In my recent explorations into ecological restoration, the topic of invasive species has come up a few times. I’m thinking of doing a more in-depth article on the topic. But in this article, I wanted to share a story that I’ve been sitting on for a little while. It involves an encounter I had with a member of a so-called invasive species.
I admit, the connection between this story and the topic of ecological restoration is tangential. But my last article got me thinking about the importance of storytelling in science, so I figured this would be a good opportunity to practice my storytelling skills and share a story I’ve been sitting on for a few months now.
WARNING: if you are squeamish, proceed with caution.
The Shadow
One evening, as I was winding down for the night in my dimly lit apartment, out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow moving across the floor. I figured it was some kind of critter. But this looked much bigger than the usual cast of critters I see in my apartment.
As I raced to grab a light, my mind started going through the possibilities. Could it be a mouse? A rat?
I grabbed the light, turned it on, and rushed back to where I had seen the shadow. I was surprised and a bit terrified by what the light revealed: a giant centipede quickly scurrying across my apartment floor. This was the kind I had learned was the most dangerous species in Hawai’i. The one type of centipede you really want to avoid was in my apartment!
Now, I’m pretty used to seeing critters in my apartment–a motley assortment of bugs, geckos, and the like. In my experience, this is just a part of living in the humid tropics, and I’m generally not phased. But this one freaked me out.
Back in 2011, when I first visited the Big Island, it was one of these giant centipedes that sent my travel companion to the ER. Granted, the information we had gotten may have been a bit exaggerated. Our host may have exaggerated just how serious it was, telling us that a bite from one of these could kill someone. While it can cause a lot of pain, it’s highly unlikely to kill an adult human. So in retrospect, an ER visit probably wasn’t necessary. But we were scared enough that we didn’t want to take a chance.
Back in my apartment, the centipede was moving pretty fast, so I needed to act fast. I wanted to catch it before it crawled into some crevice out of my reach. I did not want this thing hiding out of reach in my apartment. There’s no way I’d be able to sleep.
So I quickly grabbed a plastic cup that I use for trapping insects and placed the cup on top of it. But the centipede was pretty long, the cup wasn’t quite big enough to contain it, and I didn’t want to press too hard and risk squashing it. So I pulled the cup away, letting it go free again, all the while worried that it might yet get away.
It scurried to a corner, started climbing up the wall, and then tried to burrow itself in a crack a few inches up the wall. Thankfully, the crack wasn’t big enough for it to crawl into. So after trying for a few seconds, it gave up and stayed put right there on the wall. My heart was still racing, my nerves on edge. I had the thought: how interesting (and how very fortunate for me), that it would just stay where it was in plain sight, especially given how fast this thing could move.
Puzzle: how to trap it
Now came the thinking part. Keeping a watchful eye on my unwanted house guest, I started to ask myself, “How do I trap this thing?” After thinking through different scenarios, I decided that a mop and pot lid were my best options. The idea was that I would use the mop to prod it (from a safe distance) and get it to move back onto the floor (and to pin it if needed). And then I would use the lid, which was wider than the cup I had unsuccessfully used before, to trap it on the floor. I also donned a pair of thick, leather work gloves…you know, just in case. With gloves on, mop in one hand, lid in the other, I imagine I looked like a underprepared, amateur knight going into battle for the first time.
Well, my plan worked. After moving some furniture out of the way, I prodded the centipede with the mop head, which sent it scurrying across the floor. I had one chance to trap it under the pot lid, and I did! Because it was a glass lid, I could see what was going on inside. The centipede did a few frantic laps around the inside edge of the lid and then, realizing there was no easy way out, stood still.
Whew! Now I had a chance to do some research and get a better idea of what I was dealing with. So I snapped this picture, gave it to ChatGPT, and asked:
Me: What kind of centipede is this? It’s in Hawaii, on the east side of a big island. Inside of a house.
ChatGPT: That’s a Hawaiian giant centipede (Scolopendra subspinipes), also called the Vietnamese centipede.
Key features visible:
- Reddish-brown body with yellow-orange legs.
- Long terminal legs that resemble antennae.
- Size about 5–8 inches relative to the pencil.
It’s a venomous predator, common on the Hāmākua and Hilo sides. Bites are extremely painful but rarely dangerous unless allergic reaction occurs.
Control: seal entry gaps, reduce moisture and insect prey, and use mechanical capture rather than bare hands.
So my fears were confirmed: it was in fact Scolopendra subspinipes, the Hawaiian giant centipede!
