A face looked at him through the leaves. It was hideous! He had heard a rustling in the bushes, as though some beast were brushing through them, and, looking up, he saw with horror that which he had feared the most from all the old tales told around village fires. It was an awful face glaring at him; something made of devil, man, and beast all embodied in one terrible, gruesome countenance. It was like a haggard old man, with wolfish eyes. The form moved forward and he could see its upper half. It was stark naked. Thin white hair, matted and filthy, covered its form. The skin on the shoulders and lips were gnawed away, as if mad with hunger it had eaten its own flesh. Dried and clotted blood formed an awful halo about its mouth. Yellow fangs sharp and gnashing chewed at the air in anticipation. A tangle of long hair hung down its head from its high forehead. A stench came from the creature of rotted flesh, decay and putrescence. He could not tell if it had once been human or if it had always been such a monstrosity. He couldn’t tell if the stench of rot was from the being or because it was in such an unclean state.
He backed away from the apparition slowly, stepping into the river behind him. Its eyes followed his motions, watching but it made no move. The untutored native’s superstitious dread paralyzed him with fright. He couldn’t move. The frigid water closed over his calves and then his thighs numbing them and a detached part of his mind wondered for a moment if he might drown in the rain swollen river. His heart beat fit to bursting strove for freedom in his chest. Then he realized drowning would be a kinder end than what he might find beneath the fangs of this horror. A stark realization of imminent death restored movement to his limbs. His foot slipped on a rock and he went down, catching himself with his right hand; the breath burst from him by the icy plunge. A sharp edge bit into his palm and he floundered, fully submerged. Another rock bit into his knee and the pain helped clear his mind. He wished he had told the white stranger yesterday what had haunted his village. Enough! He had to escape; perhaps riding the river beneath its waves if he could survive the chill.
A strong grip on his shoulder brought him out of the water. The creature was standing knee deep in the river and it had grabbed him and lifted him above the river’s embrace with its manic strength. There was a curious expression in its face and he wondered if this was really a benevolent being that sought to save him instead of the evil cannibal of the olden tales. It looked into his face as it lifted him higher. A brief thought of his wife and children flitted through his mind as he hoped to survive this encounter. Yet he longed to see them again. Then a long, rough tongue slipped out from between those terrible teeth and brushed at the blood on his knee. It made a noise almost like a child’s coo, yet both plaintive and ravenous as it tasted the blood. He knew his life was ended as the head shot to his neck and tore out his throat. Soon he would see his family.
Harlan tied his horse reins to the pole outside the trading post. The collar of his cloak was turned up against the harsh north wind and his hat was pulled low over his eyes to keep the driving sleet out. He could see the warm orange glow of the fire from beneath the door and he quickly pushed through to stand within the mercantile. Two others inhabited the expansive log structure and one, the proprietor motioned for Harlan to join them at the hearth.
“Come,” his voice boomed, “come and share our warmth.” A round face beamed a smile at him through bristling beard.
“You’re welcome, stranger,” the other added and moved on the bench to afford more room. Harlan strolled over and removed his hat. “Harlan!” the second speaker cried. “Why, I haven’t seen you for months! Please, sit. Brandy, Charlton, brandy and be quick about it. The man has a chill on.”
Harlan smiled and gestured. “Brandy’s not necessary, but t’would be nice. Well met, Bryce, well met Charlton,” he greeted the old acquaintances.
Charlton had moved across the great room and now returned with a jug and three mugs. “Sit, Harlan. Sit and tell, what brings you out on such a chilling eve.” He handed the mugs around and poured liberally the contents of the jug. They all sat about the roaring fire on trestle benches and after a long draught of his mug Harlan spoke.
“I’m actually only passing through this trip.”
“No secrecy to your goings this time around?” Bryce asked a mischievous twinkle in his eye. Well they knew of the tasks Harlan had undertaken for their burgeoning republic.
“Other than trying to stave off another war with the red coats I’m on my way west to the Porcupine Mountains to visit a friend. I haven’t had a missive from him in a while and figured since I’m in the area I may as well look in on him.”
