreds orbit his head like sentries. Behind him, the demon crashes through the brush and Eli knows she will be on him.
“Run,” the hornets say. They seem almost mournful. “Run and never look back.”
Above him, the hornets gather. They hover. Hundreds move into position and form a rough outline of a human form. A clump creates the head, arms, a great mass swarms in the center of the heart of hornets. Thousands of hornets gather. This is the full strength of Eli’s hive.
“Run, Whisper child. Run. We will give you time.”
Eli stands at his feet, and there are only a dozen hornets left to guide him.
Angela crashes through. She clicks her tongue on the roof of her mouth. The demon has warped her, twisted the body of the healer into something animalistic, something primal and deadly. Her jowls snap. Her claws clack against the gravel.
The hornets stand between her and Eli. They pause for a moment, then turn back, raising a shifting hand out in salute. As in farewell.
“You will never reach him!” Hive says as if the demon could hear them. They whisper, confidant, defiant. “He will destroy you.”
Then they swarm. A hundred, a thousand hornets all converge on the demon. They rush her eyes, massing to blind, confuse, and give Eli time.
Eli feels each hornet in his mind. He feels each tiny heartbeat, each beat of the wings, every sting, every breath. Each hornet is a tiny light in his mind.
Then the lights start winking out.
“Goodbye, Whisper Child. Run while you can.”
Eli runs. The dozen remaining hornets try to guide him. The fighting hornets are silent. Maybe they want to give Eli silence to concentrate. Maybe they fight on instinct. Or maybe they know that the boy cannot bear to hear his soldiers die one-by-one in a fight they cannot possibly hope to win.
Eli flees down the path back towards his cottage. Igor is there. The rest of the town is gathered there, and surely, they can face the demon together. Behind him, Eli hears the blind shrieks of the wounded demon, and the lights go out, one-by-one-by-one.
Eli makes it back to the cottage.
He is bruised, winded, heartbroken. There is a lump in his throat and damp stinging in his eyes and he tries not to weep for his hive. They would have wanted him to be strong.
“We are still here, Eli,” they say.
But only a few dozen.
From the distance, Eli knows the sting of every bright spark extinguished, and each death is a tiny agony that he cannot reconcile. The chorus of voices in his mind begins to fade. Now, with so few left alive, each hornet shows their personality, their unique voice.
The hive is fractured.
Eli tries so hard to keep himself together.
The townsfolk have stopped work on the cottage. It is now a sorted pile of ash and wood. The villagers scrape the ground with rakes. They look for jewelry, for coins, for surviving trinkets. Anything to give Eli to help him remember, or to help him rebuild.
They found nothing. The fire destroyed Eli’s home completely, melting gold and copper, splitting rock, burning wood to ash and ash to dust. Most have given up. They cleared the ash and wood scraps from the foundation of the home, scraping the ground level, and then they left. The harvest is nearing, and they have no time to waste on Eli.
Igor and a handful of others remain.
Eli bursts through the clearing, scraped and bruised. Igor startles. The butcher jumps to his feet and rushes towards Eli. The smell of sweat and musk is overwhelming. Igor has been busy.
“Boy!” He says angrily. Then he sees the scuffs and scrapes, sees the puffiness in Eli’s clouded eyes. He softens, for a moment. “What happened?”
Eli wants to tell him but can’t find the words. He says nothing. But his silence tells Igor all the butcher needs to hear. Even the hornets are quiet. They know Eli needs the silence.
Igor draws him in for a hug.
Eli chokes out a laugh at the absurdity of it all. He is not a child anymore. Already Eli is taller than half of the townsfolk. He is well built, lean, toned by working the field and the crop. And yet Igor wraps him in his arms like a babe.
Igor puts a hand on his shoulder. He leans close.
“Where is your hive?” Igor whispers.
Eli jumps back in fright. Igor knows. It is impossible and unlikely and yet, Igor knows the truth about Eli. Maybe more. How much did the butcher really know about him? And why has Igor kept silent until now?
There is no time to ask.
Fifteen hornets emerge from the woods. They fly towards Eli and Land on his shoulder. Some have bent wings, ripped antennae. Some are half-squished and dying. But they are here. And that means the demon is—
A scream from behind.
Another village shouts, “Oh God! What is that—”
The crunch of bones.
