This was originally posted by an Anon describing his experiences with his grandfather in Yukon and Tomtenissar
Today I want to share a story with /b/ about my winter deep in the Yukon with my grandfather and the strange things that occurred during those dark, frozen months. Quick note, this story is a little long.
About three years ago, when I was at the spry age of 18, I had decided that I wanted to take a year off of school before going to university, do a bit of soul searching if you will. Well, as it happened my father decided that this would be a great opportunity. You see, my Grandfather Dana had been trying to get me to go out to his cottage for a few years now, to "Learn a little about yourself and your heritage".
Now, my grandfather is the toughest son of a bitch I have ever seen in my life; an example:
When I was 15 my family took me skiing in Jasper and my grandfather tagged along, during that trip Dana hit a fallen log that had been ever so lightly covered in snow and plowed straight into a spruce tree.
Tore his lip open down to the cheek. Once we caught up to him and started freaking out and talking of getting an ambulance he just calmly stood up, told us (while his lip was hanging open enough to see his teeth) that he would be fine and was going to go back to the lodge to "patch himself up".
As it turns out this involved him skiing all the way back, grabbing a sewing needle and some fishing line, and stitching his own face back together in the bathroom mirror. An hour later he was back out on the slopes as though nothing had happened. He still has a vicious scar too.
He is a born Swede, a massive guy, around 6'6 and pretty muscled despite being in his 60's. He's a pretty quiet guy and rather eccentric (he lives on his own in the middle of a frozen hellscape at a time in his life where most would be retired so go figure).
The main reason I hadn't gone with him sooner was because my mother was terrified of me going off to live with my "crazy relative" for any length of time, despite my father's assertion that I would be well taken care of and was old enough to fend for myself. This year was to be different though.
Through some herculean effort of coercion (likely involving the fact that I was moving out soon anyway) I was granted leave to go with him.
My family lives in Alberta and my grandfather off in the north western Yukon, past the Minto mine if anyone here knows the area. It was arranged for me to fly out and meet up with my grandfather who would then drive us out to his home.
After landing I was greeted with the amusing sight of my grandfather standing about a foot above the rest of the crowd, staring forward waiting for me. We had a quick greeting and before long had hopped in his truck and were making trail towards places where no roads go.
We drove for a few hours, not much said between us, though that was pretty standard for him, and finally arrived at what appeared to be little more than a snowy plot near the treeline and away from the road.
>So where exactly is your cabin? I didn't see it on the way over.
I asked him. He turned to me and smirked.
>About three days of hiking that way
He pointed into the trees.
And so began day 1 of my adventure, packs slung over my back and snow up to my calves we began to walk.
The first day went pretty normal, something that was not going to last let me tell you now. Along the way he would point out animal tracks and different plants, giving me the basic wilderness survival rundown. Now, I had been raised on a small acreage outside of the, also small, town of Athabasca so I was no stranger to the wilderness but even still my grandfather's knowledge of the wilds seemed near encyclopedic.
Anyway, the first day came to a close as the sun hung low in the sky and the snow glittered in the twilight, a beautiful vista if ever I had seen one. We found a small outcropping and built a fire, set a can of beans and some vegetable to cook and enjoyed the moment. I slept pretty soundly given the -20 ish weather.
On the eve of the second day I was shaken awake and told to start walking.
>We don't want to spend more nights out here than we have to, it's only going to get colder and these woods are dangerous
Gathering up what I had (little more than a sleeping bag, cloths, some provisions, and two knives) we set off again.
Now let me tell you, there is nothing more tiring than pushing through snow up to your crotch in the middle of the woods for hours and hours. I like to think I'm in ok shape but by the time we stopped for a break some 4 hours later I was about ready to die. My grandfather, of course, seemed unphased by it.
It was around this time that I started to take note of a few things. For anyone who has lived near or spent a lot of time in the woods, you know it's a pretty lively place. lots of noise and things moving around. Not here.
In the winter, everything is still and quiet, a strange feeling when you've heard all your life that if things go quiet in the forest, something bad is near. The uneasiness was offset somewhat by the fact I was still trying to see to it that my lungs were going to explode and my grandfather's calm, uncaring demeanor.
Soon enough we had set off again. A few more hours into walking I noticed an odd little cave down the hill we were on, the opening had huge icicles hanging down the front and a few bones could be seen scattered around the area. I turned to my grandfather and asked, pointing towards it
> Should we be worried about that?
At that he stopped and looked at it for a few moments before he just continued walking, saying nonchalantly
>No, long as we get a ways off before night it won't matter.
When we finally settled for the night, I was sure I would be out before I hit the ground but without so much as a glance I was told to wait, he was going to get firewood and start dinner. Sitting myself under a tree I watched as he walked off, leaving me alone in the dwindling light of day.
Sitting there, listening to the fading sound of my grandfather walking further and further away, I couldn't help but notice how strangely suffocating the woods were. Now I had spent days camping before, sometimes with friends and other times alone, but this seemed different. Maybe it was the quiet, where the simple act of turning your head to the side seemed to echo through the trees, maybe it was the way the evergreens, burdened with snow, seemed to blend into the growing gloom, forming strange and inky shapes in the dim light. Whatever it was I started to get nervous, that kind of unease that comes when you feel like you're being watched, even though you think you're alone.
