Most Deadly Man-Eaters To Ever Exist

Lions, bears, and whatever this monstrosity is. These beasts are downright terrifying in their own right, and every one of them has a taste for human flesh. Come with me as I count down the deadliest man-eaters the world has ever seen, with each one even deadlier than the last. Let’s start in the Sharda River, Nepal. Here, creatures undisturbed by man can grow to incredible sizes. The goonch catfish can reach at least seven feet long, but according to folklore, much larger. In April 1988, a report surfaced of a goonch so big it devoured a seventeen-year-old Indian villager who was cooling himself in the water. Just three months later, a father and his young son were playing in the water when the monster struck again. The father watched in horror as the enormous fish dragged his son under, never to be seen again.

Holy mackerel. What is this thing? Well, goonch dwell in freshwater across the Indian subcontinent and are well known for their bullish behavior. To catch their prey, they use their serrated backward-facing teeth. So, if one gets a hold of you, it digs in deep and there’s no escape. Locals believe this all started when people threw the remains of cremated bodies into the river after funerals. The goonch feasted on the burnt offerings, swelling to a monstrous size and growing to love the taste of human. Then in 2007, the fearsome fish returned once more. An eighteen-year-old Nepali was dragged down into the river by something witnesses described as an elongated pig with a chasm-like mouth. But, this was no mythical beast. The goonch’s smooth skin and gigantic jaws fit this description perfectly. Not that that’s the only man-eating catfish chronicled by humans. Just look at this Piraiba catfish native to the Amazon River and the poor guy who tried swimming in its waters. This is a recreation of what happened, but it’s based on chilling eyewitness accounts and shows how horrifying a catfish attack would truly be.

As for the Goonch, if your math is above preschool levels, you’ll know it has a total body count of three without even leaving a body. But be warned, this is just the beginning. Everything you’re about to see next makes this man-eating fish look like a harmless guppy. At least I can tell you what that devil was. For the next one, no one really knows. It all began in 2003 in the mountainous Dowa district of Malawi when a mysterious monster suddenly started preying on villagers there. Nobody ever saw what was responsible, but victims were found with claw marks on their faces, torn off limbs, and even crushed skulls. Nineteen people were attacked by this creature dubbed the terror beast, sending at least four thousand others fleeing from their homes to seek refuge at the district headquarters.

What was this bloodthirsty monster? Well, one year before the terror beast’s terrifying rampage, a rabid hyena had stolen the lives of five people before being taken out by game rangers. Rumors spread that the terror beast was the reanimated body of this hyena, a creature of witchcraft come to feast on the flesh of the living. A parks and wildlife officer tried to reassure people that this was untrue and the creature was just another rabid hyena, but survivors swore it was something more. They insisted hyenas don’t attack whole villages without being cornered and that the terror beast’s appearance just didn’t match up. However, any attempt to shoot or kill it failed. And then it simply disappeared from all records. Despite its many attacks, the strange creature ties with the Goonch with a total body count of three. Its whereabouts today, who knows? Perhaps it’s still out there biting its time to hunt again.

Way back in July 1916, a blistering heat wave drove visitors to cool off at Beach Haven, New Jersey. The folks were well aware of sharks, but back then they didn’t have the reputation they have today. And they happily frolicked in the water oblivious to the terror that was about to grip them. On July first, a twenty-five-year-old man went for an evening swim and something sharp grabbed him and excruciatingly stripped the flesh from his leg. A lifeguard rescued him and he survived long enough to reach dry land. But tragically, blood loss finished the job. At the time, people didn’t even suspect a shark. Some suggested a sea turtle since they’re known for snapping. Consequently, New Jersey beaches remained open. Big mistake.

The second attack occurred on July sixth when a swimmer had both his legs bitten off taking his life with them. Panic spread. Newspapers now reported the perpetrator as the New Jersey shark and people became increasingly scared to step into the sea. On July thirteenth, a group of boys were playing in a creek. It was fresh water so they were sure they’d be safe. When all of a sudden, one of them spotted a sinister black fin poking out of the water. Terrified, they all dashed out. All that is except for one who was pulled screaming into the murky depths. He didn’t resurface. An hour later, three men dived in to search for the boy. One apparently found him when he too was taken by the animal. Clearly, no water was safe from the New Jersey shore.