A gust of wind rattled the door as silence settle in on the three. Each one sipped at his brandy and pondered their own thoughts. Another gust, another bout of rattling. The evening, the wind, the setting; all were ingredients for making an evening unbearable for superstitious men. The three in the trading post however were of sturdier stock. Well read and well traveled they were not often given to nervous fits. They accepted what they saw, questioned what they heard about, and doubted most of the inflammatory reports that made their way to their door.
Harlan looked at his friends and asked, “Have either of you heard of any strange goings on lately? I came across an Ojibwa a while back in my travels and he seemed scared to complete distraction by something that had wiped out his village. I tarried with him and shared a camp of an evening and we got to speaking. I was afraid he might’ve been afraid of British encroachment or something like that. He finally confided that he was afraid of something from the spirit world. Some evil thing was back in the woods near the Porcupine Mountains and he was leaving the area before it got him. He swore it got the rest of his family, stealing them from under his nose while he was helpless to do anything about it. Now he was fleeing before it got him.”
The couple sat huddled together, arms enfolding one another as they shivered in the night. They were wrapped in each other’s embrace more out of fear than the chill air. They were being hunted. Something prowled outside their cabin, something unconcerned by the frigid tempest, something wild and hungry and evil! Simple folk, they trembled with fear of the unknown. The memories of the witch trials and Cotton Mather’s tirades against dark forces, of the bleak era of magick and Satan’s manipulations of the innocent were still fresh and terror of the supernatural a very real threat against God fearing people.
The man, a thick and burly trapper had seen the beast first. It was at a distance devouring a carcass in one of his traps. He had fired at it thinking it was a bear making free with his catch and was sure he hit it but the creature finished its meal before stopping to stare menacingly at the man. It had taken several steps toward him before he realized he was dealing with something unknown. It then turned and melted into the
surrounding forest.
His wife had seen it also. She was as accustomed to hardships as was her spouse. She stood of an even height with him and weighed close to the same stone as her man. She was nothing to be trifled with. Yet when the beast looked to close with the house she retreated within and returned with her own weapon. She fired upon it from point blank range but appeared to not cause it any harm. It stopped its advance, stood upon its hind feet and towered into the air over her. Then in a vagary of mood, moved off, disappearing into the woods once again. She was shaken to her knees and her husband found her in a swoon of fright lying upon the ground.
During the summer they kept seeing the thing from a distance, appearing briefly before vanishing. It seemed to be watching them, studying them. During chores or walking a trap line they would catch sight of it, dark face almost indiscernible from the shadows of the woods but red eyes burning as it watched. Then when it moved they could see the white hairy form more clearly. Familiarity with the beast lessened their fright only slightly. Still the superstitious dread of the supernatural thrilled them with a terror and each night their prayers included pleas to keep them from Satan’s clutch and drive off this horror.
Now as the weather was turning colder it was growing bolder. Clicking and knocking would echo out from the woods. It sounded like antlers clicking together, or two dry tree limbs knocked together as one might do trying to drive an animal before it. First a silence, as everything in the woods grew still, then the pounding sound, following or moving about them. More than once it had stepped from the concealing verdure and advanced toward them as they never left each other alone anymore. A menacing growl or grunt more sigh than bark, would let them know it was nearby and they would grab their weapons until they found where it stood looking back at them. Making gestures in the air warding off the evil eye they would hastily retreat back to their house escaping the evil influence for a brief respite yet again.
Tonight as the storm brewed over Lake Superior the man and wife hurried back from checking his beaver traps on a stream up the beach. The waves crashed against the shore like wild surf. This inland sea was every bit as terrifying as the Old World oceans when a north wind screamed out of the dark November grey skies. In the autumn Lake Superior’s temper was as mercurial as it was deadly. The air howled as one alive as it drove chilling spray from the waters against the little community. People huddled within their homes, fires burning fiercely long into the night to combat the frigid gale that stalked without. As the two hurried to get out of the weather something made them pause in their race. Despite the howling wind there seemed to be a stillness, a hush over the area. Both looked about but could see nothing that threatened the beach or forest beyond. Then they heard a coughing grunt followed by rushing footsteps. It was the beast! It was charging! They sprinted back to their windowless home and bolted within. They barred the door and even went so far as to slide a heavy, large bench in front of it. The door crashed and rattled as something heavy pounded on it from without. Five times the thing beat against the door before it gave up and began to prowl the exterior of the house, testing it for weaknesses. They could hear it snuffling and snorting, now and then its familiar grunt barking out into the darkness. The couple dropped to their knees in supplication and prayed for salvation.