What if there were others inside? My anxiety began to grow again.
Me: Are you suggesting that it probably got in the house somehow, or that it’s like living inside the house?
ChatGPT: It likely came in accidentally. Scolopendra subspinipes prefers damp outdoor areas—under rocks, logs, or leaf litter. They enter houses when:
- It’s too dry or hot outside.
- They’re chasing prey such as roaches.
- Indoor humidity or shelter attracts them.
They don’t nest or breed indoors. Once caught, remove it and seal entry gaps at door thresholds, plumbing penetrations, and wall cracks.
Whew! So it was likely the only one inside. And I had it trapped, which was a relief. I could now focus my attention on the one centipede in front of me.
Puzzle: how to keep it contained
While I had solved the problem of trapping the giant centipede, another puzzle still remained: how to get this thing out of my apartment? I needed to figure out how to get it into a container that I could transport it in.
I couldn’t immediately think of a suitable container. But in the meantime, I was growing concerned of another problem. As you can see in the earlier photo, the floor isn’t perfectly even or level, leaving small gaps between the lid and the floor. Though its initial attempts were unsuccessful, I feared that it might eventually find an escape. I wanted to get it into something more secure.
Quickly looking around, I grabbed a deep glass bowl from the kitchen and set it on the floor next to the centipede. I then slid a thin piece of cardboard underneath the lid, in between the centipede and the lid. Picking up the cardboard and lid together, I was able to get the centipede off of the floor and tip it into the glass bowl. I put the lid on top for extra insurance. In the bowl, the centipede scrambled around for a bit, trying to find a way out. Unable to climb up the smooth sides of the glass bowl, it gave up and came to rest again.
Then something remarkable happened. I accidentally bumped into the bowl, jarring the centipede inside and causing it to curl up in fear. Up until this point, I was pretty caught up in my own fears and anxieties. But in that moment, seeing a helpless creature curled up like that, I felt a wave of sadness and compassion come over me. As it turns out, I wasn’t the only one who was scared and trying to protect itself.
This realization shifted how I handled the centipede afterwards. Did it completely get rid of my fear and anxiety? No. But it did give me a greater sense of care for its wellbeing.
Puzzle: how to store it overnight
With the thing fairly well contained, I began wondering where to release it. With most bugs I trap in my apartment, I release them out in the yard. That seemed like it might not be the best idea with this one, but I wasn’t sure. Releasing it in my yard would certainly be easier and solve the immediate problem of it being in my home. But could it find its way back in?
Me: How far away should I release this thing from the house to ensure it doesn’t find its way back?
ChatGPT: At least 100 feet (≈30 m) from the house. Farther if terrain allows.
Rationale:
- They’re solitary and territorial; they don’t home back like some animals.
- They prefer dark, moist cover—if released into leaf litter or rocks away from structures, they’ll settle there.
Avoid releasing near rock walls, drains, or wood piles close to buildings. If heavy rain or drought drives them in, sealing entry gaps is more important than release distance.
Since the yard was small and other neighbors’ houses close by, I needed a plan. It was nighttime, I was already tired, and I didn’t want to venture out into the dark. So that meant waiting until morning. But I wasn’t entirely confident that my bowl and lid combo would contain it overnight either. I needed a more secure container.
Looking around my kitchen, I saw a large, empty oatmeal container made of cardboard. I thought it was a pretty good idea. But what did ChatGPT have to say?
Me: If I keep it in a regular sized oatmeal carton overnight, I mean, is that sufficient to trap it? Like, if I put the lid on, you know, can it chew through the cardboard?
ChatGPT: Cardboard is not secure. Scolopendra subspinipes has strong legs and can squeeze through small gaps or push loose lids. It cannot chew through cardboard, but it can escape if the lid isn’t tight.
Safer short-term containment:
- Smooth-sided plastic or glass jar with a tight, ventilated lid (small air holes only).
- Keep away from pets and children.
- Do not refrigerate or submerge; both cause suffering.
Release outdoors once conditions allow.
I wasn’t quite convinced, so I pushed back, this time providing a picture to make sure it understood the type of container I was talking about. I wasn’t ready to give up on my great idea without a fight.
Me: So are you saying that this cardboard carton would not be secure, and why not?
ChatGPT: Correct. That oatmeal carton is not secure for a centipede of that size. Reasons:
- Material – cardboard can soften from humidity or body moisture, allowing it to push through seams.