Igor pulls away from Eli. The butcher draws a knife from his belt, the steel scraping on the buckle. Igor is panicked, stepping wildly on the grass.
“Eli, listen!” Igor says. “There is a man in the mountains to the south. His name is Jazal. You must go!”
“Ch-child,” the demon says.
She steps towards them. The villages scream and charge and Eli cannot see what is happening. He cannot see anything. He does not know if they are winning, or who is dying, or whose bones are snapping.
Igor presses something into his hands.
It is the lute.
“Run, you idiot!” he roars. “Jazal. Find him!”
The demon cackles.
Igor shoves Eli away. The hornets buzz. They fly around him, but their voices are weak, defeated. “We cannot sting,” they say. Hive’s voice is exasperated, sorrowful, pitying. “We cannot swarm.”
The villagers have stopped screaming. The air is filled with the smell of Sulphur and the acrid bite of blood on wheatgrass. Eli hurries towards the edge of the field. But he stops, turns back. He cannot leave Igor to die.
Not now, not yet!
“You cannot have him,” Igor says.
The butcher is circling the demon. Eli hears it in the crunch of boots on gravel. The twisted body of the healer’s claws clack-clack on smooth stone. She prowls. She roars.
There is the squelch of steel passing through flesh and bone, and then there is silence.
Eli listens.
A breeze passes through the field and rustles the wheatgrass. The hornets crawl into the folds of Eli’s clothing and hide. They tell Eli to run but he does not listen. They tell him to cross the river and he ignores them.
“Igor?” He takes a step towards the cottage, towards the scene of the fight. “Igor!”
A hand grabs his ankle.
It is Igor. The butcher’s grasp is firm but determined. Eli sighs in relief. Igor is alive! The demon is dead and Igor is—
“Ch-child?” Igor says.
The butcher squeezes harder. Igor’s body begins to shake, and spasm. Eli feels the tremor wrack the butcher's body as Igor starts to crawl. He starts to pull Eli down to the ground.
The butcher’s voice warps. It cackles. Smoke drifts towards him and coats his eyes and throat. Eli doesn’t know what is happening. He cannot see. The hive won’t tell him what is happening.
“Eli?” Igor whispers.
Igor stutters and struggles against the demon. His fingers curl, and with a shout, he lets go. There is one last fight in the body of the butcher. Igor uses it to free Eli.
Then his eyes go black.
“You cannot kill me,” the demon whispers with Igor’s words. “You cannot resist me.”
Bones start to crackle as they snap and bend and form something stronger.
Eli flees towards the river.
Brambles grow thick by the water’s edge. Eli pushes through them. His boots plunge into the water's edge. If he could see, crossing the crystal-clear water would be easy. But now, wading through is a dangerous prospect. Portions of the stream are deep. If his boots catch on a rock, the current will surely drag him under. If he slips on the slick, algae-covered rocks, the current will sweep him away.
“Careful!” Hive says. “Water drowns.”
Eli stops. He should have known this—that the wasps cannot swim, that water will damage their wings and make them unable to fly, that the river is death. But now the wasps crawl to the top of his head and hunker down in the tangles of his hair. Those that can fly, cross ahead of him.
But a dozen wounded wasps cling for dear life, and there is no turning back.
“Ch-child,” Igor says behind him, dark, twisted, possessed.
The town is dead. Angela is gone, her body warped and destroyed and discarded. Now, Igor is dead too, taken and possessed and twisted by the dark will of the demon. Eli is next. The lights are going out.
There is no time to think or pray or breathe. Only the river, the safety of the bank beyond, and in the mountains, a truth Igor took to his grave.
He must find him, and then, in some way, he must destroy the demon. Igor was willing to die for him. The hive, willing to sacrifice everything to buy him time. And for what? He is nothing. He is just a boy. How can he possibly hope to defeat something he cannot even begin to understand?
Eli fears it will all be in vain.
“Never look back,” the hornets say.
Eli holds the lute above water and balances on the rocks. He takes a tentative step forward, then another. Water rises to his ankles and waterlogs his boot.
The demon stops at the bank. He snarls. He cannot cross the river. Eli knows this. There is some unnatural force that stops the demon from crossing. Eli cannot know this and yet he does, as if there are foreign whispers in his mind, as if the hive has given him knowledge of things unknowable.
The demon prowls at the edge of the river.
Eli crosses.
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