Anxious hours passed this way until both inside felt their muscles cramping from holding them tense for so long. Neither would find any rest this night as the creature prowled about. Both were afraid to even move lest they give the thing cause to tear at their walls. The stink of sweat and fear was heavy in their single room dwelling.
A horrendous crash above and the two knew the thing had leapt to the top of their roof. The planking on top of the house was not as sturdy as the logs that comprised the walls. The racket that assailed their ears was more than the man could take. The threat of physical harm spurred him beyond his superstitious terror. He grabbed his muzzle loading shotgun and moving aside bench and cross bar charged outside. He turned quickly and aimed at the roof. His wife was quickly beside him with his pistols. She threw her arms up to aim but there was nothing there. The roof was empty. They hurried around the house but nothing met their advance. No tracks were left behind and there was no way that the monster could have fled so quickly as to escape their notice. Yet the monster was gone. The damage it had done to the house showed that it had indeed sought to get in. Fresh scars in the logs and battered planks above showed where its claws had sought entrance, yet of the creature nothing remained. Its sudden disappearance was further evidence of its supernatural nature.
Bryce and Charlton had been pleasant company but they did not know of any marauders that might be terrorizing the neighboring areas. Their gathering of news was sporadic at best, dependent upon the vagaries of travelers and traders as they stopped in to do some business. The natives about these parts were friendly enough but when it came to matters of personal or tribal nature they usually kept a still tongue in their heads. Tribal law wasn’t a harsh master but the ties one had to family were enough to keep mum about things the whites had no business with. As such most incidents, superstitions, beliefs, legends, and myths were a well kept secret only those with the strictest confidences with the tribes were privy to. There was always the elders’ talk of evil monsters and cannibals however but they could be attributed to tribal customs.
Harlan had spent his hours with the two in pleasant company but when he left he was none the wiser about what had scared the traveler he had met. It would take some further investigating on his part to ferret out what might be causing this disturbance. He still suspected that the British were at work in the area. They were not pleased with having to relinquish their hold on the land and Harlan had come upon more than one plan that had been implemented trying to force out the settlers. More than a few he had upset in putting a stop to their machinations. This had the feel of more outsider involvement but a new and more creative tactic must have been employed to scare this native enough to leave the land where his family had fallen.
The sleet of the prior evening had turned to a thick, wet snow that blanketed the ground. The storm had not lasted the night so only two or three inches of the white stuff clung to the earth. Harlan’s horse moved through it with no difficulty. The day was still and seemed far warmer and he had to loosen his cloak to keep from becoming overheated. Snow dropped from the trees that lined the trail in large clumps, sounding loud in the relative stillness of the forest. The clomp, clomp of his horse’s hoofs seemed quiet in comparison. He slowed his mount to a calm walk as he contemplated which direction he should head.
He could head north of the Porcupine Mountains and skirt the inland sea that lay there or he could follow the southern edge of the mountains and avoid most of the weather that was probably brewing this time of year. Yet that route would add days if not weeks to his trek. He decided that the added time to his journey in taking the southern trek was more than he wanted to spend and he was confident in his survival skills so he took the northern trek.
The sky over the massive lake was slate gray and brooded as it ruminated in indecision on whether it should storm again. Only the slightest of breezes stirred the land and the waves that came to shore were small and timid. Grasses swished as his horse stepped through them and a peaceful mood came over him as they progressed. The odd rise occasionally stood before them through which passage was impossible and he had to dismount now and then and lead the steed on foot as he picked his way through bracken and tag alders which grew close together and refused entry. Deer and rabbit, grouse and goose watched his passage now and then and he was comforted by their presence. There were swampland and bogs but the damp ground did not allow the snow to blanket them. They were too damp to allow the snow be left unmolested and whenever he came upon bare ground he knew that the footing would probably prove to be too treacherous to try to go across. Here he had to circle the spots and this slowed his advance down considerably. He was unfamiliar with this leg of the trip. The last time he came through the Porcupine Mountains it was along the southern border and much time had passed since then.