Before my mind started to walk down those dark roads of thought, my grandfather came stomping back through the treeline, bundle of broken branches under his arm. He set about showing me how to start a fire without matches or a lighter (he's old-fashioned like that) and soon enough we had a nice little campfire going. It wasn't until the heat off the fire hit me that I noticed how damn cold it was, my hands stiff and slight shivers going over me.
>"We should reach the cabin by about this time tomorrow if we keep up this pace. Before we go any further though I want you to understand something; things are different out here and if I tell you to do something I expect you to listen, understood?"
I nodded and told him my dad had given me the run down before I left
>"Oh? How much did he tell you?"
>"Just to listen to whatever you said and to stay safe" I replied, unsure of where he was going with this
>Ah, alright then
He didn't say anything for the rest of the night and I was too tired to ask. Despite my exhaustion I found that I lied awake for quite a while, staring up at the sky and listening to the gentle crackling of the fire.
I don't really know why, I should have had no problem sleeping after the day of hiking, cold notwithstanding, but regardless I found myself quite unable to drift off even after the moon had risen and shone over the area. It was around then that I heard something in the forest, like a sort of whispering. At first I figured it was just the wind but looking at the treetops they weren't moving at all. I listened harder but couldn't make out what was being said, it was so faint.
I sat up and looked around to see if something was there or if maybe my grandfather had been mumbling in his sleep but when I tried to listen in again, it was silent. I figured it was just something on the breeze and lay back again, sleep came soon after.
I was once again woken by Dana as the sun had just begun its slow creep over the distant mountains.
As we were gathering up our equipment he asked me if I had slept well, I told him that the cold would take a little getting used to but otherwise it was fine. He just sort of looked at me for a moment before grunting and tying off his pack. Once more we set off, deeper into the wilderness.
The third day went without incident; it was only after yet more hours of tedious and exhausting trailblazing that we finally came into view of my grandfather's "home". Built right up against a cliff face, no windows adorned it, just massive logs the whole way around. A small chimney rose up from the roof, easy to spot given that the trees had been cleared in about a 20 meter radius around the cabin, replaced with numerous small wooden stakes set at varying intervals.
As we got closer I noticed that they were actually fence posts, barbed wire was strung between them and every so often there was a much taller post, set a ways back from the fence. In the dim light I couldn't really make much out about it, though I was curious why they were there. Whatever the reason, I was in no mood to play 20 questions, I just wanted to get inside and sleep in a warm place.
Before we could get in however, it seemed there were a few things to be done. My grandfather lifted one of the posts out of the ground allowing us to enter and told me to put it back and make sure it wasn't going to fall. He was going to go get the door open. It didn't take too long, the snow around the cabin was much less than the surrounding area making walking blessedly easier. After I finished I made my way around the side of the cabin and found my grandfather carefully taking down numerous little metallic things hung over the door, I could see them glinting in what little daylight was left but I couldn't make out what exactly they were supposed to be. Again, I was just too tired to really care and just wandered inside behind my grandfather as soon as he finished taking down the last one.
>"That bed over there'll be yours."
He said, pointing to a small cot in once corner of the room. Without much more though I ambled over and went to sleep. I really should have savored it more as this was the last good night's rest I was going to have for a while.
I woke up the next morning to a mostly dark room; a candle was set on the table in the middle of the cottage giving enough light for me to figure out where the door was. Opening it and stepping outside I was greeted to a bright, midday sun.
Down the yard a ways I saw Dana finish clearing the excess snow from the plot of land, it was low enough that I could actually see the ground and a few feet beyond the fence the snow rose like a small wall all around us. The light, as well as something in the vein of 14 hours of sleep, allowed me to really take stock of the area around me.
I could now see that the tall posts from the night before had been whittled down so that only pale heartwood remained, carved all over each of them were words, thousands of them all tightly packed and varying from neat to nigh indecipherable scratches.
Reading through it there really didn't seem to be a rhyme or reason to what was written down, mostly it was just random words, mostly in Swedish and a few in Norwegian (I'm not fluent but I've picked up a little over the years). I guess Dana had noticed me staring at it as he had begun walking over.
>"What are these supposed to be?"
I gestured to the other posts of a similar nature around the yard. They were part of an "ord Vägg" or "Word Wall".
>"It helps keep things calm at night, I wouldn't stare at them too long though, won't do your head much good."
In case it wasn't already somewhat apparent, my grandfather was an odd sort, he never liked staying in towns or normal houses and almost always carried these little runes and charms on strings, I always found it neat and when I was younger I would often ask what they meant and I'd listen to the stories for hours.
My mother always had a problem with him visiting; I'd overheard her talking to my dad about allowing Dana to fill my head with "crazy nonsense" on more than one occasion but he'd often shrug it off and say something along the lines of "It's good for him to learn a little about dad's culture".
The point is that it was only after I really started to get a look at the cabin and the Word Wall that these things started to sink in.
He was definitely a little odd at times, the first day we went out to chop a few trees down for firewood and he would very specifically point out which trees we were going to cut but only after pressing his ear to them and listening to see if it was "unmarked".
When I asked him what he meant by that he said that some trees were special to the forest and we shouldn't touch them, otherwise the tomtenissar would get angry and we really didn't want that.