A mere half hour later, a fourteen-year-old boy was climbing up the dock ladder when a shark took hold of him. Speaking about the horrifying encounter, he said he’d felt his leg going down its throat. But amazingly, he was able to yank free. He was swiftly taken to hospital where he was treated and survived. He’d be the only one. Now, people’s fear turns to anger. They’d had enough of this damn shark. So, they armed themselves with enough guns and dynamite to put an end to the Jersey man-eater once and for all. The East Coast swarmed with amateur hunters who together killed hundreds of sharks only for autopsies to show that none of them had any sign of human remains inside them.

Then on July fourteenth, taxidermist and lion tamer Michael Schleisser claims to have ended a great white with a broken oar after it nearly sank his boat. After opening it up, he made a shocking discovery. Human flesh and bone. Could this have been the infamous culprit? It certainly looked like it. The huge shark measured seven and a half feet long and weighed three hundred twenty-five pounds. That’s one and a half times heavier than the average man. Being a taxidermist, Schleisser stuffed the legendary shark and displayed it outside his Manhattan store. And following this, the attacks stopped once and for all. So, the New Jersey shark popped its clogs with a total body count of four. If these events sound slightly familiar, that’s because this story supposedly inspired Peter Benchley to write Jaws, cementing sharks in pop culture as mean, vicious man-eaters.

An even more chilling story comes from the snow-capped village of Sankebetsu in Hokkaido, Japan in October 1915. In this remote area surrounded by forests and mountains, the cold was brutal, and villagers needed all the provisions they could gather to get through the winter. But over the past few weeks, the Ikeda family’s corn staples had been raided by an Usuri brown bear. One of the largest and most formidable species of brown bear, this one stood at nearly nine feet tall and weighed a monstrous seven hundred forty-nine pounds. So, when it came again on November thirtieth, miffed villagers raised a hunting party and chased it into the wilderness. They managed to shoot the bear, but it got away. The next day, they followed the blood trail for as long as they could, but with a snowstorm approaching, they presumed the injury would be enough to deter it from disturbing their village again. And they were wrong.

Over a week passed when the brown bear returned once more on the night of December ninth, hungrier than it had ever been. Without warning, it suddenly burst into the Oda family home, ambushing a mother and a neighbor’s baby in her care. The mother desperately fought back, hurling firewood at the beast and scrambling to escape, but the bear was too strong. Tragically, it took both of their lives and dragged the mother into the forest depths. The next morning, horrified villagers arriving on the scene said it resembled a slaughterhouse. Incensed at the atrocity, a group of thirty men set out through the forest to end the beast once and for all. This time, it didn’t take long to find it. Identifying it by the bandolier-like pattern of gray across its chest, they opened fire, but only one shot hit. Tailing it yet again, the men came across the mutilated remains of the mother stuffed under a tree and realized with dread that it had developed a liking for human flesh.

The men regrouped at the Oda house, hoping the bear would return. And it was here they named it Kesagake, meaning diagonal sword stroke, after its distinctive markings. Sure enough, Kesagake did come back. Chasing after it, the hunters headed downstream along with they thought must be the bear’s trail. Meanwhile, the Mayuko house was filled with women and children seeking refuge after the horror of the Oda attack. Women and children who should have been guarded all night, but when the guards caught wind that Kesagake was back, they too grabbed their guns and ran off to aid the hunt, leaving the Mayuko house alone and unprotected. That night the monster came again. With an unholy roar, it tore right through a wall of the house. And panic broke out. And amongst the chaos, it took four more lives and injured many others. Witnesses claimed they heard a pregnant mother tearfully begging Kesagake to spare her unborn child. The bear showed no mercy. By the time the guards arrived at the scene, Kesagake had returned to the forest.

