Decemystery (2024) 15: The Glowing Toe of North Dakota

 

I want to paint a picture for you, dear reader. One of melancholy, “what could have been,” and hopefulness.

After I finished last year’s Decemystery duology, I had three stories picked out for the start of this year. One of them has been on my to-do list since this blog began; I’d been searching high and low for it. I’ve written a portion of the article, but the majority remains incomplete, though I ended up using a section for “The McDonald’s Blob” write-up’s intro and My Take sections.

I never began the other two for two reasons. The first was that my bipolar exited remission. I started experiencing terrible mood swings, ranging from feelings of loneliness and hopelessness to believing that I was invincible.

For the most part, those contrasting emotions were active at the same time in what’s known as a “mixed episode.” For those who don’t know, a mixed episode is when you experience a manic/hypomanic episode and a depressive episode simultaneously. I have type 2 bipolar, so I have hypomania, which isn’t as severe as regular mania.

All of this started in January and didn’t end until mid-August. But, the not-so-ideal circumstances didn’t end there. At the end of the month, my grandmother passed away. She was my last surviving grandparent, and I found myself wishing I’d spent more time with her.

Then I got sick, which was salt in an already degloved-sized wound. If you didn’t know, I hate getting sick—a lot. I contracted some sort of cough while I was in New York for the funeral wake. It wasn’t COVID; that was saved until July.

Suffice it to say the start of my year was a grand disappointment. My plans didn’t come to fruition, my hopes to make 2024 an amazing year for this blog floundered, and I kept blaming myself for not being better in every possible way. I thoroughly believed that it was my fault nothing went right.

Now, as of this writing, I’ve accepted that that isn’t the case. While I could have (and should have) posted an update or two, I felt too ashamed at the time—especially when I couldn’t make any promises for this year’s Decemystery.

But not posting any updates is beside the point. No, the point is that I wanted to cover one of the three stories I planned to start 2024 with. I also wanted it to be one that’d remove the melancholy I’ve come to associate the start of this year with.

That task proved easy since the story I’d begun work on will most likely be the inaugural write-up for Decemystery 2025. Meanwhile, the second story will be covered at some point next year—if all goes well, anyway.

That left me with the third story, the one I’d planned to do at the end of January. It’s another Fortean Map Enigma, and it’s one that I considered covering last year. I forget what it was replaced with, but that’s unimportant. No, what is important is we’re going to retroactively make 2024 feel like a success story by covering a mystery that’s sure to leave you flabbergasted! Come along, dear reader, as we investigate the absolutely bonkers story of The Glowing Toe of North Dakota!

Going Toe-to-Toe With the Fortean

As stated in the intro, this is a Fortean Map Enigma, meaning it’s from the Fortean Map. I know that’s a real shocker. Next, I’ll say that this took place in North Dakota!

Anyway, this case occurred in Bismarck, North Dakota, on an unspecified date in 1869. According to the map, a woman—whose name was never released (but I shall call her Edith)—was trying to go to sleep. However, as she attempted to escape the mortal plane and enter dreamland, she found that the “fourth toe on her right foot was glowing brightly.”

Nice to know Edith had her personal nightlight.

Too bad the nightlight was scented—and it wasn’t a pleasant smell. Apparently, the glowing toe was emitting the smell of “burnt meat.”

Now, from what I can tell, people bathed “about once a week” back in the 1860s. As such, I question how bad this smell must’ve been to alert Edith; you’d think the smell of bathing once a week would drown out any other smells. But, hey, what do I know? I’m someone who cannot stand a lack of cleanliness.

Also, this is the second time in the span of three days that I’ve brought up the hygiene of people when near something that would smell terribly (the other being when I brought up H. Rider Haggard’s questionable decision to prop up a mummy in his bedroom in The Mummy on the Bed). How odd.

Anyway, the Fortean Map entry ends off by claiming that Edith put her toe (or presumably her entire foot) into “a basin of water” and washed it. However, this didn’t do anything. I’m saddened that the basin of water didn’t start glowing; that would’ve been awesome.

