Of all the old tales and folklore alike vampires , werewolves and ghouls delight the one which I fear even to this day the witch of the north Windigo is it's name
The natives hold true the stories they tell of the forlorn ghoul floating through the trees howling out its warning to those who will heed to those who don't their flesh it will eat
This was the tale told to me by my good friend Yves tramping around the northern woods in the fall of'70 Yves was not a man to scare easily he laughed and scoffed at tales of thing he could not see
My blood it did freeze on that last October eve when the wind began to howl on all hallows eve the sound seemed to come alive whipping up the leaves the only one who showed no fear was my good friend Yves
We had come up north to survey the scene checking into stories of people missing the guides we brought we thought were stout turned out not to be all but one,cried aloud and ran into the trees
Young Gaston and Yves surveyed the scene howling wind and screaming then the wind died and silence took hold Oh how they talked so bold they cursed at the trees and taunted the leaves
Breaking the silence was a keening wail the fury of which I still can hardly tell the sound shook my bones clear to my knees it looked like it scared even Gaston and Yves
I thought I saw a fleeting mist flowing through the trees seeping, creeping with a growl and a yell the furies of hell were unleashed around me swirling about a vortex of pain I never seen Gaston and Yves again
I searched for a sign early next day for what had become of my friends you would say all that I found were bits of cloth and some teeth all that remained of Gaston and Yves
Try as I might the sight will not leave my hair is now white as you can plainly see if you go to the north woods you better beware of the dangers and creatures that do lurk there