By now, people were absolutely terrified. Kesagake seemed like an insatiable demon in the shape of a bear. News reached regional authorities and a crack team comprised of police and sharpshooters was organized to end the creature’s life once and for all. One of these men was battle-hardened bear hunter Yamamoto Heikichi. He’d swapped his gun for a bottle long ago, but appalled by the news of the attacks, agreed to help hunt the bear. With his loyal pack of Akitas and a loyal guide, Heikichi ventured into the wilderness to face Kesagake. After some time, they found the giant resting against a Japanese oak. Treading lightly on the snow, Heikichi got about twenty yards from the bear, took a breath, and fired. One bullet to the heart, one to the head. Just like that, Kesagake was no more. The nightmare was finally over, and Heikichi was lauded as a hero. But the damage the bear had brought left Sankebetsu in ruins. Many abandoned the area, and it remains that way to this day. Even after the bear was defeated, a victim of the Mayuko house attacks succumbed to their injuries, bringing Kesagake’s body count to seven. Rest in peace.

In the mid-twentieth century, Mysore, now known as Karnataka, India, was a Muslim shrine nestled into the Navagara hills and maintained by a guardian and his family. Yet the area was plagued by some kind of wild savage that had been targeting locals. Most of its victims didn’t make it. Those few that did didn’t have much of their face left to show for it. One dark night, the guardian’s twenty-two-year-old son haphazardly wandered out before bed. But something else was there, too. Enraged, the creature charged at the young man, biting and clawing at him again and again before shambling away. The man staggered back to his parents, but he was too badly injured. And by dawn, he was gone. Distraught, the guardian contacted his friend, Indian-born game hunter Kenneth Anderson. After being told the shocking story, Anderson traveled to Mysore to eradicate the culprit. And what was the culprit? A sloth bear.

Despite the name, these bears are very aggressive and can do serious damage with their teeth and claws. Yet this particular sloth bear was even more volatile than usual. Some said it was mad, a mother bear out for revenge after the passing of her cubs. Others said that it had fallen in love with a human girl, and frustrated by the interspecies boundary, took its anger out on humans. Whatever the reason, it meant trouble. On arriving, Anderson learnt that the Mysore bear had mauled two woodcutters about twenty miles away in Sakrapatna, one of whom later passed away. A few days later, a cattle grazer was also attacked after wandering too close to a bear’s cave. Believing this to be the same bear, Anderson led a small team through the jungle, where they found the grazer laying at the foot of a tree in a puddle of red, moaning as what little life he had left vanished. Night was falling. They needed to leave the jungle quickly lest the bear return. Anderson tried to carry the grazer away, but tripped and sprained his ankle. The others went for help, leaving Anderson and the grazer alone. That night, Anderson stayed by the grazer’s side. But by morning, his moans had stopped. Eventually, Anderson was found by a search party and taken away. The bear had outwitted him for now.

Four days later, the hunter set out to finish what he’d started. He’d heard the bear had wounded two more men and was stalking through the fields around Sakrapatna, likely feeding on ripening jujubes. So, Anderson headed out there to spend the night beneath a tree, fully exposed, waiting. Finally, he heard a grunting and the sound of claws digging at earth. He flicked on his torch and boom, there it was. A stocky black bear rearing on its hind legs, mouth agape, ready to attack. But this time, it wouldn’t get the chance. Anderson fired his rifle straight into its chest, and it fell to the ground with a thunk. The nightmare was over. Now, sloth bears often choose to attack humans rather than flee. And just like in this when they attack, they aim for faces. Just ask this mushroom picker from Southern India who was attacked without warning.

However, some things about Anderson’s story don’t quite add up. See, Anderson assumed that the attacks in Nagavara and Sakrepatna were committed by the same bear. But sloth bears have the smallest home ranges of any bear species. So, twenty miles is a huge distance for them. Plus, their home ranges overlap a lot. So, it’s quite possible that these attacks were carried out by more than one. Whether it was the Mysore bear or Mysore bears, though, the attacks reportedly injured about twenty-four people and left a body count of twelve. If only the next monster were so gentle. It was like something from a dark fairy tale. In 1999, in a village outside Lucknow, India, a one-year-old boy slept soundly next to his mother until, quiet as a grave, he was abducted from his bed. The next day, his half-eaten body was found in the woods nearby.

