The Twisted Guide To The Unexplained, The Old Stinker Of Hull Edition
The Old Stinker of Hull
Sarcastic Addendum, Because East Yorkshire Needed a Werewolf That Smells Like a Fish Market Dumpster, Looks Like a Retired Rugby Player in a Bad Costume, and Still Can’t Find His Own Tail
The Old Stinker of Hull. Britain’s least glamorous werewolf, the only cryptid that could be defeated by a strong breeze and a bar of soap. This is not your brooding, moonlit, tragic beast howling on a moor. This is a hulking, shaggy, man shaped thing that allegedly haunts the fields and lanes around Hull, smells like a week old fishing trawler left in the sun, and has the fashion sense of a 1970s stag do participant who lost a bet and never recovered.
If the Black Shuck is elegant dread and the Wampus Cat is petty vengeance, Old Stinker is just stinky. Very, very stinky.
The legend kicked off in the 1960s and 70s when locals around the East Riding started reporting a “werewolf like creature” that looked like a giant, hairy man who’d been dipped in fish guts and bad life choices.
Witnesses described it as 7 to 8 feet tall, covered in matted brown or black fur, with a human like face twisted into a permanent grimace, possibly from smelling itself, massive shoulders, long arms that swung like it was trying to remember how to walk upright, and an odour so vile it made people gag from 50 yards away.
It didn’t howl poetically. It didn’t chase cars. It just shuffled along hedgerows, stood in fields staring at houses, and left behind a stench that lingered like a bad memory.
The name “Old Stinker” wasn’t chosen for elegance. It was chosen because everyone who saw it agreed on one thing, the smell.
Not subtle musk. Not mysterious animal funk. Full on, eye watering, throat burning, “did something die in your coat?” stench.
Farmers claimed it raided livestock but never ate much, just tore open a sheep or two, sniffed the innards, made a disappointed face, allegedly, and wandered off.
One 1976 report had a couple driving rural lanes near Welwick when a massive, hairy figure stepped into the headlights, stared for a long moment, then shambled off into a field, leaving behind an aroma so bad they had to pull over and vomit on the verge. Romantic date night ruined. Hull nightlife at its finest.
Sightings peaked in the 80s and 90s before tailing off, mostly because people started locking their doors and avoiding dark lanes unless they absolutely had to.
A few brave souls claimed to see it standing in ploughed fields at dusk, just watching tractors like it was critiquing the technique.
Dog walkers swore their pets refused to go near certain footpaths, tails tucked, eyes wide, like they’d seen the devil and he needed a bath.
One particularly dedicated witness in the early 2000s claimed the creature followed him home, stood outside his window for ten minutes breathing heavily, and aromatically, then wandered off toward the Humber like it had a late ferry to catch.
Theories are a glorious Yorkshire mess.
Escaped exotic animal. No zoo nearby ever lost a 7 foot hairy man.
Feral human living rough. Possible, but the smell would be legendary even by festival standards.
A very large, very unwashed man in a fur suit pulling the ultimate prank. Most likely explanation, but disappointingly boring.
Sceptics point out that the Humber region has always had rumours of strange animals, seals, big cats, even the occasional walrus. Add fog, alcohol, and rural boredom, and suddenly every shadow becomes a stinky werewolf.
No clear photos. No tracks that aren’t suspiciously boot shaped. No DNA samples beyond “smells like fish and regret.” Just decades of people swearing “it weren’t no dog, lad” while trying not to gag.
Yet Old Stinker endures because he’s the most relatable cryptid in Britain. Big. Smelly. Socially awkward. Completely harmless unless you count the psychological damage caused by his personal hygiene.
He doesn’t eat people. He doesn’t howl prophecies. He just shuffles around the fields of East Yorkshire, stinking up the place and giving everyone a very good reason to stay indoors after dark.
In a region famous for blunt humour and no nonsense attitudes, a monster that’s mostly just offensive to the nose feels almost affectionate.
Don’t Follow the Smell
(Though if the wind suddenly carries a wave of dead fish, wet dog, and existential despair across the field, perhaps turn around and pretend you left the oven on. Old Stinker doesn’t do greetings, he does lingering aroma trails.)
Old Stinker Survival Tips
Old Stinker survival tips for East Yorkshire night walkers, farmers, and anyone with a working nose.
Trust your nostrils. If the air suddenly smells like a trawler sank in a brewery, do not investigate. That’s not a barbecue gone wrong, that’s Old Stinker doing his rounds.
Keep windows closed after dark. He doesn’t knock. He just stands outside breathing heavily until you wish you’d moved to London.
Carry a clothes peg for your nose. Not because it’ll stop him, because at least you’ll look prepared when the stench hits like a wet towel of regret.
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