Although we didn’t get any glow-in-the-dark basins of water, Edith’s toe did stop glowing. It only took a staggering 45 minutes. You know, if my toe began glowing, I wouldn’t have stood around trying to clean it myself. I would’ve tried to find someone who could help me.

Then again, this is North Dakota. The entire state’s population circa 1870 was only 2,405. So, I doubt Edith had any neighbors who could call a doctor for her—or one who wouldn’t toss some leeches on her and call it a day.

With that, the story comes to an end. At least the one given to us on the Fortean Map. It’s extraordinarily short—which is par for the course for a Fortean Map Enigma—and quite the unique tale. There are plenty of odd mysteries out there, but this one encapsulates the term “high strangeness” in a way that few others do. It’s an event that just happened without any rhyme or reason and ended with an equal lack of sense.

That said, I want to take a bit to detail my efforts to find more information on this case. When I covered The Durham Force Field a few days ago, I said that my perspective of these enigmas changed. So, come along, let’s traverse the Internet and try to unearth something interesting.

So, Did This Happen?

Given the incredibly obscure nature of Fortean Map Enigmas, answering the question of “did this happen?” is astonishingly difficult. Using Bing—which tends to yield better results for stories like this—gives me absolutely nothing. While I get plenty of websites dedicated to the history of North Dakota (which is fascinating in its own right), there’s nothing about a woman with a glowing toe.

That led me to try my luck with Bing’s Copilot AI. As I said in the aforementioned Durham Force Field write-up, I’m not one for using AI when it comes to outright assistance with writing. Sure, it can be useful, but I also feel like I’m lazily handing off work to lines of code. Alas, with a story like this, it felt like the smartest move; AI can dredge up something, and I’d comb through the sources.

Unfortunately for me, Copilot was unable to find anything. It did have a theory (one that I’d already thought of, and it’s definitely plausible) and pointed out that Bismarck wasn’t established until 1872, but no dice on a story regarding a glowing toe. Keep the latter fact in mind as it, too, relates to a theory, albeit a separate one from the one Copilot mentioned.

After that, I flipped through a book I own that has a ton of obscure mysteries and legends. Once again, though, I got nothing. In fact, the earliest story in the book from North Dakota was from 1883. I recommend you also keep this in mind for later because it ties into another theory.

Because of that, I found myself at a dead end. I considered asking other AI to see if this could dredge up anything similar, but given my hesitancy to consult them, to begin with, I felt like this would be the best place to end. Besides, if one’s already incapable of finding anything, why should I assume another will be different?

And so, with that, I opted to conclude my investigation here. While I’m sure there are other places I could have looked, I didn’t want to keep bouncing from search engine to search engine, typing in the same various phrases over and over. I’m sure that this story might’ve been brought up on a forum somewhere at some point in time, but if it’s not appearing within the first handful of pages on Bing or Google, I’m going to guess it was either a long time ago or the site’s going to give me a virus.

Anyway, while my search efforts may have been fruitless, there are still a few theories for us to go over, and I think they’re quite fun. So, come along; let’s put on our thinking caps and get to speculating about Edith’s mysterious glowing toe! Boy, that was surreal to type.

Theories

1. It’s an old legend

To kick things off, we have the theory that this was an old legend. This is something that Bing’s Copilot brought up, and it’s definitely a plausible explanation. For my non-American readers, each state in the United States adores its legends in some way, shape, or form. You needn’t look further than Point Pleasant, West Virginia, for the annual Mothman festival to know that. If you feel obligated to, New Jersey’s hockey team, the New Jersey Devils, was named after the Jersey Devil.

There are countless other examples I could give, including mini-holidays and celebrations, but I don’t want to drag this theory out for too long. My point is that in America, we love to celebrate more than freedom. We also celebrate cryptids, urban legends, and Dan Cooper. Yes, there’s a holiday in the Pacific Northwest dedicated to a man who threatened to blow up a Boeing 727 if he didn’t get money. I don’t get it either, but I also don’t live in the Pacific Northwest.

So, what begs the question: Why isn’t it documented online?

