Thursday, November 12, 2009

The Legend of Weresquatch

It's an old word among my peoples. I sat at my grandfather's knee and heard tales of the fearsome weresquatch. How it would come in the dark, when the moon was full. It would find the huts of the women ripe for child and carry them away into the night. They would return days later, reeking of its musk. Soon they would grow heavy with child. A monster child. It would claw its way from their stomachs, making a noise like glass shattering on slate. The mothers never survived. And the child always was gone whenever someone gathered the courage to go and look for it. A blood trail was all that was left, disappearing into the darkest part of the forest. A son that finds its own father by some bestial instinct. Grandfather said that they had not come in many years, but he still bars the shutters on the full moon. And waits.

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