It was approaching nightfall by the time he had reached the eastern foothills of the Porcupine Mountains and he knew he needed to find a shelter for the night. Survival skills notwithstanding being out in a November night was not something he wanted to face. Also he had seen evidence of wolf and mountain lion in the vicinity. Not many homes and huts had made it this far west yet except in Ontonagon and he knew that he would not reach that settlement before nightfall the next day. He had hoped a trapper had set up camp that he might ask for shelter for the evening but he did not come across any and knew he would have to construct his own cover against the elements.
The bluffs to his left were rising higher and higher as he progressed and he began to watch for any cave or rock slide that might afford a break from the winds and snows. Right now the weather was holding so there was no immediate threat of a dampening but he couldn’t be sure the night would prove to be accommodating.
The smell of wood smoke was a welcomed relief to Harlan’s deliberations over his night’s lodgings. He headed his horse down a game trail towards a row of dunes to the southwest. There was a break in the skyline that foretold of a river or creek bed and he knew where wood smoke and water way existed there was a better than even chance he’d find a habitation.
Over a grassy hill and then down a slight gully stood a log cabin. It was a rather small edifice but given the area Harlan was confident he’d find a welcomed greeting. He rode through the lawn cleared of stump and stone and tied his horse on the pole that stood next to the front door.
“Hello!” he called aloud as he knocked his gloved fist against the door. “Hello?” he repeated. There was no answer. He tried the door and it gave inward, swinging on leather hinges. The cabin was a single room home with hangings separating the different areas, sleeping alcove, bathing tub, dressing area. A roaring fire was on the hearth and the wood crackled and spit. Surely it had been fed but recently. The owner of the home should be within shouting distance. Harlan returned outside and called again. “Hello!”
“Hello, yourself, stranger!” a voice returned from behind him. He spun around. A diminutive man was rounding the corner of the house adjusting his breeches. He was festooned in furs and appeared the very image of the north woods trapper. “Can’t a man see to his toilet in peace?” There was only a slight hint of irritation to the man’s words and the grin on his face beamed a welcome. “Need a place to rest of the eve?” he asked. He strode up to Harlan holding out his hand in friendship. He barely came up to Harlan’s chest, he was so short. Harlan took the proffered hand and shook it. The man’s grip was spring steel!
“If it does not inconvenience you,” Harlan replied.
“Not at all! Barlow Van Deutch,” the man introduced himself.
“Waters, Harlan Waters,” he replied.
“You are Harlan Waters?” the man returned surprised. “I would have expected someone taller,” he admitted. “Please, come in, come in.”
Harlan grabbed his saddlebag and followed his diminutive host. “You’ve heard of me?” he asked and the man nodded. “Forgive my impertinence but you sound rather well read.”
“For a trapper, you mean?” Barlow returned. “I wasn’t born to the career. I was a professor for a while at university but found out it isn’t the place for one of my size to expect to make it on his own merits.” He moved to the back of the cabin and held aside one of the hangings. Behind, lining the walls was shelf after shelf of books.
“Ahem,” came from behind Harlan. He turned to find he was in the way of a lady entering the door. She looked full blooded Ojibwa; a very slim and attractive female.
“Ah,” Barlow said and gestured at the lady, “Mireh let me introduce Harlan Waters. Harlan- my wife Mireh.”
“Welcome to our home,” she said, her voice lyrical. She smiled warmly and Harlan knew he had come upon good people. He quickly stepped aside so she could get in out of the weather. It had started snowing again, heavy wet flakes that dropped with a near audible hiss. A wind was picking up also. Mireh crossed the room to drop the bundle of fire wood then returned to the door and secured it against the coming night.
“Master Waters,” she asked looking askance at her husband, “have you supped?”
“Please, call me Harlan. I had some jerky on my ride but a warm meal would be pleasant. I have stores in my saddle bags if you’d like.”
“Well, Harlan, you are in for a treat! My Mireh prepares a wonderful board!” Barlow beamed. “Please, come by the fire and warm. I’ll stable your steed.”
Harlan looked first at one then the other. “Can I help at all?” he asked. Mireh shook her head slowly.
Barlow added, “Kicks me out of the kitchen too. That’s her battle field and she’s proud of her skill.” Then he left the house to see to Harlan’s horse.