As of 2023, Bismarck has a population of around 75,092 people and serves as the state’s capital. Given how each state in the United States loves its local legends and folklore, it strikes me as odd that Bismarck wouldn’t take a bit of pride in the story of a woman’s glowing toe. Sure, it’s silly, but so what? When has that ever stopped a community from celebrating something whacky or zany? The world’s not corporate; it doesn’t need to be devoid of life and levity.

Granted, one can argue (and very reasonably at that) that the lack of documentation is due to the minuscule population that North Dakota had circa 1869. I do agree that this is very likely, if not the exact reason, for the case lacking notoriety. However, this begs the question as to how the Fortean Map’s creator caught wind of it.

Common sense dictates that they likely found it in an edition of the Fortean Times, but that magazine’s based out of the United Kingdom. Also, it didn’t begin publication in 1869, nor do I know if they sought out stories from 19th-century America. So, unless the map’s creator traveled the world (or at least the United States) looking for mysteries, I doubt they found it in a magazine.

At the same time, it’s hard not to imagine that there were countless Fortean occurrences, murders, cryptid encounters, and UFO sightings that went unreported around the time Edith’s incident happened. Given how small North Dakota’s population was at the time, it’d stand to reason that the story may be known by a handful of residents—or was deemed culturally irrelevant (for whatever reason).

It’s also possible the story has its roots in Native American folklore. If this is the case, it stands to reason that the legend never became an intricate part of the settlers’ culture, so it’s only been chronicled in a handful of books.

That sounds probable in my mind, though I need to stress that I know absolutely nothing about the Native American tribes from North Dakota. It’s likely none of them have any legends about a woman with a glowing toe. If I’m wrong, I’d love to be corrected since I try my hardest to make sure I’m accurate with things like this.

Unfortunately, that’s all I really have to say. In my eyes, this theory doesn’t work due to the complete and total lack of documentation. That said, there is one possibility that does strike me as perfectly reasonable. Alas, I can’t prove it, and I’m not willing to commit to saying that I’m likely correct when I know nothing about another culture. Lucky for us, there are a couple more theories to go over, so let’s not waste time going over them!

2. It’s real

Next up, we have the theory that this really did happen. Simple enough, a woman saw her toe glowing one night and tried to wash away the putrid odor it emitted. Okay, maybe it’s not simple enough, but you get the idea.

This shares many of the same exact problems as the previous one but includes the possibility that it was something supernatural or otherworldly. I think it stands to reason that there were countless Fortean occurrences, murders, cryptid encounters, and UFO sightings that went unreported during the 19th century, especially in a state as sparsely populated as North Dakota.

Unfortunately, that’s how the United States was back then, and it doesn’t help that this story happened a mere four years after the American Civil War ended. I’m sure that people were more concerned with making sure the nation didn’t try to kill itself again instead of wondering why one woman’s toe was shining like a glow stick.

Despite that, there could’ve been some weird supernatural occurrence that was documented by a handful of people. Then, as time went on and more people moved into what is now Bismarck, the story was passed down from generation to generation. Of course, this begs the question of why it’s not been well-documented online.

However, there’s one possibility that would explain this—and it’s a possibility that I thought of while zeroing in on one specific detail that was mentioned on the Fortean Map: the smell. But instead of sitting here teasing the possibility, let me explain it in its own offshoot theory.

1b. Edith had gangrene

Gangrene is known for being one of the most dangerous infections on the planet. It’s an infection that happens when your tissue dies due to a lack of blood flow. This can cause your skin to darken, usually to a greenish-black color. If left untreated, gangrene can lead to needing an amputation at best and death at worst. It’s about as peachy as it sounds.

I won’t go over the numerous ways you can contract gangrene since they’re easily available for you to see if you Google “gangrene,” but I will note two things. The first is that the decaying tissue can lead to a foul odor. I have no idea if it would smell like burnt meat, but a friend of mine who’s a paramedic in training said it sounds unlikely.

However, given the lackluster treatments that were occasionally used by everyday people and medical personnel alike in the 1860s, it’s possible that Edith had attempted to treat the infection herself and worsened it (if not outright tried to burn herself to make it go away). You may scoff at this notion, but I urge you never to underestimate the foolishness of people from bygone eras. I’m sure that in 100 years, people will look back on us and think we were foolish.

