A Campfire Story.

A long time ago, there was a little coastal village surrounded by mountains and mist. The people who lived there were peaceful, and went about their days gathering berries and catching fish. They lived in harmony with nature, and were a generally carefree people, until one morning when one of the villagers was found dead.

The people of the village had died before, for they were not immortal. However, this poor soul was not a regular type of dead. The body was all dried up, like fish that had been set out on racks to dry in the sun. It was pale and bloodless, and the villagers were worried and mystified about what could have caused such a thing, for none of them had seen anything like it before. The village guardians gathered, scratched their heads, and examined the body. They discovered strange wounds upon it which they could not explain, but which were surely linked to the death. Some thought that perhaps a great fish had bitten the poor victim and then spit them on to land, while others were sure that a strange bird of the night had come to punish the village for some unknown crime. The wild-man-of-the-woods was mentioned, Pookmis, who would steal children who misbehaved, but no one could say for sure what had happened, or what to do about it.

At the end of that first dreadful day, the sun set and the villagers went into their great house and went to sleep, and in the morning another person was dead. Dead, in the same way, all dried up and pale, like a berry with no juice. The dead man had gone out in the night to pass water, and had never come back. His body had the same strange wounds as the other. Two red marks, swollen and sore looking, like the bite of a giant snake.

“Enough is enough!” the people shouted, afraid. “We must do something!”
So again the guardians of the village got together and made a rule.
“Forthwith, no one is to go out of the great house during the night!”

The villagers were confident that would solve the problem. If no one went outside, whatever the thing was would surely go hungry and go away to hunt somewhere else. That night, when they returned to the great house to go to sleep, they set one of their strongest and bravest men to stand watch by the door, for there was only one way in and out. The guard would yell if anything came through the door, and everyone would wake. The villagers went to sleep, and the man stood watch.

Late in the night, when everyone was asleep and the night was cool, the man heard a faint noise coming from outside. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeee. He became more alert, and listened. He heard the noise again. Eeeeeeeeeeeeee. It wasn’t the sound of any scary monster or wild beast, but a tiny sound, so the man pulled aside the mat that covered the door and looked outside. The moon was dark that night, covered by thick grey clouds, and the air was fresh. He took a few steps out into the night, being as silent and ready as a hunter could be, and he watched and listened. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeee! It was very close this time, but he could not see.

In the morning, the villagers awoke to find the man dead, right outside the great house, drained of blood and life. What had happened, that even one of their bravest and strongest could be killed in such a way?

That day, the villagers came up with a new plan. That night, when they retired to the great house, they would not sleep, but only pretend to do so. All of the men drank a tea to keep them awake and alert throughout the night. They lay nearest the door, facing it, and they lay down their heads and pretended to sleep. Some made snoring noises, some were quiet, but all of them waited.

In the dead of night, when again the air was cool and dark, the men heard the sound. The creature was hungry, and could wait no longer. The embers of the fire glowed only faintly, and through the dim light the men saw a figure push aside the mat of the door. It looked like a man, but it was hunched and thin, yet it moved with quiet agility, like it could see in the darkness. The men watched the foul creature, watched as it came nearest to one of the men. It opened its mouth, and they heard the sound again, Eeeeeeeeeee! Then, as one, all the men jumped up and surrounded the creature, seizing it with many hands. Another man threw oiled pine branches on the fire, and they flared to life, lighting the great house with a sudden blaze.
“We have it!” they shouted, as they held the man-thing against the ground and bound it with ropes. It had strange eyes and a long nose, and even though it was tied up, it was fierce and tried repeatedly to bite anyone who came too close.
“This is an unnatural being!” Shouted some.
“We must kill it!” shouted others.
As was the custom in the village, they bound the creature to a large post outside, buried in the earth, and piled sticks and firewood at its misshapen feet. All the while the evil creature spat and hissed and strained at its bonds. When the villagers were ready, the relatives of the murdered brought torches and set the pyre alight. The flames grew quickly, and the creature screamed in anger and agony. Soon the fire raged, and the creature burned, which was a terrible sight for all to see. To the shock of all, with its last breath it spoke in their language! It yelled out a curse.
“You have not seen the last of me!” it shrieked, burning. “I WILL SUCK YOUR BLOOD FOREVER!”
It was then that the evil thing died, and in a fiery explosion, thousands upon thousands of mosquitoes burst from the body of the thing and flew off into the night.

To this day, they come back to bite the villagers, often unseen, making the same faint sound.
Eeeeeeeeeeeeee!

A version of this story was told to me many times around campfires by Joe Martin of the Tla-o-qui-aht First Nation, in Tofino, British Columbia. Joe would tell it to tourists and friends, and I always loved the realization at the end. I have changed it from his telling in minor ways, but the essence is there. I’m sure Joe is still telling this story, and many others.