For eight months, attacks struck nearly every week across impoverished villages in Uttar Pradesh, a region surrounded by farms and swampy groves. For centuries, Indian wolves had avoided people, but likely because of human encroachment onto their territory, they began to prey on humans. Something that wasn’t too difficult due to the heat and limited space at home. Mothers often slept outside with their young children. For a wolf weighing one hundred pounds of muscle, a little kid was an easy target. And many homes didn’t even have locks, allowing the animals to creep right in, even if the occupants weren’t outside. As hysteria spread, people put the blame on the supernatural. These weren’t just wolves, but werewolves of folklore. Others fueled political tensions by blaming India’s old enemy, saying that the attacks were being carried out by Pakistani agents dressed as wolves.

Paranoid villagers turned on each other, leading to lynchings that killed at least twenty people and prompted the authorities to arrest one hundred fifty. Desperate to stop the madness, groups of hunters were organized to patrol hundreds of miles of riverbanks. A bounty of ten thousand rupees, more than any families made in a year, was offered for every wolf body. That’s over five hundred eighty dollars today. In the end, eleven wolves were shot, stopping the onslaught, but not before at least seventy-six children from more than fifty villages were attacked. Thankfully, not all were killed, but the wolves of Uttar Pradesh still managed a terrible body count of thirty-eight.

Elsewhere in India, in the sleepy village of Gummalpuram, the door of every hut was fastened tight. Some with boxes or stones barricading the entrances. It was the early 1950s, and when night came, not a soul would venture out till the sun rose again. Not that it would matter. Ripping through a thatched wall, the spotted devil of Gummalpuram entered a home and dragged away another screaming victim. This was no real devil, though it may as well have been. It was actually a leopard. While smaller than other big cats, an Indian leopard usually grows to just about four and a half feet long and weighs up to one hundred sixty-five pounds. This creature was fiercely formidable. Sometimes it even burrowed underneath huts or burst through roofs to reach its victims. Enough was enough. The district magistrate contacted none other than Kenneth Anderson. Yeah, the same Kenneth Anderson to put down the rampaging sloth bear.

Speaking to locals, Anderson found them in a constant state of fear. Even during the day, people moved in groups, and some dared not even speak of the devil lest they invoke its wrath. Over the next few nights, Anderson studied the animal’s tracks and behavior. One night even left a dummy in human clothing in the doorway to one hut to lure it in. The hunter sat in wait behind a few boxes poised with his gun, but the leopard never came. Not that all was lost. Studying its paw prints, he noticed its right forefoot barely made an impression. Anderson realized it was walking on it sideways, so it must have injured it somewhere down the line, meaning it couldn’t hunt its usual prey. This, he realized, was why it’s been feasting on humans.

The hunter decided to move on to Devarabetta, another village where the leopard had claimed five victims. He kept vigil that night waiting in a hut with thorny bushes on the roof for protection. Suddenly, he heard movement, but it was just a little stray dog. Pitying the skinny thing, Anderson fed it a sandwich, and the grateful dog stayed by his side. This, it turns out, would be a lifesaver. After several hours of waiting, the dog began to growl. Anderson leapt to attention. Something was coming. Then the mutt darted out into the street barking fiercely at the corner of Anderson’s hut. Immediately, the hunter readied his gun as a spotted devil lunged from the dark, claws outstretched and fangs bared. Anderson fired straight into its eyes and put two more rounds into its body. It didn’t stand a chance.

Examining its paw, he noticed porcupine quills lodged between its toes, which would have made walking agonizing and no doubt affected its mood. With its killing spree over, the spotted devil’s body count ended at forty-two. Had the stray dog not alerted Anderson to its hiding spot, he almost certainly would have joined that count. Anderson named the dog Nipper and became his lifelong companion. The Ugandan village of Luganga lies next to Lake Victoria. But beginning in 1991, a beast would emerge from the lake and take unsuspecting children as they tried to collect water. Always hungry, always taking a life. This was a Nile crocodile, one of the biggest, meanest croc species in the world, with some reaching over fourteen feet long. Because he was such a terror, locals named him Osama. You can figure that one out for yourself.

