This article was written by Scott Cianciosi, one of our shiny new Damn Interesting writers!
The Ruins of AlamutThe nobleman awoke on a sunny spring morning. Feeling uncomfortable, he shifted himself, only to notice an extra weight on his pillow. Groggily, he opened his eyes. The glint of a blade stared back at him, its handle leaving an indentation in the pillow’s surface. Horrified, he rushed to his guards to question them about the previous night. Confused, they assured him that nothing of note had happened. Further investigation found that the windows were securely fastened, and there were no signs of forced entry. Just as he was ready to tear the room apart, the nobleman noticed something. Tucked under his pillow was a note that simply stated, “You have been warned.”
Such an encounter may sound like bad fantasy fiction, but this was a very real fear of the rich and powerful during the first few centuries of the second millennium. Hundreds of nobles, merchants, scholars, and generals received these notes, usually delivered when the recipient was at his most vulnerable. Only the lucky ones were given the courtesy of a note, since the shadowy organization that delivered them often left their targets dead rather than merely terrified. The story of the Hashshashin, or Assassins, is cloaked in mystery, and much of the truth about them was long ago lost to war and time. Their influence, however, changed the course of history and spawned the very word we use today to describe calculated, politically-motivated murder.
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It was half past midnight on March 17th, 1968. Keith Smart, the director of epidemiology and ecology at Utah’s Dugway Proving Grounds, was awakened by the ringing of a phone. On the other end was Dr. Bode, a professor at the University of Utah, and the director of the school’s contract with Dugway. There was a problem. Calls had been coming in. About 27 miles outside of the base, in the aptly-named Skull Valley, thousands of sheep had suddenly died. There were some survivors among the flocks, but it was clear that their hours were numbered. Veterinarians were dispatched to euthanize the few remaining animals.
From the 1920′s through the 1950′s, a Soviet scientist by the name of Sergei S. Bryukhonenko spent countless hours slaving away in his laboratory. In his homeland, he was known as a respected researcher for his influential insights into blood transfusion. Not content with his previous achievements, Bryukhonenko wanted to push his work to the very limits of possibility. His macabre research focused on the possibility of sustaining life through artificial means. His lab was home to all manner of bizarre experiments and occurrences. His staff quickly became accustomed to the sight of disembodied heads and desiccated animal corpses. As uncomfortable and ghastly as it was, his findings would prove influential to many modern medical procedures.