Why do mosquitoes plague us so? This legend—rooted in Tlingit myth from Alaska—reveals the dark origin of the pest. A classic tale of a giant, a bloodthirsty heart, and a curse that birthed a monster.

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Audio Story

You hear that sound?  If you’ve spent any time in the South, you’ll certainly recognize it.  That high pitched buzzing around your ears, from one or more pesky, winged insects.  Followed by a painful, bloodsucking bite.  It’s the Southern mosquito, perhaps the most hated creature on earth!

Native Americans tell a story from long ago explaining where this irritating insect came from.  Their ancestors once told many stories about their natural surroundings – the animals, the weather, the stars in the sky.  These stories helped them make sense of the world, and showed their immense respect for the power and beauty of nature.

But even they drew the line at the mosquito.  And the story they tell of its origins is so horrible, it befits such a detestable creature.

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Way back before white settlers arrived, indigenous peoples lived deep in the endless forests of North Carolina.  They fished in the rivers as their primary source of food.  The air was much cleaner and crisper then.  Even better, there were no mosquitoes!

One day, a fishing village noticed their trout were disappearing off the drying racks, just as soon as they were pulled from the river.  Whenever the fishermen turned their backs, something stole their catch and vanished into the forest. This went on for months, depleting the rivers of fish.  The starving community grew thin and malnourished.

Shortly afterwards, the people themselves began disappearing.  When the villagers turned their backs to the forest just for a moment, their mothers, fathers or grandparents would be gone in a flash.  Fear spread throughout the community, many staying inside to guard their children.  Wild rumors spread of a monster or evil spirits in the woods, preying on their village.

These stories grew so loud a special council was called of all the neighboring villages, both friends and enemies.  They decided to send a search party into the woods to dispel these monster tales once and for all.  

So one night, the bravest volunteers ventured into the moonlit forest.  They crept quietly through the darkness, using no torches so as not to alert the monster.  The woods became thicker and more sinister looking as they traveled, well beyond known boundaries. 

After many miles of walking, through a spooky thicket of gnarled oak trees, they stumbled across a clearing.  There stood a large log cabin, lantern light glowing inside through filthy, splattered windows.  A fire burned in the chimney, but this was no ordinary smoke – it was blood red, with a horrid stench that made the search party struggle to keep from wretching.

They crept up to the windows and peered inside.  They gasped when they saw him.  Inside was a giant, three times the size of the tallest man you’ve ever seen.  His clothes were filthy, and his protruding, bloodshot eyes were rolled up in ecstasy. He sat on the floor beside a basket of human arms and legs, pulling them apart with bloody fingers, slurping them down like chicken bones.  And there in the fireplace, in a boiling pot, was a human heart! 

The search party had seen enough.  They carefully backed away from the cabin, then ran back home to tell everyone the stories were true.  That there was a cannibal giant in the forest, and if he wasn’t stopped, all their people would be wiped off the earth.

There was no option but to trap and kill him.  So the villagers joined together and dug a deep hole in the forest like they would for a bear, but much deeper for the giant’s size.  They strung a thick net along the bottom to ensnare the giant.  They covered the top with wooden poles, then a thin blanket of tree branches and leaves.  And when they were done, they sent the fastest and bravest warrior back to that awful cabin to lure the cannibal giant out.

The warrior pounded on the giant’s door.  “Come out you ugly monster!  Try and catch me!”  He ran off as the door exploded open.  He could hear the giant thundering through the forest behind him, swatting away the trees with loud cracks.  His hot, putrid breath filled the air.  

But the warrior was faster, and after several miles made it back to the trap.  Light on his feet, the warrior skirted across the hidden opening.  But the giant wasn’t so lucky – the ground suddenly collapsed beneath him, and he plummeted into the hole with a scream.

The community gathered around and gazed into the trap.  There swung the angry giant, ensnared in the net, arms flailing at the sky.  “You can’t keep me in here!” he yelled.  “When I get out, you’re all dead!”

The village leaders arrived with piles of dry branches and lit torches.  Aware now of his fate, the cannibal giant laughed.  “You think you can kill me?  Go ahead and try!  I’ll just come back and keep eating all of you!  And all your children and your children’s children.  Forever!”

The villagers piled the branches on top of him.  They poured a barrel of fish oil on top for good measure, then threw their torches in the hole.  The trap exploded in flames, like a portal to Hell itself.  But the cannibal giant didn’t cry out.  Instead, his horrible laughter echoed through the forest for hours on end.

They let the fire burn for four days.  Then, they took long poles and stirred up the ashes, just to make sure no part of the giant was left.  As they kept stirring, ashes floated into the sky.  They transformed into small winged insects, by the hundreds and then thousands.  These insects swarmed the villagers, biting skin and sucking blood.  Their sweet blood made the bugs breed like wildfire.  From that day on, the community would never know another peaceful night without the annoying buzzing and biting of what we now call – mosquitoes.

So the next time a mosquito bites you, don’t feel so bad about smashing it to bits.  Because it might be more than just a pest.  It might be the Cannibal Giant, back for another evening snack.

-THE END-

Where Did This Story Come From?

Although the version I always heard was set in the South, the origin story is a Tlingit legend from Alaska.  Anyone who’s spent summers in Alaska has experienced the constant swarms of mosquitoes.  They are so prevalent some Alaskans call them the unofficial state bird!

The Tlingit are indigenous peoples of the Northwest Coast of North America.  Their territory once stretched from the Portland Canal in British Columbia into southern Alaska.  Mosquitoes have been part of Tlingit folk culture for centuries, inspiring ceremonial masks and headdresses.  

There are also Tlingit totem poles telling the story of the cannibal giant (known as Gurteel, or Gurhtihl).  In fact, the cannibal giant image on these poles was ceremonially fed each day by the Tlingit.  They believed fortune favored those who recognized the giant’s power and immortality.

There are several versions of this story told among the Tlingit people.  Another telling has the giant killed, dismembered and burnt by the vengeful brother of one of his victims.  In this version, the brother uses the giant’s own knife to threaten the giant’s son, asking where his father’s weakness is.  When told the giant’s heart is in his left heel, the brother stabs him there, slaying him.  In all versions the ending is the same – the ashes turn to mosquitoes.

Some folklorists have drawn parallels from the above version to the David and Goliath story in the Bible.  Others note the heart being in his left heel recalls the Greek myth of Talos, the bronze giant.  After being passed through the oral tradition for generations, this version was finally written down by an English author in the late 1800s.  An adaptation appeared in the book American Indian Myths and Legends by Richard Erdoes, and is told by storytellers to this day.

See Also…

Southern folklore is filled with ‘origin stories’—legends that explain how the natural world took its shape. If you enjoyed the legend of the mosquito, discover the heartbreaking origin of  The Bleeding Heart Dove.

Story Credits

Adapted from folklore and produced by Craig Dominey

Storyteller: Veronica Byrd

Audio Production: Henry Howard