Even in boats, people weren’t safe. Fisherman told stories of Osama swimming beneath their vessels trying to capsize them. In some instances, he even leapt into boats, snatching a shrieking victim and pulling them into the water. Highly unusual behavior for a crocodile. One fisherman recounted that on nine separate occasions, Osama had taken the lives of his fellow crew members, including his own brother. Yet he always emerged unscathed. Villagers turned their backs on the fisherman, suspecting that he’d struck a deal with the beast, which they believed was possessed by Satan himself. But in 2005, Osama was finally defeated. Officials from the Uganda Wildlife Authority hung a pair of cow lungs in a tree near the reptile’s favorite hiding spot as bait, and the croc took it.

Inside the lungs was a copper snare. When the croc bit the lungs, the snare caught its teeth in a tight web. Osama ended up hanging it from the tree by his jaws, and the more he struggled, the more he became tangled. Over fifty men grabbed the ropes attached to the snare and heaved the furious crocodile in. Osama weighed nearly a ton and measured about sixteen feet long, so it wasn’t easy. In total, the croc had claimed a devastating eighty-three lives, devouring ten percent of the village’s entire population. But now, the people had him right where they wanted him, gagged and tied, only to learn that wildlife officials forbade them from finishing him off. Instead, Osama became property of a crocodile skin handbag company, Uganda Crocs Limited, and was sent to a farm where he was used to breed future handbags to be. Arguably, that’s a worse fate than death.

In 1898, construction began on the bridge across the Tsavo River for the Uganda Railway. African and Indian laborers toiled under the hot sun. Their work overseen by Lieutenant Colonel John Henry Patterson. Little did they know that to something watching from afar, they looked like an all-you-can-eat buffet. Patterson had only been stationed in the area for a few days when two of his men were reported missing. At first, he put their disappearance down to foul play, the work of some jealous thieves who wanted their pay themselves. It was only when he was roused one morning with the news that a huge lion had seized an Indian officer by the neck and dragged him out of his tent that he realized it was far beyond that. Coincidentally, Patterson had some experience hunting tigers, and after tracking the animal’s prints, he realized that not one, but two lions had preyed on the officer, leaving his scattered bones licked clean. The man-eaters were, in fact, brothers, though for some reason they lacked manes.

Sickened by the grisly discovery, Patterson vowed to rid the land of the beasts. In the months passed, more men were taken by the Tsavo man-eaters as they grew increasingly brazen. One of the lions forced its way through a thick thorn fence surrounding a group of sleeping workers, taking one of them and dodging every bullet fired at it. At night, the anxiety-riddled men heard the brothers crunching bones and their deep satisfied purrs, like something out of a feline horror movie. Workers panicked and hundreds fled Tsavo, refusing to be food for those devil lions. But not Patterson. Using a dead donkey tied to a tree stump as bait, the lieutenant set up a tree perch and waited. Hours passed and nothing. Then, finally, a lion came, but it wasn’t interested in the donkey. It wanted him. Snarling menacingly, it circled around the perch, creeping steadily closer. Unperturbed, Patterson held his gun calmly and fired a shot, wounding the animal. Recoiling with a whimper, it tried to flee into the jungle, but he fired again, leaving it in its death throes.

The lion’s body was brought back as a trophy, measuring over an incredible nine feet long. But there was still one man-eater left. And even after the death of its brother, it didn’t let up. If anything, it seemed thirsty for revenge, massacring workers and livestock alike. Patterson once more climbed into his tree and waited for nightfall. This time, the lion didn’t take long to appear, and he swiftly shot at it. It lay motionless. Assuming it was dead, he scrambled down from the safety and walked up to the hulking mass of fur. But just as he got close, it reared up, very much alive, and started to charge. Panicking, Patterson fired off more shots again and again. Just as he thought he was a goner, the beast let out a bloodcurdling roar and collapsed at his feet. This time, for good. On hearing the news, the camp erupted in celebration, and the lion measuring over nine feet was triumphantly carried back.