For those who don't know, tomtenissar are part of Scandinavian folk lore, they basically look like garden gnomes and act sort of like santa clause, at least that's how they are portrayed now.
Growing up my grandfather would tell me about these little monsters, about how they would chew open peoples doors and windows in order crawl into houses at night and whisper things to the sleeping person, the people would sometimes go crazy, wandering out into the woods or ranting in incoherent babble, other times they would just be sort of... different. Either way they were freaky little bastards but I stopped believing the stories around the same time I figured santa was bunk.
Dana really isn't known for his sense of humor so hearing him say that was more than a little strange. I sort of awkwardly laughed at it and he looked at me and said
>"Think I'm joking? Keep that up and you won't be seeing the summer"
That shut me up pretty quick, I still didn't particularly buy the stories but I still made sure not to tap the trees that he said were "marked".
We finished loading up the sleds we had brought with us and at that point Dana said, >"Let's go this way; I want to show you something before we get back."
Following him, it seemed to me like we were making a wide arc instead of going straight back but I wasn't going to argue.
As we walked I noticed there were no animal tracks, as in absolutely none. Even on the way to the cabin I had at least picked up on a few prints from rabbits or moose and the like. When I asked why we hadn't come across any despite being so far in the woods I was told that
>"They don't like it here; know to stay a ways off"
"Why's that?" I asked back
>"These woods aren't safe for much of anyone after dark, least of all critters."
After walking a while longer we reached a high at the edge of the section of forest we were, Dana pointed out beyond the now sparse treeline, what lay past it was the vast snowy rises and falls of the untamed wild, honestly it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. There was an overturned tree and he motioned for me to sit on it.
For a little while we just sat there taking in the view until he sighed
>"Now I know you are going to be new to all this for a while but I think you ought to know, things are different out here, I need you to trust me when I tell you something or else it could get both of us killed, you understand?"
I said I did, I figured that he had taken my reaction to him talking about tomtenissar to heart. He may be strange but he means well so I figured I would humor him and make things easier for the both of us. That would prove to be a very bad idea.
Once we got back and finished stacking the firewood Dana broke out more of our dwindling provisions and as we were cooking he said that tomorrow we would need to go hunting, if we caught anything he would show me how to properly butcher and animal.
We ate and settled in for the night but as we were settling in he told me that if I ever got up in the night to use the outhouse to the side of the cabin that I should always bring a candle, no matter how bright the moon was and that if it goes out I should come back inside right away. With that he set a small dangling thing up on the door
>pic related
When I asked him about the thing on the door he told me it was there to confuse anything that was trying to get in. Later during that winter I found out it's supposed to be a rune for illusions or disguises, I guess the idea is that it would help make it harder to tell what was inside the cabin if something got inside the door.
The next few days we went out hunting, for the first while we didn't catch anything. It wasn't helped by how we needed to head a fair ways away from the cabin before we saw signs of animal life and Dana always insisted that we be back before night fell, on top of that he didn't bring a gun ever, just a bow and some arrows. I know bow hunting is a common enough practice but given that bears roamed these woods I figured that it would be nice to have something with a little more stopping power.
When I mentioned this to him he said that it would cause more trouble than it would prevent. Eventually we actually managed to find and snag a buck, it was a nice one too, enough meat that we would be alright for a while. We threw it on the sleigh and began dragging it back home.
Yet more hours ticked away before we got back to the cabin and something rather interesting was waiting there for us; ravens.
Normally this wouldn't seem so strange but when I hadn't seen signs of life save the trees in this area for almost a week, it seemed a little off. Dana stiffened up when he noticed it too. When I asked him about it he told me
>"Drop the sled and come with me, we're going to need to butcher this fast"
Not sure where this was going but remembering our conversation from earlier and figured that it would be best to just go with it.
We circled around the cabin, the ravens sitting on the roof watching us the whole way. Lying in a small snowdrift in front of the door was a rabbit's head, just the head, cleanly severed.
The snow was still a bright red so it had to have been pretty fresh. There was also a little indent through the snow leading up to it, made it look like it had been thrown over here.
that evening we butchered the deer and when we were done my grandfather took the head, antlers and all, and walked out into the woods a short ways before gently setting it down and coming back.
We brought the rest of the meat over to the cabin and Dana took the rabbits head off the table where I had placed it. That night we had rabbit stew and potatoes. When I asked about why we were going to just eat something we found sitting there he told me it would be rude to just throw it out and it wasn't wise to "insult the neighbors"
"There are other people out here? I thought you lived alone."
>"Alone? No, I just don't live by people."
"Who are your neighbors?"
>"I thought I already told you; the tomtenissar live here."
I didn't really have a good response to that.
The next morning when we went out to check the fence (as was becoming routine) I walked out to see the spot he put the head down. There was nothing there, not even a bit of blood.
The next few weeks went by in relative peace; we would collect firewood on every so often, we went ice fishing occasionally, and every morning we cleared snow away from the cabin.
The temperature continued to drop as the winter solstice drew near, the already short days becoming a scant few hours of near perpetual twilight. You'd think it would get old seeing the same setting sun throughout most of the day but you'd be wrong, it managed to be breathtaking each and every time, I probably would have stood there staring at it all day if I wasn't being ushered along by Dana. Things probably would have continued much the same way if I hadn't fucked up one night.