Anyway, the second thing I want to note is that gangrene was horrifically frequent during the American Civil War. Why? Well, war back in the 1860s wasn’t known for being clean, and we didn’t have the same sanitation conditions we do nowadays. So, infections such as gangrene were a part of the job.

“But wait!” a disembodied voice screams out from the ceaseless void where the Elder Ones reside. “Did women serve in the Civil War?”

Well, yes, women did. But it was extremely uncommon (roughly 1,000 or so women served, and they were usually disguised as men). Also, this story occurred four years after the war ended; gangrene can kill you in days if left untreated. Additionally, it doesn’t take years for gangrene to set in. It takes days or weeks; it all depends on the severity of the injury.

That said, there’s no reason to suspect that Edith could’ve injured herself in some capacity while going about her life in North Dakota. Again, given the awful sanitation standards of the era and the small population, I doubt she’d be able to see a doctor if she got a laceration of any sort. Heck, an ingrown toenail can result in it; I was at risk of getting gangrene when I had an ingrown toenail when I was around 14 or 15.

As for why the smell would have vanished, it’s possible that Edith’s attempts at washing away the odor led to it diminishing, or she became accustomed to the stench. Or, heck, she might’ve passed out from pain without realizing it.

Where things get a bit tricky to answer is the “glowing” aspect. It’s possible that this was a case of misidentification on Edith’s part, and she saw the discolored skin mixed with moonlight. It’s also possible she saw pus and other fluids that looked green in some capacity. I believe it’s worth noting that green is the color the human eye can see the most shades of, so I imagine even the faintest differences may give the illusion of a glow when combined with reflected light. If I’m spouting nonsense here, feel free to correct me; I’d rather be corrected than spread misinformation.

Anyway, while all of this sounds reasonable in my head, there is one thing that demands an answer: if this was merely a case of gangrene, why is it on the Fortean Map?

Honestly, the only way I can imagine it even being documented is if Edith got treatment. But if she did, there should be no reason for this to be a mystery. Heck, I don’t even know how or why the map’s creator caught wind of it. It’s not like this would’ve been a mystery; gangrene was known by 1869. While sanitation wasn’t the best during the time period, gangrene was treated for. If it weren’t, then the American Civil War’s death toll would’ve been even higher than it already was!

Now, if it wasn’t gangrene, then I take a slight bit of ire with this story’s lack of notoriety. YouTube is filled with “Top Ten Mysterious/Unexplained Incident” videos, yet none of them contain this story. It’s as niche as they come, yet your average content creator would rather deem The Mad Butcher of Kingsbury Run as “little-known” over whatever the heck happened to poor Edith.

This leads me to suspect one of three things. The first is that Edith’s story is known to a very small part of Bismarck, where the map’s creator happens to reside. This is possible, but given how many writers in the United States document local legends and stories, this seems highly unlikely.

The second is that the story was documented in an extremely obscure book that the map’s creator just so happened to own. This is possible, and even probable, then that aforementioned “slight bit of ire” turns into “a whole lot of ire” because excluding sources from your publicly viewable map is a colossal jerk move.

The third possibility is that the whole thing was made up, but more on that in the next theory.

Ultimately, I think this possibility has a fair bit going for it, but it succumbs to the same major shortcoming as the previous theory: the lack of documentation. I swear, when this Decemystery is over, I’m going to every bookstore I can find, scouring every shelf for books about mysteries and buying them. I’ll even scour the darkest depths of Amazon for the most nonsensical stuff just to see if this story’s real.

Or I’ll play Kingdom Hearts again and call it a day; I suppose it depends on how I feel. Anyway, on to the next theory!

3. It was made up for the Fortean Map

The third theory is that exactly as it says on the tin: the map’s creator made it up. Why? Eh, who knows; just like with iceberg charts, people will slip jokes in to mess with readers for fun. While it may seem hypocritical of me (given I was bemoaning the lack of a source in the previous theory), the Fortean Map’s creator was, and still is, under no obligation to tell us what is and isn’t a joke.

