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The Wendigo

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‘We were done making our rounds and heading home, walking, we’d cut through the woods. Then there was an opening and we come on it.’

‘Blood, everywhere. Splattered on the trees, the grass, the creek, everywhere. At first, we figured it was a pack of wolves. We’d seen it sometimes, they can’t scavenge and start hunting deer. The worst was when they breed with feral dogs. But this wasn’t like that.’

‘Something had run up on a den of deer. Wolves won’t attack a den, Coyotes neither, because they’d get too much of a fight. There were three, I think, three bodies. Just torn apart. You’d see a head here, a leg here, and a torso there. Predators don’t do that. They don’t leave behind scraps. What had done this hadn’t done it for food. It had done it for fun.’

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Rainy Windows

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Mike watched the rain droplets roll down the driver’s side window. The small drops beginning at the top slowly joined more droplets, eventually creating one single raindrop to travel down the window. A smile stretched across his face as he remembered the days of riding in the back seat of his parents’ car, choosing raindrops to win in races down the window.

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Morvah

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Morvah was falling behind her lover – she was heavy with child. They had been walking for hours through the dense forest looking for a suitable site to start their new life. Morvah was very young; she wore her long brown hair in plaits. She was dressed in a gown that dragged through the mud and constantly caught under her feet. The thick mud sucked at her feet and covered her sandals, making it hard to walk without slipping. She had a cloak wrapped round her shoulders; this did not shield her from the elements and her body was hunched over trying to keep herself warm from the heavy rain and constant wind. Her face was pale and raw from the rain and wind; her eyes almost shut.

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Golden Oldies

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Jimmy Chief walked into the living room while balancing a bowl of cereal in one hand and a cup in the other hand.  He said, “Figure out any thing more about the black box filled with those old gold coins in it, Dad?”

The twelve inch square black box sat on the coffee table in front room of the log cabin at Chrissie’s Resort on Squaw Lake.  The Northern Wisconsin resort was one of the favorite R and R haunts for the two six foot tall Native American detectives.  They had known Chrissie and her curmudgeon mother for years.

However, their vacation had been interrupted.  Their friend, Ron Soaring Eagle, left the black box with the Chiefs along with the story behind it.

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Disquiet Teen

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Thomas was a sluggish, hulking twenty-eight year old man with slightly hunched shoulders and a slow air about him. He had always housed a disquiet teen within.  The teen was pernicious.  And though Tom should have known better, the young teen's compulsive ideas and acerbic sense of humor put him in crap situations repeatedly.

It was the teen's fault that Tom lost his girlfriend in a dart game.  Patsy had sat at the bar, drank her beer, and pulled at the long strands of her brown hair that she wore swept back from her face.  Her red nose should have let Thomas know she was cold, but he kept playing darts.  Perhaps he didn’t even notice her nose; he was encapsulated by her heavy handed application of ocean blue eye shadow and bubblegum pink lip gloss.

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Sweet Dreams

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Adrian was running again. From both sides of the path he could feel the heat of burning rock, and with each step he could see that he was just out of reach of the hands that tried to grab at his feet. If he slowed down or lost his footing then they would have him. Fear gripped his heart with every footfall as he dared not to look behind him in order to see what was coming. And then it happened. Adrian tripped and fell. He screamed as unseen hands clamped around his legs and began to pull him down, and as he looked up through blurred vision caused by heat and sweat he could just make out someone walking towards him, and with one final scream, Adrian woke up.

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The Haunting at Midnight

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The old man walked gingerly down the dim lighted back alley official known as Keegan Street.  Once a bustling commercial area of Porterville, the old street was now in a state of decay and long forgotten by most people living in the area.  He walked silently, head down, much like any other man in his late 80’s.  But Argus McKane was not like other men.  That’s for sure.

McKane stopped at an old grey door with peeling paint and fumbled for his keys.  Argus had lived at 105 Keegan Street for longer than he could remember and could walk the area almost blindfolded.  Which was good given his failing eye sight and feeble condition.

The old man opened the door and went inside. 

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The Monster of Jenkins County

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“Come on Tommy.  You’re such a slowpoke.”

11 year old Jerry McCutchen grabbed the arm of his friend Tommy O’Brien and pulled him toward the woods.  The two boys were standing in the backyard of the O’Brien house on a Saturday morning in mid-July.  The backyard was long, almost 60 yards in length, and ended at a small hill that dropped off into the Jenkins County woods in southern Louisiana.  The boys had explored the woods in the past and had enjoyed a number of youthful adventures while growing up in this rural community.  But for some reason, Tommy O’Brien seemed hesitant to go on another exploration of the woods.

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Bank Robbers

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The flashing red lights of the cruiser flickered with stifled intensity. They were mitigated by the earliest morning light twenty-nine year old Alan Oakley (aka “Oak”) had the great misfortune of experiencing in his entire life. He was typically a late riser, but today was very special. Sunshine, cop cars, and a wickedly fine woman driving that two-toned black and white police cruiser had him irrepressibly excited about his wonderful plan. Oak had a gun in the back, but he couldn’t exactly put a bullet in this girl here, not the one tapping almost erotically on his driver-side window. Not her . . . it was love at first sight, man.

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The Revivar's Last Moment Awake

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The planet was dead, and Dionysus must revive it.

Black clouds had suffocated the sky. As the wind howled, the sand swept across the dry, barren earth. It was a dead land, nothing but sand and rocks, stretching all the way to the now blurred horizon. Smog. The air is so polluted. Dionysus knew. He’d been travelling across the planet for days. Or was it weeks? He was so old he’d lost the sense of time. Indeed, under his green cloak was the soft, pale skin of a boy. Even deeper inside, it was an ancient soul that’d existed for billions of year. One which has spent most of these billions of years asleep. He mused bitterly.

Dionysus stood here, every fiber of him filled with foreboding. He raised his hands, both of them. “Grow!” he commanded. Then a green light exploded around him. The grasses were the first to erupt from the dry sand. Right after them, seedlings sprouted from beneath the soil as the grass spawned across the earth around Dionysus. The seedlings twitched first, and then grew taller, taller until they were at his waist. The wind was bleak. But amidst its growls, he could hear whispers:

“What’s going on?” one of the seedlings asked, directing her question at the cloaked boy now surrounded by grass and young trees.

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