It was somewhere around mid-December (you start losing track of the days out there, especially when they are mostly night) and we were going ice fishing again.
We set out early, as the sun was just barely peaking over the distant mountain range, and hiked for about an hour until we reached a small frozen over lake. We set about like always, checking the ice's thickness and cutting a hold, etc. After only a few minutes into it we heard the snapping and cracking of branches behind us. We both stopped and stared for a few moments before my grandfather said it was fine though I could tell he was bothered, every so often he'd look back and scan around the trees.
We weren't having much luck with the fish and were about to call it in for the day when I got a tug on my line. I pulled up a big trout and thought that this was great, we hadn't had fish in a while. When I turned to see if my grandfather had noticed I saw him just sort of staring at it. A little confused I gave it another look over and saw that it had a few huge gashes taken out of it, little indented lines cutting through the grey scales.
>"Throw it back, this isn't ours to take."
"o-ok then."
I was a little nervous at this, although not too much had happened during my time here I had at least managed to pick up that when Dana got weird like this it was best to not argue. I threw the fish back into the pond and we started making tracks back to the cabin. Along the way I noticed that the trees near the lake, the ones we heard the noise coming from, had huge cuts taken out of them. Not like an axe or bear claws, more like numerous small chunks had been ripped out and thrown around. I asked what that was about and Dana just started walking faster and said we shouldn't come back here, it wouldn't be safe.
>"Well, it could be worse. We didn't really need the head anyway."
When I asked what he was talking about he told me
>"It's only right to return a gift with a gift, take that inside and meet me near the butcher shed." (a little ways off and past the "Wall" a couple feet off of the treeline)
One of my more frequent chores was to go out and make sure the Ord Vägg's posts were still secure in the ground, of the many things that my grandfather was methodical about keeping just right, the Word Wall came second only to our food stores. This mainly involved going out and giving them a solid shove, if there was any shift I needed to hammer them in and pack the snow tighter around the bottom until I could no longer get it to move.
Anyway, that night he insisted that we go over all of them again before going to sleep and so we went out after finishing our dinner (mostly deer, you'd be surprised how long a single deer can last). He took one end of the yard and I the other. It was getting blistering cold out, where any bare skin started to sting, a cloud cover had swept over the land, there were no stars and no moon tonight and the sun had dipped below the horizon leaving everything an inky black and grey. It was quiet again, like on our hike up here, where every little movement you made sounded like an earthquake.
A little ways off I could hear my grandfather working, the shifting of his coat and the snow being pressed underfoot. I was about three posts down when I found one that was a little loose, I straightened it out and picked up the sledge hammer we used for driving them back into the ground.
As I lifted it up and got ready to bring it down on the post, cringing because I knew that in the suffocating silence of the forest this would be VERY loud, but as I was about to swing it I heard something, like a quiet hissing mumble. Reflexively I swung around while I was bringing the hammer down and hit the post with a glancing blow, knocking it off center. Spinning around I tried to listen for it again, thinking maybe it was my imagination, the woods will often make you think you're hearing things that you aren't.
After a few seconds of nothing and figuring that it was either just me imagining it or overhearing Dana saying something to himself I turned to start fixing the post again but just as I put my back to the trees I heard it again. It seemed so quiet that I couldn't make out what was being said but I am sure that it was someone whispering, quickly and in a whistle-like tone.
I really starting to freak out now, I slowly began walking towards the cabin, my back to it and the cliff face as I scanned the trees looking for where it was coming from. The noise didn't seem like it had a direction to it, it was like it was everywhere at once, still quiet and indiscernible but very much there.
While in panic mode, combined with being tired and cold, I got it in my head that if I threw something into the woods it might scare off whoever was there. Reaching the woodpile we had outside I picked up a small log and threw it into the treeline and started shouting about how whoever was there needed to come out.
My grandfather comes running over
>"(my name) what the fuck are you doing!?"
I told him I heard someone talking nearby and before he can say anything the trees near where I threw the log start to shake and I could hear snapping branches.
>"Get inside right now!"
He said, not taking his eyes off the trees and so the two of us back peddled into the cabin, by the time we closed the door most of the trees had started shaking, the once oppressive stillness of the woods replaced with something akin to a hurricane.
That night neither of us slept, we just sort of stared at the door, my grandfather holding his hunting knife. Throughout the night the sound didn't die down, it was so loud and violent I thought the trees must have been snapped in half.
Periodically we heard things hitting the cabin wall, crunches and ripping noises from every direction. I told myself that it was just branches and the like hitting the wall, that it was just a bad storm.
The outside walls of the cabin had been covered, every inch from top to bottom, with words, violently slashed into the wood. Chunks had been ripped out of the corners and the door, the fence was in ruins, some of the barbed wire having being thrown into the treetops and many of the posts smashed into splinters. After a string of curses that I could barely even understand he started to calm down
>"Never do anything like that again, ever. Come on, we need to get the fence fixed before nightfall."
And like that he set off to start gathering up the broken fences. At this point I had gone from thinking my grandfather was a little unhinged and had started to take his native folklore to heart, right up to thinking he was the sanest man on Earth.
I helped him pick up the scattered remains of the fence, ever so often we would find little bits of fabric or hair stuck in the barbs, I didn't want to ask why.