But what started this madness anyhow? Recent studies revealed that the lions had suffered painful dental injuries making it difficult for them to hunt and eat large prey. In comparison, humans were soft, easy targets. Another big reason behind their aggressive behavior could be down to rinderpest, a deadly disease that decimated cattle and buffalo throughout the Tsavo area diminishing the lions natural food source. While it’s reported that the Tsavo man-eaters took one hundred thirty-five lives, a 2009 study put the body count closer to thirty-five. Either way, they left their bloody mark on history. In the eighteenth century, Gévaudan, Southern France was an isolated, untamed land filled with impoverished peasants where the ancient forests still seemed enchanted. In June 1764, a fourteen-year-old girl was tending to her flock of sheep when a monster took her life and she was only the first.

Over the next three years, the creature would slaughter many more preying mostly on women and children. Reportedly, it tore away their clothes drinking their blood and licking out their brains. Reports of the beast’s appearance varied and conflicted. It was said to be bigger than a donkey with red or black fur and some said it walked on its hind feet, had a hide that repelled bullets and eyes like fire. The superstitious peasants were convinced it was a werewolf or some other unnatural creature, the offspring of black magic. One bishop added to the hysteria by proclaiming that the beast was a punishment sent by God. Shock spread throughout the land to the court of King Louis the fifteenth who offered a reward equal to what most men earned in a year. Over thirty thousand eager would-be hunters descended on Gévaudan to claim the prize. They laid out poisoned meat, dressed as peasant women, and even used children as live bait. But, I guess those men just weren’t the beast’s type, cuz all attempts to kill it failed.

Then, in August 1765, a young peasant was walking from her home when she turned around and came face-to-face with the beast. But, she was ready. As it reared up, the woman plunged a homemade spear she’d been carrying straight into its chest, causing it to wail and scamper off. She’d just shown up more than thirty thousand men, and her brave feat was commemorated with a statue in the village of Auvers. It wasn’t slain, though. In December of that year, the king’s own gunbearer and bodyguard shot a large wolf, which was said to be the beast. The body was sent back to Versailles, and he received a handsome reward. And the whole case was considered settled. Only, it wasn’t. Just two months later, thirty to thirty-five people were slain by the mysterious creature, but the king, believing the beast dead, couldn’t be asked to do anything.

Then, in June 1767, out stepped a local farmer, Jean Chastel. He wasn’t exactly reliable or particularly competent, and had previously been thrown in jail for leading a hunting party into a bog. Great resume. Nevertheless, according to legend, he melted down a silver medal of the Virgin Mary and cast a bullet, which he fired into the beast, ending it once and for all. Those who saw the body claimed it was like no wolf they’d ever seen. Monstrous in size, with strange, terrifying eyes, and fur marked red and black. Today, it’s still not known what species it was. Suggestions include everything from a wolf to a dog-wolf hybrid, a hyena, a lion, a maniac dressed in animal skin, or the most likely culprit, a pack of wolves. The reported toll varies, but most accounts put the body count at more than one hundred with over three hundred maimed. Yep, we’ve just hit triple figures, and it’s only going to get deadlier from here.

In the 1890s, the forests of Terai in Nepal were being torn down for timber, but from the wreckage came an animal ready to wreak her revenge on humanity. A man-eating Bengal tigress with a story so wild she’d go down in legend forever. She began in a few small villages, capturing and devouring doomed victims, until eventually the death toll reached a dizzying two hundred. Fear and panic gripped the region to the extent a regiment of Nepalese army was sent after the big cat. But just as they thought they’d cornered her, the relentless animal dove into the Sharda River, swimming across it and settling in the Kumaon region of India. There, she grew bolder, traveling twenty miles between kills, targeting workers on the forest’s edge, and attacking in broad daylight. The land was haunted by her baleful roars, and terrified villagers deserted their homes. The British colonial government sent police and bounty hunters after her, but she humiliated and evaded them all.

