On Mount Leblanc, the Indian lit his smoke
and flames painted the flat planes of his cheeks
as red as blood. I'd camped with him for weeks
and found him silent. Now at last he spoke:
"Beware the night the wind howls like a beast,
but no leaf stirs nor maple bends its branch!
The Wendigo roars like an avalanche,
and calls your name! For once the storm has ceased,
you'll feel the blood a-boiling in your feet--
O fiery feet! O burning feet of fire!--
and run through snow and over frozen stream,
leaping and bounding, faster, ever higher,
till both your legs are ashes, and the heat
transforms your watery soul to clouds of steam."
2 comments:
Adapted from the legend of the Wendigo as told in Alvin Schwartz's Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark, derived in turn from the story by Algernon Blackwood.
I'm really glad I read this one at 10:30 in the morning.
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