We were making good time on having the barbed wire fixed but I was still worried, most of the posts that made up the Word Wall had been broken or were missing. When I asked about this he said that they won't like it but hopefully they just did this as a warning, tomorrow we'll go hunting and bring them back something, a thank you for not killing us last night.
Just as the sun started to set again (at this point in the year there was only about six hours of daylight making it difficult to do much) we had managed to get the barbed wire back into a rough semi-circle around the cabin. Given the damage that had been done the night before I asked how much good the barbed wire actually was and he told me that it didn't stop them but is slowed them down since their beards and hats would get tangled in it and they had a hard time getting free.
I couldn't tell if that was a joke or not but at this point I was about ready to believe anything. Little did I know I hadn't seen anything yet.
https://thebarchive.com/data/b/image/1470/01/1470017247496.jpgThe problem was that when the occurrence happened it was almost December 21st and that means that the cold was near unbearable, that and there was so little daylight that by the time we got to the part of the wilds where animals roamed normally it was nearly time to begin to head back.
The first day we went out and searched for signs of animals we could bag, we didn't see so much as a squirrel. That night the wind was howling again, the creaking of the cabin would get to the point where I thought it would collapse on us and all the while I would stare at the cracks between the log walls, where the candlelight didn't touch and I could swear I saw things moving in the dark. When I finally did drift off to sleep the last thing I heard what a quiet whispering, like I had heard before.
The next few days were no better, each time we would go deeper and deeper into the woods, usually in the direction of the distant mountains, we would be frozen stiff to where walking was a challenge for me, I have no idea how my grandfather managed it at his age but he never slowed down, and we would come back empty handed.
Each night the woods would be louder, the shadows in the cabin seemed to draw closer to the candle than the night prior, and the whispering seemed to get more intense as well, so much so that I started to make out words though none of them were in English and if they were Swedish I couldn't understand what I was hearing. On the third night I asked if Dana could also hear it, he told me to try not to think about it.
Each day was more overcast than the one that came before; the daylight was just a lighter shade of grey. It started to get to the point where our own food stores were getting low, our need to find something became doubly desperate.
It started to get worse by the 5th day, it started to snow. Not your simple puffy white snow that you see further south, no this was big, heavy and wet flakes that seemed more like little snowballs landing everywhere, it clung to everything, weighing us and the trees down alike. All the while, as we walked in a misty forest where we could hardly see more than a few meters, I kept swearing I could see things out there; little shapes sitting on rocks and tree branches that would be there one moment and seem to disappear as soon as I looked directly at it. I asked my grandfather and he told me not to acknowledge them, just keep moving. The longer the days went the more of them I would see.
It was on the 9th day of trying and failing at our hunts that we returned to a troubling sight. All along the treeline surrounding the cabin, a couple meters off the barbed wire fence, there were a number of large stones, big boulders that came up to my chest, most were oddly shaped where the tops curved off in a direction. They were all pointing at the cabin. They had been placed every few feet all along the treeline, almost like a fence of the forest's own. When we saw that Dana stopped and said
>"Pack your things, we are leaving at dawn."
I wasn't going to argue. Even as we got past the fence and closed the door I felt like we were still being watched from somewhere out in the snow, it was too dark to see any of the little shapes that had been following us whenever we went outside but I knew they were there, hardly a moment when they weren't.
We didn't sleep long. Sometime in the middle of the night, between the howling winds and the biting cold, there was a deafening crash and the door split down the middle, snow and frost flying in and blowing out the only candle before we even knew what had happened.
There was a scurrying noise and after a few seconds my grandfather had managed to light a little oil lantern he had hanging by the wall. The table and pantries had been overturned, everything not nailed down was either broken or scattered around the room.
I asked if we should leave right now. He told me that was what they wanted us to do, that we would wait until first light. It was the longest night of my life, we sat there shivering and staring at the broken door, the lantern's light just barely keeping the dark and who knows what else away. Several times I thought I saw something there, just outside the door, watching. When I saw the horizon getting brighter it was like waking from a nightmare, only this one wasn't quite over.
We grabbed whatever hadn't been broken and made for civilization. The snow had stopped but the clouds still hung heavy above us, it would be three days until we got to the truck.
We moved as fast as we could, the snow was so deep and clingy that we had to stop every kilometer or so just to wipe it off, it weighed us down more than our packs did. I don't know how far we travelled, I know we didn't stop and I don't think we ate until it started getting dark. Dana said to get as much firewood as I could find, we were going to need a big fire.
"What about the marked trees?"
I said to him, I still wasn't sure if things could get worse.
>"Fuck them, they're already pissed it won't matter much now.
That night we had a massive bonfire going, I'd bet you could see it from one of the mountain it was so bright. Even so we could hear them out there, the whispers never stopped. Every now and then a branch or rock would come flying out at us or the fire. It didn't make for a restful night. Around an hour before dawn the snow started again.
The second day was worse yet. With the snow back the little fucks got brave and started coming in close, every now and then we'd get hit with a something that fell from the tree branches or a tree along our path would fall down and make it harder to progress. We didn't walk, we ran through those woods, I didn't think I could run so far but I don't remember either of us stopping.
We just managed to stumble into a little clearing as the light was fading again, we hurried and grabbed whatever wood we could find and tried to start the fire, the wood was wet and uncooperative and the shadows started to close in, we could see the little moving figures at the edge of our vision again.