- Lid fit – plastic lids on these cartons are friction-fit, not airtight. The centipede can wedge a leg under the rim and pry it open.
- Interior texture – cardboard has enough roughness for it to climb up to the lid.
Use a smooth, rigid container (jar, Tupperware, or clear plastic bottle) with a tight screw or snap lid and minimal air holes.
The last thing I wanted was the centipede prying open a lid! Ok, so the oatmeal carton wasn’t a great idea after all. Instead I found what an empty mayonnaise jar and checked with ChatGPT to be sure.
Me: But a plastic jar like this would be secure with some air holes.
ChatGPT: Yes. That plastic jar is secure if:
- The walls are smooth and dry (no label residue inside).
- The lid screws tightly with only a few small air holes—no larger than a pin.
- The jar is upright and not exposed to direct sun or heat.
A centipede can’t grip or push open that type of container. It’s safe for overnight holding and transport for release.
It seemed like it would be secure in the plastic jar, keeping me safe. But what about the centipede’s wellbeing?
Me: How long can they survive without food or water?
ChatGPT: Food: about 1–3 months for a healthy adult; some fast even longer.
Water: days, not months—about 3–7 days in dry air; 1–3 weeks if humidity is high.For overnight holding you don’t need food or water. Release soon.
It was settled. I poked some breathing holes in the lid of the jar. Then, removing the pot lid from the glass bowl, I carefully picked up the bowl and tipped the centipede into the mayonnaise jar. At this point, it was still staying pretty still, so it was fairly easy to transfer it into the jar. Setting the jar by the front door, I decided that I would get some sleep and come up with a plan in the morning.
After this whole ordeal, which lasted about an hour, I resumed getting ready for bed. But something was still bugging me (pun intended!). Based on ChatGPT’s earlier information, it seemed unlikely that there was another one in my apartment or that the one in the jar would escape. But after such an ordeal, I needed a little more reassurance…you know, just in case. So I asked ChatGPT:
Me: And, like, do I need to be shaking out my bedding? You know, are they going to, like, try to crawl up in the bed, or, um… Where, what kinds of places within the house would they try to hide? Are they seeking, like, high places, low places? Et cetera.
ChatGPT: They stay low. Centipedes prefer dark, moist, tight spaces—not beds by choice. Most indoor encounters happen on floors, baseboards, or behind furniture.
Typical hiding spots:
- Under boxes, shoes, mats, or laundry piles.
- Inside bathroom or kitchen cabinets.
- Around plumbing gaps or drain areas.
- Behind baseboards or under appliances.
- In damp basements or near entry doors.
They rarely climb into beds unless trapped or chasing prey. Shaking out bedding is optional precaution after sightings, but focus on sealing cracks, reducing humidity, and clearing clutter at floor level.
While that didn’t completely eliminate my anxiety, it was enough to get me into my bed. I eventually fell asleep. You can probably imagine the types of creatures that filled my dreams that night. Needless to say, it was not an easeful night of sleep.
Puzzle: where to release it
The next morning, I opened up Google Maps and, with the satellite layer enabled, started scouting for potential release sites. Based on ChatGPT’s guidance from the night before, I was searching for a place with vegetation that was comfortably over a hundred feet from any house. I located a spot that seemed suitable.
Me: How big is its range? Like, I’m kind of honing in on places to drop it off. I think you’d mention at least a hundred feet away from any houses. There’s a place I’m thinking of that’s side of the road. It’s next to a big orchard. And then, like, across the road, and then across another highway, close to 200 feet away, there’s some houses.
ChatGPT: That’s acceptable. Scolopendra subspinipes ranges only tens of meters in normal movement. Adults stay within a small territory around stable cover and humidity.
Your described spot—roadside near an orchard, ~200 ft from any houses—is safe. Choose a shaded area with leaf litter or stones, release under cover, and it will establish there without returning.
Me: Would it be unlikely to cross the road? Like, would that serve as a barrier, or not really?
ChatGPT: Unlikely, but not impossible. Roads act as partial barriers—open, dry, and exposed to light and vibration, all of which centipedes avoid. They may cross at night if conditions are very damp or if chased by flooding, but they generally stay on one side. A two-lane or wider paved road is an effective separation for practical purposes.
Good enough for me.
The release
Having decided the spot where I would release my guest, I carefully carried the jar to my car. The centipede still looked very much alive, but wasn’t moving around much. When I arrived at the designated spot, I snapped a few pictures of it in the jar. I figured this would be a good opportunity to get some close-ups (for example, to be able to count the number of legs later, which is a characteristic for differentiating among species).
