It Sure is Dark in Here

What’s the story with the Vampire Squid, you ask? Well, Vampyroteuthis infernali, as we refer to it in Ancient Rome, is about a foot long and does not sensually drain the blood from the necks of lusty Victorian virgins. In fact, I’m still a bit uncertain about this whole Victorian virgin concept. Let’s face it, people are people and even wealthy 23 year-old women like sex, if only under specific conditions, one of which is, of course, that I’m not present. We know all that Virgin Queen stuff was crap and a Victorian virgin was probably just someone who had never had sex with their clothes off, or something similar, but less acceptable.

Anyway, that has nothing to do with the Vampire Squid, which is really the last known survivor of a line which originated way back near the Octopus/Squid evolutionary split. In fact, the Vampire Squid was actually identified as an octopus when first classified in 1903, but further research found that it was more sort of like a squid and less sort of like an octopus, although still kind of like both. The Vampire Squid spends its life in the complete darkness at 2000 to 3000 feet down in the temperate climes of the ocean where it need never fear bursting into flames from the sun’s ultraviolet rays or encountering unsavory garlic cloves. Dr, Van Helsing, having no access to the Bathysphere, is also not likely to show up wielding any stake-firing contraptions.

The Vampire Squid gets it name from a couple of interesting physical characteristics. It has silky flaps of skin between its tentacles which make it look like it is wearing a cape, like Bela Lugosi at the opera. Its dark, reddish black coloration, along with its red or blue eyes, contributes to this image. In addition, it has a pair of small fins on either side of its head which have the appearance of bat ears, giving it an overall bat-like form, which is how vampires look when they are flying home at the crack of dawn after having stayed out too late. Vampires, it seems, cannot tell time. There are probably a few other names the Vampire Squid could have been given, such as the “weird-ass looking squid” or the “it’s so damned dark down here I can’t see a frigging thing squid”, but all in all, I think Vampire is just fine.

Vampire Squid have very low metabolic rates due to the lack of oxygen at such depths, so they mostly just float around and get with the cosmic groove. Of course, they have to eat, so they do occasionally grab a passing shrimp or jellyfish which is also just about unconscious from oxygen deprivation. In addition to its caped tentacles, the Vampire Squid has a pair of long filaments which it trails along behind it in the darkness. When these filaments contact something, the squid reverses course and envelopes its prey with its cape. The prey may momentarily think to itself “it sure is dark in here”, but probably not.

On the other hand, if the filaments encounter something that is not a proper prey item, natural selection may occur. In fact, the Vampire Squid has been found in the stomachs of a range of customers as diverse as sharks, whales and sea lions. However, the Vampire Squid has a few tricks up its sleeve(s) for any potential predators. Its entire cape is covered with small, light-emitting organs which can be activated in any of an endless combination of sequences. When threatened, the Vampire Squid will launch into a disorienting light show which confuses the predator long enough for the squid to say a prayer and try to inconspicuously float away. Fish of a certain age may feel they are having a flashback, or that the Good Fairy is coming to give them a pony; in either case, they may forget what they were actually there for. In addition, the Vampire Squid has a pair of larger light-emitting organs on its head which can be employed to mimic the reflective eyes of a larger creature. This may frighten off some predators which may think to themselves “it’s awfully dark around here and I really can’t tell what the deuce that thing is, so maybe I’ll just mosey along”. Of course, the larger predators, like the shark and whale, just might think to themselves “Wow! That’s a big fish! It’s probably way tastier than that skinny-ass Vampire Squid”. Nature, unfortunately offers only what is needed to survive, not perfection.

There’s not much more to the Vampire Squid story. Like the rest of us, they eat and make babies and try not to be eaten themselves, or fall victim to any ponzi schemes. Not to change the subject, but I read a short-story once about a vampire that was on the Titanic when it sank. He couldn’t wait for the rescue boats because they wouldn’t arrive until after dawn, so he had to dive deep down to where there was no sunlight. While he couldn’t drown or starve, the cold and lack of fresh blood made him so weak he sank to the bottom where he remains to this day in a semi-conscious state, waiting for James Cameron to come dredge him up, hopefully at night. A lot of us are like that, waiting for someone to dredge us up, so perhaps we can once again wonder at life and miracles like the dark sky of stars. The Vampire Squid doesn’t care; it is at peace with itself and its place in the Universe, and it makes its own stars.