Harlan crossed over to sit on the bench next to the fire. Its dry heat felt warm and comforting. He arched his back, stretching out the kinks and slid his legs out so the knots would release. Barlow retuned and stomped the snow from his boots before crossing over to join Harlan at the hearth.
“If it isn’t too much an imposition, may I know what brings Harlan Waters out our way in weather like this?” Barlow asked as he sat next to him on the bench. He proffered a clay pipe to his visitor and once the two had a red glow on their tobacco Harlan related the story the native had told him. He went on to say how he thought someone might have been praying on native superstitions for financial ends. He added how his friends at the trading post had not been able to shed any light on the mystery. They thought it might be tribal lore or something else less esoteric.
“Keweenaw,” Mireh said from the kitchen area.
“Say, that’s right. Harlan, there have been sketchy reports of game abandoning the Keweenaw Peninsula area. Something has been chasing the wildlife away. We’ve seen more deer, bear, beaver, wolf and mountain lions down here of late.”
“Bone Man,” Mireh added.
“Ah, the Bone Man!” Barlow exclaimed. He grew quiet as he pondered over things he knew and had heard. Harlan waited mute for the man to order his thoughts. Van Deutch grew silent as he started into the fire and even his pipe went ignored. Finally he puffed at it only to find the tobacco had become extinguished. He looked at Harlan as if seeing him for the first time.
“Oh, sorry, my friend!” he apologized. “I got lost in my own musings.”
“No apology necessary. I believe you might have answered my mystery for me?” Harlan asked.
“I may very well have done so, my friend. I may have done just that.” He reached out and lit a punk off the blaze and held it to his pipe until it glowed once again. He shifted on his bench so he could address Harlan better. “I should say Mireh has probably solved it. We had a shaman pass through here a while back, a medicine man said he was from out east. He wanted to know who was chief up in the Keweenaw. We allowed that we didn’t know. Didn’t like the look of the man. He was arrogant and expected exaltation unwarranted. He stayed with us one night and was gone before Mireh or I were up the next day. We both know that Singlecreek Beaver is tribal leader up there. Didn’t see how he needed to know that.
“He was an odd one. A wasted little man with not much more than sinew to him. Old he was and dark. His skin was almost burnt black from years under the sun. His eyes were so dark I couldn’t tell what tribe he might be from. Black pits that held little warmth, they were.
“He spooked us, me and the missus, so we followed his trail to make sure he wasn’t up to mischief. He headed north just as he said. His trail definitely headed toward the Keweenaw Peninsula. We followed it all morning, then it just disappeared. It was six moons later we heard about the game leaving the area. Didn’t think much about it. Mireh here pondered over the man now and then. Came to calling him the Bone Man.”
Harlan was quiet as he digested this information. Barlow grew silent again. The only sounds in the cabin was Mireh preparing supper and the crackling of the fire. She set the table with staples of frontier life, meat, potatoes, biscuits, a fruit and berry pudding. They sat at the table and after Barlow gave a solemn grace they tucked in. Bowls and platters were passed back and forth and the couple did not spare the larder in their generosity. Harlan could not recall when he had been welcomed to such a savory and filling meal as this and told his two hosts such.
“So when do we start out, Harlan?” Mireh asked after they had settled back on the bench to allow their breeches room to stretch while she cleared the table.
“We?” he replied surprised.
“Of course,” Barlow interjected. “We aren’t going to let you go off alone. We plan on going along. If this Bone Man is in back of all of this we have an interest in rooting out this evil.”
Harlan chuckled and shook his head. “I guess tomorrow would be soon enough. Can you be ready to travel by then?”
Barlow and Mireh both chuckled and nodded their assent.
They set out on foot the next morning. Snowshoes had to be strapped to their feet as the snow that fell during the night was thick and wet. Harlan’s horse stayed stabled in the large lean-to behind Barlow’s home. But the sun shown down bright and there was melting in most places. Before long they would be able to take the snow shoes off and proceed unimpeded. Barlow proved a talkative guide while Mireh followed behind silently. Now and then she would mention a direction to correct her husband’s lead. Harlan smiled inwardly to himself. This was a very efficient team, this man and wife. They knew most trails in the vicinity around their home and this helped them pass by most of the deep snows. By midday they had removed the contraptions from their feet and had them strapped to their backs. The snows diminished enough for them to forge ahead well enough. But the sun had raced to hide behind a new bank of clouds that were tall and dark and gray and threatened more snowfall.
