These wretched hills, this unrelenting blizzard, that damned beast!
The devil stalks me so, taunting me, its deranged roars echoing over the hills and through the blustering snow, huddled within this shanty cabin I can do nothing but wait for the inevitable…
The impenetrable snow bears down with an unrivalled fever, even without the malformed creature that stalks me, one would succumb to the elements over the dozen miles of veritable tundra between here and Hudson’s Hope.
But the beast would catch me first, or so I thought. I may likely not make it back, a reality of which I struggle to accept, but if this letter should find you before I, just know my last thoughts are of you.
The unforgiving wilds of British Columbia are but a prelude of the trials that await the union, those poor idiots…
Even when the North West folk paved the way through the region, a phantom lay in the wilds, the massacre of ’23 should have been the sign, even old Charlie a few years back… But those Hudson goons care not for folktales, they abstained for a time under what I now suspect to be false pretenses, but nothing could keep them from turning a profit.
Those damnable cretin!… They were the ones that sent me to my doom, to Butler ridge… these accursed hills, a land not for us to tread.
For weeks I hunted the northern banks of the river Unchaga, an abundance of life graced it’s frozen shores amongst the snowy firs. The haul that lay packed and buried in the snow behind the cabin would have been enough to last till summer, but the pelts of elk and caribou that lay at my feet are a small fortune, even from those duplicitous traders at the fort.
But I now fear my bounty has drawn the devil to my door, but just what it wants, I still can’t be sure.
I should never have listened to them, I shouldn’t have strayed from my regular grounds, the river has supported us in years passed, but the call of the hills and my overconfidence became my downfall.
I ventured far, above the highest spruce surmounting the ridge, but no life strode it’s slopes, a ghostly wind whistled around the peak as the first blusters began to bare down, my visibility cut to mere feet as I sought shelter.
When I began to question whether I should risk returning, a small overhang leading to a small cave became my saving grace.
It was bizarre, from the moment I crossed the threshold through the opening, I felt an air… a presence weighing on my shoulders, despite the tranquil calm within, a storm still raged.
Beyond the obscure unease, I felt a warm wind, tracing it to a small crevice at the rear of the small divot. However repelled by the implacable unease, the inviting warmth proved too much as I shimmied through, finding myself in a wide room cast in darkness, the little moonlight shining through the veil allowed the barest of perception.
A light trickling of water echoed off the walls as I followed it to a small stream, disappearing through a crack in the far wall but what caught my attention was the source, bubbling up into a small pool from within the heart of the mount, I couldn’t resist as I drank my fill, quenching my ravenous thirst.
Leaning upon the shore, I felt a grit beneath my hands, looking down the surface seemed layer in a thin blanked of the odd soot, I reasoned the result of fires from seasons passed.
My brief reprieve was cut short as my blood ran cold, a low snarl gradually filling the air around me. I searched for its source in a panic; a small archway delving deep into the earth to my rear. I remained frozen for a moment, peering into the endless abyss as a stone slipped from beneath my feet, tumbling down into the impossible delve.
A moment later, a roar that made my knees go weak assaulted my every sense, but my will to survive overcame all else as I burst out into the blustering snow, making with everything I had in a state of bewildered terror.
I flew down the mount, not daring glance back for a moment, for that would be to acknowledge what my mind refused to accept.
That was not a cry of gods design.
I fled with little concern for the wind and snow whipping passed, blades slicing across every exposed inch of skin as I ploughed through the deepening snow, leaving a trail of ash through the soft in my wake.
Yet try as I might, one cannot outrun the devil.
I heard the unnatural roar billowing overhead a moment before it crashed through the trees behind, shards of wood and bark exploding outwards, knocking me off my feet as I collapsed to the ground in a heap. I turned to come face to face with a thing of unadulterated horror.
The very essence of nightmares.
The Athabaskan speak of the Wechuge, the vessels of great animal spirits born of taboo and anointed in blood, a power never meant for mere mortals, a corruption of the old gods.
But alas, the horrors I’ve bore witness are beyond even the most dreadful tales of the Dane-zaa.
A curse most deviant, an aberration of nature without any semblance of a soul, despite it’s eyes of cold nostalgia…
It loomed over me through the blustering gale, it stood hunched, comparable to the soaring spruce surrounding. An amalgamation of beasts most foul; twisted bone protruded through the frozen, rotting flesh; gnarled patches of fur interspersed an abhorrent corruption, a tar-like substance that pulsated, emanated the same grotesque aura as I’d felt in the cave, the substance remained in a partially frozen state up the creatures limbs to its extremities.
The elongated hind legs bent with hideously turned-back knees, leading to a set of wide, powerful claws like the most vicious of butchers knives, digging into the frost as it leant down onto all fours. It’s arms twisted and crook, covered in long quills, piercing the skin and rising back around itself. Leaning in close, it huffed thick plumes of fog into the air as its nostrils flared, examining my petrified form.
The face of the beast was most terrifying of all, with razer sharp teeth and a long muzzle, it’s skin taught and torn against the deformed skull leading back to an array of twisted antlers, snaking and weaving their way high above its monstrous form.
It roared again as its enormous maw came within inches of my face, the countless, lacerating fangs filling my vision before suddenly pulling back as I fell within its gaze.
Something about it took me back.
It’s mighty form seemed composed of all manner of wild beast, yet despite its abominable corruption, its bloodshot eyes portrayed a shockingly human soul, at least a glint of such behind the unadulterated rage that consumed it.
My old friend… it couldn’t be…
With one last huff, the beast turned to go, leaping with shocking force and disappearing into the blizzard.
I tore myself from my awe and hurriedly trudged back, collapsing as I stumbled into the cabin. Worn beyond belief and bleeding from the wooden shrapnel, I gasped for breath, my head spinning in violent vortex, overcome by a bizarre sickness.
All strength that remained in my weary being sapped from my body, the darkness taking me.
A world of pure desolation filled the void, visions of a bleak plane of smoldering ashes and burning skies, with darkness that roamed unabated across the bleak landscape.
Its must have been several hours since then, the sickness having subsided since I awoke, my injuries like they’d never been, a blackened crust sealing the seams of every gash. I feel no pain, merely a warm numbness cast from within.
The incessant, otherworldly roars fill the unwavering snowstorm as I huddle here alone, but I still ponder why, having been at its mercy it chose to spare me, could it really have been Charlie? Did he recognise me?
Or was it something else?
Regardless, I’ve been granted a second lease, a slither of hope through this hellish snowscape.
An energy fills me like none I’ve felt before, a drive I can’t explain. I need to see you again, my love, I would give anything.
To make the journey will be a task most monumental, but I will let nothing stop me, not the beast nor the snow, nor the sickness that plagued me…
I’m starting to feel much better…
^(<Excerpt from a diary found amongst the effects of one, William Saunders (1851 - 1882, uncovered from storage in Hudson’s hope, Canada circa 1965 and retained by bureau. Historical records show witness was declared missing in the spring of 1883 and presumed deceased the following year by local authorities. Northern Rockies well identified and secured.>)
| **[DESIGNATION: Class C (B) | WITNESS: INCONCLUSIVE | STATUS: CLOSED]** |
Case compiled & archived by [REDACTED], Sr/ C.O. - B.A.O