Taking the jar from my car, I removed the lid and tipped it over. The centipede slid right out onto the grass. Coming to life again, it soon burrowed into a mat of brown grass and was gone.
At that point, I was still pretty on edge. So right there on the side of the road, I jumped up and down, shaking out my limbs to shake off the tension. For several more hours, I felt on edge, even though the centipede was now far away from my home. A swimming workout later in the day helped get rid of the residual tension.
Reflections
One thing that really freaked me out about this centipede, in combination with its dangerous bite, was just how quick and squirmy it was. So it struck me how much time the centipede remained still. Although it did have some squirmy, panicky moments when trapped, for the most part it just stood still. I interpret this as an adaptive response: conserving energy when there’s clearly nothing else to be done in the moment.
Another takeaway from this experience was how knowledge can be used to conquer irrational fear. I do believe there is a reason that we feel fear. It gives a sense of urgency and importance to deal with a potential threat.
But beyond a certain threshold, I think fear can be counterproductive. And at many points in my life, I have had this experience of knowledge conquering fear. I intentionally used that strategy with the centipede encounter, doing research to gain a better understanding of the situation. Now, while the AI guidance helped a lot with my decision-making, I acknowledge that I was not fact-checking it along the way. I deemed it trustworthy enough for my needs in the moment, but in certain scenarios, on should absolutely verify AI-generated information. That said, the information it gave me was good enough and helped calm a lot of my fears.
This strategy is not new to me. As a kid, I was afraid of many bugs. And at some point, I think in my teenage years, I decided to overcome this fear through knowledge and exposure: learning more about bugs. By spending time looking at bugs, holding them, learning about what motivates them and what the realistic threats are from them, my fears lessened. But it’s a process.
So throughout this experience with the giant centipede, even though it kind of creeped me out and gave me anxiety to do so, I still made it a point to spend time just looking at it, even when it was safely in the jar and could no longer harm me.
Journaling about this encounter the next day, I reflected that hopefully during the next encounter, I would be more informed and that it would be less scary. In fact, a few months later, I had another giant centipede in my apartment. And although it was still somewhat stressful and anxiety-inducing, it was much less so than the first time. I had a plan. I knew what to do and what to be aware of. I acted more purposefully and efficiently, and I was able to more quickly move from fear to compassion. By the time it came to releasing centipede #2, I felt happiness and joy for its freedom.
Another piece of knowledge that helped me get rid of some irrational fears was learning that these types of centipedes are generally not aggressive towards humans.
Me: Are they aggressive? Like, will they bite humans kind of opportunistically, or more like out of defense?
ChatGPT: Defensive, not opportunistic. They hunt insects at night and avoid people. Bites usually happen when:
- Trapped or pressed (stepped on, rolled on in bed).
- Handled, cornered, or brushed against in clothing/shoes.
- Disturbed under objects.
Behavior notes: fast, will stand their ground, can grab with terminal legs, but they don’t seek humans to bite.
Reduce risk: shake out shoes/bedding, use door sweeps and screens, declutter damp areas, control roaches, and pick up with tongs or a jar—never bare hands.
In other words, this type of centipede probably doesn’t want to come up and bite me. In fact, it probably wants to avoid me. And if one does bite me, it’s not the end of the world.
Looking ahead
I hope you enjoyed that story. If someone walks away from this with a little less fear, a little more compassion and understanding, then my work is done.
As I alluded to in the beginning, the giant centipede Scolopendra subspinipes is not native to Hawai’i. It is one of many so-called invasive species in these islands. The concept of invasive species, especially as it relates to ecological restoration, is one that I plan to explore in more depth in a future article or two. Stay tuned!
AI RESPONSIBILITY RUBRIC
This rubric shows human vs AI contribution across project stages. Percentages were calculated by AI and adjusted as needed by human.
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
CONCEPT/PLANNING
Human 90% | AI 10%
[==================..]
AI: Claude
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
RESEARCH/VERIFICATION
Human 25% | AI 75%
[=====...............]
AI: ChatGPT
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
WRITING
Human 95% | AI 5%
[===================.]
AI: ChatGPT
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
EDITING/REFINEMENT
Human 65% | AI 35%
[=============.......]
AI: Claude
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
AI Tools:
- ChatGPT, unspecified model (species identification and information; containment and release guidance; text-to-speech dictation)
- Claude Sonnet 4.6 (structural feedback, editing)