I guess Dana was getting to his wits end because he grabbed the little oil lantern and broke it open, pouring the oil across the logs and lit it up with the lantern's sparker. The shadows retreated for a moment and I think the little monsters were hissing at us.
We were left mostly alone that night, hell if I know why, maybe even they need to rest some time. The snow hadn't quit yet so by the time we woke we were both mostly covered. We set out before the sun rose; I think Dana didn't trust us to make the rest of the way in only a few hours of light.
The trail was a fucking mess, trees and rocks littered the animal trails and the bush was so thick with evergreens that it was no better. It was slow going and of course we were still being followed, we would still catch sight of them at the edge of our vision, watching and whispering in tune with the wind, I couldn't even tell which was which by this point, sometimes I still can't. For whatever reason we were left mostly untouched on the rest of the way back, the poor trail conditions slowed us to the point that it was already dark and we still hadn't made it to the truck. Dana didn't want to stop though, he said we were close and didn't want to risk another night outside.
I'm not sure when it was but we eventually made our way out of the trees and onto a road, we followed it for a few minutes until we saw it, the glorious steed that would get us out of that place, covered under a few feet of snow though it was. We swept out the truck bed, threw our things in and drove away; I don't think either of us looked back.
After we got back to town stayed at an inn for the night, best goddamn rest of my life. We woke early and drove for nearly the entire day until we made to the Erik Nelson airport.
When we got back Dana stayed with my family for a little while, at my dad's behest. We didn't talk much about the trip, just said we needed to come home early. That spring Dana left and said that he was going back home. I asked him what in the fuck he was thinking going back there and he told me he had lived in those woods for almost twenty years, it was his home and he would stay there as long as he had left.
He promised to call or visit on occasion.
That was three years ago, none of us have heard hide nor hair of him. My parents are convinced he passed away, they're probably right but I can't help wanting to know.
And that is where we come to today, I told my friends about what happened that winter and they don't really buy it, can't blame them but we've been talking on and off for a year now about going on a camping trip and I jokingly mentioned that maybe we should go out to my grandfather's cabin. They thought it was a great idea.
We're currently in the Skky motel in Whitehorse. We are leaving tomorrow morning. I'm still convinced that this is a bad idea but I want to know what happened when my grandad came back out here. We plan for the trip to be a little less than a month and we picked summer since I think it is safer than the dead of winter like last time. This is the last story I'm going to be posting for a while. Come the start of September I'll start a thread and let you all know what happens, I'll take pictures where I can and have brought a number of spare batteries for my phone. Wish us luck.
Today I want to share a story with /b/ about my winter deep in the Yukon with my grandfather and the strange things that occurred during those dark, frozen months. Quick note, this story is a little long.
About three years ago, when I was at the spry age of 18, I had decided that I wanted to take a year off of school before going to university, do a bit of soul searching if you will. Well, as it happened my father decided that this would be a great opportunity. You see, my Grandfather Dana had been trying to get me to go out to his cottage for a few years now, to "Learn a little about yourself and your heritage".
Now, my grandfather is the toughest son of a bitch I have ever seen in my life; an example:
When I was 15 my family took me skiing in Jasper and my grandfather tagged along, during that trip Dana hit a fallen log that had been ever so lightly covered in snow and plowed straight into a spruce tree.
Tore his lip open down to the cheek. Once we caught up to him and started freaking out and talking of getting an ambulance he just calmly stood up, told us (while his lip was hanging open enough to see his teeth) that he would be fine and was going to go back to the lodge to "patch himself up".
As it turns out this involved him skiing all the way back, grabbing a sewing needle and some fishing line, and stitching his own face back together in the bathroom mirror. An hour later he was back out on the slopes as though nothing had happened. He still has a vicious scar too.
He is a born Swede, a massive guy, around 6'6 and pretty muscled despite being in his 60's. He's a pretty quiet guy and rather eccentric (he lives on his own in the middle of a frozen hellscape at a time in his life where most would be retired so go figure).
The main reason I hadn't gone with him sooner was because my mother was terrified of me going off to live with my "crazy relative" for any length of time, despite my father's assertion that I would be well taken care of and was old enough to fend for myself. This year was to be different though.
Through some herculean effort of coercion (likely involving the fact that I was moving out soon anyway) I was granted leave to go with him.
My family lives in Alberta and my grandfather off in the north western Yukon, past the Minto mine if anyone here knows the area. It was arranged for me to fly out and meet up with my grandfather who would then drive us out to his home.
After landing I was greeted with the amusing sight of my grandfather standing about a foot above the rest of the crowd, staring forward waiting for me. We had a quick greeting and before long had hopped in his truck and were making trail towards places where no roads go.
We drove for a few hours, not much said between us, though that was pretty standard for him, and finally arrived at what appeared to be little more than a snowy plot near the treeline and away from the road.
>So where exactly is your cabin? I didn't see it on the way over.
I asked him. He turned to me and smirked.
>About three days of hiking that way
He pointed into the trees.
And so began day 1 of my adventure, packs slung over my back and snow up to my calves we began to walk.
