1636 Pokemon: Fire Red Squirrels

By Professor Thaddeus O. Birchwood, Department of Cryptozoological Glitch Studies, Viridian City University (Unpublished Memoir, 2004)

Why does it matter? Because every time you play FireRed and walk through the tall grass of Route 1, the game’s RNG cycles through 1,500 possible encounter slots. Slot 1636 is empty. But for a single frame, the game almost looks there. If you press A at the exact moment the frame hits, the screen will flash orange for a millisecond. That is the FireRed Squirrel. It is not a Pokémon. It is a memory of a memory—a burnt acorn stored in a tree hollow that no longer exists, in a forest that burned down three hundred and seventy years before the first Pokémon game was ever conceived. 1636 pokemon fire red squirrels

Let me rewind to the historical parallel. The year is 1636 CE in the human calendar. In our world, that year marks the height of the Little Ice Age, the founding of Harvard College, and the beginning of the Pequot War in New England. But in the lore of Pokémon FireRed , 1636 is the year a cartographer named Ezekiel “Red” Maple, an ancestor of Professor Oak, sailed from the port of Vermilion City to explore the uncharted “Sinnoh Tangle.” His ship, The S.S. Anne , was lost at sea for six weeks. When he returned, he was clutching a small, burnt diary. The diary contained a single sketch: a rodent with a curled, fiery tail, storing nuts in a tree hollow. Below the sketch, written in faded ink, was the word “Risukooru” — an archaic transliteration of “squirrel.” By Professor Thaddeus O

It began not with a bang, but with a rustle. In the autumn of 2004, while datamining the newly released Pokémon FireRed Version , I stumbled upon a hexadecimal sequence that should not have existed. The address was 0x1636. Within the game’s code, nestled between the cry data for Rattata and the sprite pointers for Spearow, lay a set of 12 unused bytes. When forced to compile, they generated a creature the fandom would later call the “FireRed Squirrel.” Slot 1636 is empty

So the next time you hear a rustle in the bushes outside, or see a squirrel bury a nut with frantic, purposeful energy, consider this: it might be hiding an Ember. It might be waiting for the right player to press A at frame 1636. And if you ever manage to catch it? Do not save. Do not trade it. Let it run back into the time-between-frames, where the autumn of 1636 never ends, and the forests of Kanto are still full of fire-colored squirrels.

End of log.