The Legend:
It was said by the town folk that back in the days of settlers and pioneers, the gold rush and the general migration westward, that a small, close knit group of settlers built themselves a nice little village -- right here on this very land I was now working on. Why they picked this isolated spot in the forest was beyond me, but that's how the story goes. They did pretty well the first year, fishin' and huntin', I assume loggin' and farmin' a bit. Sounds like a pretty good life to me, simple an all. Spring turned to summer, summer to fall, fall to winter. And you know how bad things tend to happen in then winter. There's somethin' about longer nights and a chill in the bones that makes people nervous. Specially out here in this 'ol forest.
Round about the time of the New Year, the winter turned real harsh. Some folks say 30 feet of snow fell and temperatures were in the negatives for a month. I don't know how much of that is true an' all, these tales get worse and worse each they're told. But in any case, it'd be hard to keep from starvin' in conditions like that -- for anything, human or animal.
Spring finally rolled around, in her usual lazy way. No one heard from the settlers. A near-by town, where supposedly a few relatives lived, sent out a search party. What that search party found was the beginning of this here legend. The log cabins were wrecked -- doors ripped right off their hinges, windows lookin' like someone, or something, had tried to rip through the walls before smashin' right on through. Two of the cabins had holes right through the roof -- like sharp claws had ripped clean through the boards. Inside was worse. Furniture was smashed, blankets shredded. Long claw marks were everywhere, walls, ceilings, and floor -- claw marks of something big, something fierce. Something made of the stuff of legends.
The people were nowhere to be found. To the horror of the search party, all they could find of them were shredded, blood stained clothes and patches of dried blood on the floors and walls. The search party gathered together, real shaken and scared. As they prepared to leave and tell their sad story, two pairs of large, yellow, almond cat eyes were spotted, starring at them from under the thick forest brush. The party ran for their lives -- and no one returned to the site for 20 some years.
Legend has it that a young, rebellious man -- said he didn't believe in such tales, went walking towards the old settler's site on lazy afternoon. Wanted to explore a little. Find out for himself what happened. By that time all that was left of the cabins were the old rotting foundations. Curiously drawn onward, the man walked on into the silent wood.
Without warning, the man suddenly found himself slammed face down onto the forest floor. He tried to roll over but was struck sharply in the head. Sharp claws were in digging into his skin. His wrist was twisted around behind his back and the man stifled a scream when he felt the bones snap. The soft, four beat patter of a cat's walk reached his ears -- and then the two beat step of a human. The young man opened his eyes long enough to see a huge mountain lion, readying to pounce, and then, a human face close to his, peering into his eyes. But before he could say a word, the lion pounced and everything went black.
Dusk was falling when he finally awoke. Pain seared through his arms and back. But thankfully he could still walk. Stumbling along, he slowly made his way back out of the forest. No sound was heard except for his staggering steps. Yet, he still had the feeling that he was being watched. A stick cracked. His head snapped up. A girl stood not 15 feet in front of him. Probably 20, her fawny hair reached to her waist, looking like it had never been cut. Wide, almond shaped, yellow eyes starred at him, unblinking. But, before he could take another breath, she was vanished.
People say they've seen her since that day. Just when the legend is about to die away she seems to pop up again. You know people and their traditions. No one knows what happened to that boy once he got back home and told his story... But that was over 150 years ago, and I had too much work to do on this building site to let my mind get caught up in fairy tales. Still, occasionally the hair on the back of my neck would stand straight up and I would get the feeling of being watched. One time I could've sworn I saw a pair of yellow, almond eyes peering from under the brush and the shadow of a girl before me. But then again, that's what'll happen to the male mind when not occupied with much...
It was said by the town folk that back in the days of settlers and pioneers, the gold rush and the general migration westward, that a small, close knit group of settlers built themselves a nice little village -- right here on this very land I was now working on. Why they picked this isolated spot in the forest was beyond me, but that's how the story goes. They did pretty well the first year, fishin' and huntin', I assume loggin' and farmin' a bit. Sounds like a pretty good life to me, simple an all. Spring turned to summer, summer to fall, fall to winter. And you know how bad things tend to happen in then winter. There's somethin' about longer nights and a chill in the bones that makes people nervous. Specially out here in this 'ol forest.
Round about the time of the New Year, the winter turned real harsh. Some folks say 30 feet of snow fell and temperatures were in the negatives for a month. I don't know how much of that is true an' all, these tales get worse and worse each they're told. But in any case, it'd be hard to keep from starvin' in conditions like that -- for anything, human or animal.
Spring finally rolled around, in her usual lazy way. No one heard from the settlers. A near-by town, where supposedly a few relatives lived, sent out a search party. What that search party found was the beginning of this here legend. The log cabins were wrecked -- doors ripped right off their hinges, windows lookin' like someone, or something, had tried to rip through the walls before smashin' right on through. Two of the cabins had holes right through the roof -- like sharp claws had ripped clean through the boards. Inside was worse. Furniture was smashed, blankets shredded. Long claw marks were everywhere, walls, ceilings, and floor -- claw marks of something big, something fierce. Something made of the stuff of legends.
The people were nowhere to be found. To the horror of the search party, all they could find of them were shredded, blood stained clothes and patches of dried blood on the floors and walls. The search party gathered together, real shaken and scared. As they prepared to leave and tell their sad story, two pairs of large, yellow, almond cat eyes were spotted, starring at them from under the thick forest brush. The party ran for their lives -- and no one returned to the site for 20 some years.
Legend has it that a young, rebellious man -- said he didn't believe in such tales, went walking towards the old settler's site on lazy afternoon. Wanted to explore a little. Find out for himself what happened. By that time all that was left of the cabins were the old rotting foundations. Curiously drawn onward, the man walked on into the silent wood.
Without warning, the man suddenly found himself slammed face down onto the forest floor. He tried to roll over but was struck sharply in the head. Sharp claws were in digging into his skin. His wrist was twisted around behind his back and the man stifled a scream when he felt the bones snap. The soft, four beat patter of a cat's walk reached his ears -- and then the two beat step of a human. The young man opened his eyes long enough to see a huge mountain lion, readying to pounce, and then, a human face close to his, peering into his eyes. But before he could say a word, the lion pounced and everything went black.
Dusk was falling when he finally awoke. Pain seared through his arms and back. But thankfully he could still walk. Stumbling along, he slowly made his way back out of the forest. No sound was heard except for his staggering steps. Yet, he still had the feeling that he was being watched. A stick cracked. His head snapped up. A girl stood not 15 feet in front of him. Probably 20, her fawny hair reached to her waist, looking like it had never been cut. Wide, almond shaped, yellow eyes starred at him, unblinking. But, before he could take another breath, she was vanished.
People say they've seen her since that day. Just when the legend is about to die away she seems to pop up again. You know people and their traditions. No one knows what happened to that boy once he got back home and told his story... But that was over 150 years ago, and I had too much work to do on this building site to let my mind get caught up in fairy tales. Still, occasionally the hair on the back of my neck would stand straight up and I would get the feeling of being watched. One time I could've sworn I saw a pair of yellow, almond eyes peering from under the brush and the shadow of a girl before me. But then again, that's what'll happen to the male mind when not occupied with much...