The first day went pretty normal, something that was not going to last let me tell you now. Along the way he would point out animal tracks and different plants, giving me the basic wilderness survival rundown. Now, I had been raised on a small acreage outside of the, also small, town of Athabasca so I was no stranger to the wilderness but even still my grandfather's knowledge of the wilds seemed near encyclopedic.
Anyway, the first day came to a close as the sun hung low in the sky and the snow glittered in the twilight, a beautiful vista if ever I had seen one. We found a small outcropping and built a fire, set a can of beans and some vegetable to cook and enjoyed the moment. I slept pretty soundly given the -20 ish weather.
On the eve of the second day I was shaken awake and told to start walking.
>We don't want to spend more nights out here than we have to, it's only going to get colder and these woods are dangerous
Gathering up what I had (little more than a sleeping bag, cloths, some provisions, and two knives) we set off again.
Now let me tell you, there is nothing more tiring than pushing through snow up to your crotch in the middle of the woods for hours and hours. I like to think I'm in ok shape but by the time we stopped for a break some 4 hours later I was about ready to die. My grandfather, of course, seemed unphased by it.
It was around this time that I started to take note of a few things. For anyone who has lived near or spent a lot of time in the woods, you know it's a pretty lively place. lots of noise and things moving around. Not here.
In the winter, everything is still and quiet, a strange feeling when you've heard all your life that if things go quiet in the forest, something bad is near. The uneasiness was offset somewhat by the fact I was still trying to see to it that my lungs were going to explode and my grandfather's calm, uncaring demeanor.
Soon enough we had set off again. A few more hours into walking I noticed an odd little cave down the hill we were on, the opening had huge icicles hanging down the front and a few bones could be seen scattered around the area. I turned to my grandfather and asked, pointing towards it
> Should we be worried about that?
At that he stopped and looked at it for a few moments before he just continued walking, saying nonchalantly
>No, long as we get a ways off before night it won't matter.
When we finally settled for the night, I was sure I would be out before I hit the ground but without so much as a glance I was told to wait, he was going to get firewood and start dinner. Sitting myself under a tree I watched as he walked off, leaving me alone in the dwindling light of day.
Sitting there, listening to the fading sound of my grandfather walking further and further away, I couldn't help but notice how strangely suffocating the woods were. Now I had spent days camping before, sometimes with friends and other times alone, but this seemed different. Maybe it was the quiet, where the simple act of turning your head to the side seemed to echo through the trees, maybe it was the way the evergreens, burdened with snow, seemed to blend into the growing gloom, forming strange and inky shapes in the dim light. Whatever it was I started to get nervous, that kind of unease that comes when you feel like you're being watched, even though you think you're alone.
Before my mind started to walk down those dark roads of thought, my grandfather came stomping back through the treeline, bundle of broken branches under his arm. He set about showing me how to start a fire without matches or a lighter (he's old-fashioned like that) and soon enough we had a nice little campfire going. It wasn't until the heat off the fire hit me that I noticed how damn cold it was, my hands stiff and slight shivers going over me.
>"We should reach the cabin by about this time tomorrow if we keep up this pace. Before we go any further though I want you to understand something; things are different out here and if I tell you to do something I expect you to listen, understood?"
I nodded and told him my dad had given me the run down before I left
>"Oh? How much did he tell you?"
>"Just to listen to whatever you said and to stay safe" I replied, unsure of where he was going with this
>Ah, alright then
He didn't say anything for the rest of the night and I was too tired to ask. Despite my exhaustion I found that I lied awake for quite a while, staring up at the sky and listening to the gentle crackling of the fire.
I don't really know why, I should have had no problem sleeping after the day of hiking, cold notwithstanding, but regardless I found myself quite unable to drift off even after the moon had risen and shone over the area. It was around then that I heard something in the forest, like a sort of whispering. At first I figured it was just the wind but looking at the treetops they weren't moving at all. I listened harder but couldn't make out what was being said, it was so faint.
I sat up and looked around to see if something was there or if maybe my grandfather had been mumbling in his sleep but when I tried to listen in again, it was silent. I figured it was just something on the breeze and lay back again, sleep came soon after.
I was once again woken by Dana as the sun had just begun its slow creep over the distant mountains.
As we were gathering up our equipment he asked me if I had slept well, I told him that the cold would take a little getting used to but otherwise it was fine. He just sort of looked at me for a moment before grunting and tying off his pack. Once more we set off, deeper into the wilderness.
The third day went without incident; it was only after yet more hours of tedious and exhausting trailblazing that we finally came into view of my grandfather's "home". Built right up against a cliff face, no windows adorned it, just massive logs the whole way around. A small chimney rose up from the roof, easy to spot given that the trees had been cleared in about a 20 meter radius around the cabin, replaced with numerous small wooden stakes set at varying intervals.
As we got closer I noticed that they were actually fence posts, barbed wire was strung between them and every so often there was a much taller post, set a ways back from the fence. In the dim light I couldn't really make much out about it, though I was curious why they were there. Whatever the reason, I was in no mood to play 20 questions, I just wanted to get inside and sleep in a warm place.
Before we could get in however, it seemed there were a few things to be done. My grandfather lifted one of the posts out of the ground allowing us to enter and told me to put it back and make sure it wasn't going to fall. He was going to go get the door open. It didn't take too long, the snow around the cabin was much less than the surrounding area making walking blessedly easier. After I finished I made my way around the side of the cabin and found my grandfather carefully taking down numerous little metallic things hung over the door, I could see them glinting in what little daylight was left but I couldn't make out what exactly they were supposed to be. Again, I was just too tired to really care and just wandered inside behind my grandfather as soon as he finished taking down the last one.