By 1907, a deputy commissioner had had enough and enlisted his friend, Jim Corbett, an Irish-Indian railroad worker who’d grown up hunting in the jungles. This guy shot his first leopard at the age of ten. So, compared with all the other hunters, he was made of much tougher stuff. From there, Corbett led a hunting party to the town of Champawat, where the demon’s latest victim was a sixteen-year-old girl. Tracking the blood trail left by the tigress, Corbett followed it deep into a ravine, where he found a ripped skirt, splintered bones, and most horrific of all, a human leg. Realizing they must be in the tigress’s hiding spot, he quickly formulated a plan. He returned to town and organized three hundred villagers, leading them to the brow of the hill at the edge of the ravine. If they made enough noise, the tigress would undoubtedly emerge, and the only path for it to take was through a narrow gorge, where Corbett would be waiting with a gun.

The men made a commotion, banging drums and shouting, and before long the plan worked. The startled tigress charged, erupting from the shadows straight towards Corbett. He fired a shot. It missed. Then he scrambled to fire another two, both of which met their target. But now his gun was empty, and she was still coming, snarling, enraged, straight for him. Corbett desperately sprinted across the valley, grabbed a villager’s gun, and within twenty feet of him and the tigress, blasted her away in the nick of time. The demon of Champawat was finished. Corbett was hailed as a hero, and celebrations lasted several days. Though he’d later shun hunting in favor of wildlife conservation. Studying the tiger’s body, they saw that her canines had been smashed, likely by a hunter’s bullet, which had left her unable to catch her usual prey. This, alongside deforestation and poaching, had diminished whatever prey there was left, giving her no option but to eat slow, unsuspecting humans. Her total body count, an astounding four hundred thirty-six.

But I’ve saved the deadliest till last. As a rinderpest ravaged buffalo, antelope, and wildebeest populations across southern Africa, British authorities culled wild herbivores in an attempt to control it, but it came at an unexpected cost. From 1932, the people of Njombe district in southern Tanzania fell prey to a pride of hungry, terrifying lions. Physically, they were smaller than most, but they were also quicker and much more deadly. The Njombe pride traveled throughout the night upwards of twenty miles to unsuspecting villages, then attacked. But even by hiding in their huts, villagers weren’t safe. See, in Tanzania, it’s not uncommon for husbands to have multiple wives. One woman recounted how one night, safe inside her home, she heard the desperate cries of her co-wife coming from the other huts. She frantically woke her husband, who ran outside to save her.

Little did he know, he was the hunted one. The lion had been prowling outside the co-wife’s hut, but hadn’t actually gone in. And as soon as it saw the husband outside, it knew it didn’t need to. He didn’t stand a chance. It could well be that the Njombe lions let their panicked victims scream, luring others out of their homes while they became easy targets. Nothing seemed to satisfy their bloodlust. If you came into contact with any of these big cats, they’d be the last thing you ever see. Eventually, colonial authorities brought in famous English game warden George Rushby to hunt down Njombe lions. Yet, superstitious locals were convinced that the savage animals were controlled by a witch doctor and refused to help Rushby destroy them. Even so, the game warden persevered, figuring that if he could kill just one of them, he’d prove that there was no black magic at play.

Estimating that the pride numbered around fifteen, he tried several different traps, even using human remains as bait. And they all failed. Ultimately, Rushby realized that the only way to end the pride was to laboriously track them on foot and take them down one by one. On being informed of an attack on a nearby village, he set up camp and waited for the lions to strike again. It didn’t take long. That night, a woman was killed. When morning came, Rushby set off in pursuit and after a few hours, caught up with the culprit. A couple of swift shots later, and first of the Njombe lions lay motionless at his feet. After this, locals started fearing them less and with their help, by 1947, ten of the lions have been put to rest.

A breakthrough came after an eighth-day hunt when Rushby put a bullet in the head of the lion chief who’d held the pride together for so long. This sent what remained of the pride into disarray. After fifteen brutal years, their reign of terror finally came to an end. Over that time, the Njombe lions’ body count reached a staggering fifteen hundred, making them the deadliest man-eaters to have ever lived. And with that, we’ve reached the end. Which man-eater scared you the most? Maybe you know of some other flesh-eating animals that didn’t make the list. Be sure to let me know in the comments below, and thanks for watching.