This leg of the trip skirted the shore of Lake Superior and Van Deutch knew of a couple that lived nearby. He hoped to reach their home before the storm broke in its fury. They came upon the lake near a river that was deep and swollen. They followed its course until it emptied into the expansive body of water. Here the torrent was wider and not quite so strong and they would be able to cross its width in relative safety.
“There’s a couple live in these parts. We’ve traded with them a time or two. I’m hoping they can put us up if the storm breaks.” Barlow explained to Harlan.
“Terhune Pertwie,” Mireh added cryptically.
Harlan glanced at Mireh and then at Van Deutch.
“Terhune Pertwie is the settler. He and his wife Sinclair are trappers out here,” the diminutive man explained. “They’re rather quiet and keep to themselves but they’re good folk. If this storm hits they’ll take us in.”
There was thunder in the clouds and flashes of brilliance but no lightning touched down near them. A chill wind picked up and the three exchanged concerned glances.
“How far does Pertwie live from here?” Harlan asked.
“His home is still half a day’s walk.” Mireh replied, “Maybe less if we make good time. Not so hard to walk on the beach. Not much snow there.”
Indeed, the wind off of the lake had driven most of the snow away and left the hard frozen sand almost bare. They made good time. Driftwood and fallen branches had been swept clean by the last high water and the beach was hard beneath their boots. The wind picked up and was biting on the face so Barlow pulled fur scarves from his pack and they wrapped their heads to keep out the chill. The dark fur also helped to reduce the glare off the clouds where white showed through.
The wind picked up and tore at their garments by the time Pertwie and his wife met them at the edge of their property. Harlan was impressed at how similar the two appeared. They looked like they could easily withstand anything the weather might throw at them. Terhune had been on the roof repairing the damage done by their mysterious visitor and had seen their approach. He called to his wife and they both set out to meet their guests.
“Barlow! Mireh! Welcome, welcome!” the man called as they neared. “And your friend, welcome!”
“Terhune,” Barlow called, “This is Harlan Waters.”
“Harlan!” Terhune exclaimed as they met up and shook hands. “I met you once only we weren’t introduced. I was apprenticing at the trading post in Sault Ste Marie. I didn’t have the beard then.”
“I recall that. Thought you looked familiar. Well met, Master Pertwie.” Harlan shook the hand warmly.
“This is my Missus; Sinclair.” Harlan bowed slightly and tipped his hat. “I am please to meet you both.”
“Come! Let us in out of this chill!” Terhune invited. “I was repairing my roof when the weather picked up. I was about to call it quits when I sees you coming down the trail.”
“Weather damage?” Barlow asked.
“Well, to that…” Pertwie dissembled. He glanced about nervously and finished his thought. “I’ll tell you once were inside, safe and secure.”
The door was barred once all were inside and the gale was allowed to bluster without. The door sported two sets of bars, one obviously newer. Harlan took this in with a nonchalant glance. The walls were rough hewn timbers chinked with mud and covered here and there with furs. It was a comfy home, humble and simple but it was a welcomed reprieve from the storm outside.
“What brings you to these parts?” Terhune asked his guests once they were settled about the table.
“Harlan here is seeking to find what is terrorizing the natives here abouts,” Barlow told their host. “We’re heading up for an audience with Singlecreek Beaver to see if he knows anything.”
“I know what it is,” Terhune stunned everyone to silence. “It is enormous and hairy and walks on two legs. It has the stink of the wild about it and its eyes glow a feral read. It has attacked us here in this house. It seems to come out only when the weather is bad. It is the Wendigo; the wind walker. It has charged both me and the Missus on more than one occasion and during the last storm it even attacked the house”
“Well, truth to tell, Terhune” Sinclair countered, “it has never really attacked us but it has charged us. And when we ran outside to confront the beast it disappeared.”
With that there was a tremendous crash against the north side of the house that rattled the rafters.
“It’s back!” Terhune whispered in the following silence.