Additionally, the book I own about American legends (Unnatural Phenomena by Jerome Clarke, which contains that minotaur mystery I mentioned twice in last year’s Decemystery) doesn’t bring it up. Given the sheer number of obscure and downright nonsensical-sounding stories featured in that book—including that of a minotaur in New York—I sincerely doubt he’d miss something like this.

As an aside, I can’t believe I found that book after over a decade of looking for it. I have the story of my search for it written in the Minotaur write-up. But that’s for Decemystery 2025 now; this is Decemystery 2024. The year of “everything is over twice as long as I initially planned for it to be.”

Anyway, this is also a rather efficient way to pull a prank, too. I remember first finding the map through a post on 4chan’s /x/ board (the site’s paranormal board). If there’s any place that would be ripe for making up a few silly mysteries and slipping them into your massive map, it would be 4chan.

However, I couldn’t find any posts on 4plebs (a 4chan archive site) that brought up the Glowing Toe. So, either 4chan’s users took to referring to it by another name, or it never caught on. The latter seems more likely to me.

Additionally, as I said earlier, there’s no reason to doubt that this couldn’t have been written about in a book the map’s creator happened to own. While it’d irk me greatly that the source wasn’t cited, it’s worth noting that many of the stories on the map lack sources. Given that there are over 1,000 pins on there, I can’t imagine how long it took to make the thing and summarize them all. So, I can’t be that mad—not without feeling like a jerk, anyway.

Because of that, there isn’t much I can say here that I haven’t said about the other Fortean Map Enigmas. While the story sounds nonsensical, I feel that outright labeling it as a hoax would be disingenuous of me. This isn’t like The Brooklyn Subway Vampire Girl, where I could prove beyond reasonable doubt that it was a hoax. Edith’s case has too many variables that leave me going, “Well, maybe there’s more to it.”

Nevertheless, I fully understand why some of you may disagree. It all depends on whether or not you think the map’s creator wanted to have a laugh at the expense of those who looked at it. It’s too bad that I don’t even know where it was first posted; I have no idea if it was 4chan, Reddit, or some other forum.

Maybe I should look into that… eh, maybe next time. For now, let’s continue on; I want to give my take.

4. Interdimensional Toe Cooking

It’s a delicacy in a handful of other dimensions. Don’t ask how I know that.

My Take

Unlike a lot of Decemystery entries this year, I find it quite easy to draw a conclusion with this one. I think it’s a legend of some sort. To me, it has the hallmarks of one—albeit a very obscure one.

Now, whether it’s a legend from settlers in the area or Native Americans, I have no idea. I don’t know enough about the history of settlement in what is now Bismarck, let alone North Dakota as a whole, but it sounds like an obscure myth that was either birthed from a woman who had gangrene or made a pact with the devil. The latter is by no means anything wild; old wives’ tales exist for a reason.

Additionally, lumberjacks have legends of “Fearsome Critters.” Imagine cryptids, but they were legends told to scare people because, hey, who doesn’t like a good scary story? Also, people can be mean. If you want an example, read my write-up on Old Spider Legs, a horse with the body of a spider.

Really, that’s all I’ve got. I think the legend theory makes the most sense. Whether or not its origin is rooted in a real event, I don’t know, but I don’t believe it to be fake. Not after I found out the Durham Force Field had a source—and I was at one point confident that it was made up by the map’s creator for laughs.

Conclusion

Wow, look at that; I kept a Decemystery entry this year under 5,000 words. How quaint! I hope I can keep that up so I don’t tire myself out before the year’s end.

In all seriousness, this was incredibly fun and cathartic to write about. After spending the better part of the year looking at whenever I’d stare at the three write-ups that I had planned for the start of the year, I feel like I managed to fulfill at least one part of my original plan for 2024. And that, dear reader, is more than I could’ve ever asked for.

Anyway, I’d love to know your thoughts on Edith’s little mystery. Do you believe it to be a legend? Or was it gangrene? Or did the Fortean Map’s creator make it up to fool someone like me? Or was there an angle I missed? Tell me in the comments below, and as always, stay happy, stay healthy, and thank you for reading!