>"That bed over there'll be yours."
He said, pointing to a small cot in once corner of the room. Without much more though I ambled over and went to sleep. I really should have savored it more as this was the last good night's rest I was going to have for a while.
I woke up the next morning to a mostly dark room; a candle was set on the table in the middle of the cottage giving enough light for me to figure out where the door was. Opening it and stepping outside I was greeted to a bright, midday sun.
Down the yard a ways I saw Dana finish clearing the excess snow from the plot of land, it was low enough that I could actually see the ground and a few feet beyond the fence the snow rose like a small wall all around us. The light, as well as something in the vein of 14 hours of sleep, allowed me to really take stock of the area around me.
I could now see that the tall posts from the night before had been whittled down so that only pale heartwood remained, carved all over each of them were words, thousands of them all tightly packed and varying from neat to nigh indecipherable scratches.
Reading through it there really didn't seem to be a rhyme or reason to what was written down, mostly it was just random words, mostly in Swedish and a few in Norwegian (I'm not fluent but I've picked up a little over the years). I guess Dana had noticed me staring at it as he had begun walking over.
>"What are these supposed to be?"
I gestured to the other posts of a similar nature around the yard. They were part of an "ord Vägg" or "Word Wall".
>"It helps keep things calm at night, I wouldn't stare at them too long though, won't do your head much good."
My mother always had a problem with him visiting; I'd overheard her talking to my dad about allowing Dana to fill my head with "crazy nonsense" on more than one occasion but he'd often shrug it off and say something along the lines of "It's good for him to learn a little about dad's culture".
The point is that it was only after I really started to get a look at the cabin and the Word Wall that these things started to sink in.
He was definitely a little odd at times, the first day we went out to chop a few trees down for firewood and he would very specifically point out which trees we were going to cut but only after pressing his ear to them and listening to see if it was "unmarked".
When I asked him what he meant by that he said that some trees were special to the forest and we shouldn't touch them, otherwise the tomtenissar would get angry and we really didn't want that.
For those who don't know, tomtenissar are part of Scandinavian folk lore, they basically look like garden gnomes and act sort of like santa clause, at least that's how they are portrayed now.
Growing up my grandfather would tell me about these little monsters, about how they would chew open peoples doors and windows in order crawl into houses at night and whisper things to the sleeping person, the people would sometimes go crazy, wandering out into the woods or ranting in incoherent babble, other times they would just be sort of... different. Either way they were freaky little bastards but I stopped believing the stories around the same time I figured santa was bunk.
Dana really isn't known for his sense of humor so hearing him say that was more than a little strange. I sort of awkwardly laughed at it and he looked at me and said
>"Think I'm joking? Keep that up and you won't be seeing the summer"
That shut me up pretty quick, I still didn't particularly buy the stories but I still made sure not to tap the trees that he said were "marked".
We finished loading up the sleds we had brought with us and at that point Dana said, >"Let's go this way; I want to show you something before we get back."
Following him, it seemed to me like we were making a wide arc instead of going straight back but I wasn't going to argue.
As we walked I noticed there were no animal tracks, as in absolutely none. Even on the way to the cabin I had at least picked up on a few prints from rabbits or moose and the like. When I asked why we hadn't come across any despite being so far in the woods I was told that
>"They don't like it here; know to stay a ways off"
"Why's that?" I asked back
>"These woods aren't safe for much of anyone after dark, least of all critters."
After walking a while longer we reached a high at the edge of the section of forest we were, Dana pointed out beyond the now sparse treeline, what lay past it was the vast snowy rises and falls of the untamed wild, honestly it was one of the most beautiful things I had ever seen. There was an overturned tree and he motioned for me to sit on it.
For a little while we just sat there taking in the view until he sighed
>"Now I know you are going to be new to all this for a while but I think you ought to know, things are different out here, I need you to trust me when I tell you something or else it could get both of us killed, you understand?"
I said I did, I figured that he had taken my reaction to him talking about tomtenissar to heart. He may be strange but he means well so I figured I would humor him and make things easier for the both of us. That would prove to be a very bad idea.
Once we got back and finished stacking the firewood Dana broke out more of our dwindling provisions and as we were cooking he said that tomorrow we would need to go hunting, if we caught anything he would show me how to properly butcher and animal.
We ate and settled in for the night but as we were settling in he told me that if I ever got up in the night to use the outhouse to the side of the cabin that I should always bring a candle, no matter how bright the moon was and that if it goes out I should come back inside right away. With that he set a small dangling thing up on the door
>pic related
When I asked him about the thing on the door he told me it was there to confuse anything that was trying to get in. Later during that winter I found out it's supposed to be a rune for illusions or disguises, I guess the idea is that it would help make it harder to tell what was inside the cabin if something got inside the door.
The next few days we went out hunting, for the first while we didn't catch anything. It wasn't helped by how we needed to head a fair ways away from the cabin before we saw signs of animal life and Dana always insisted that we be back before night fell, on top of that he didn't bring a gun ever, just a bow and some arrows. I know bow hunting is a common enough practice but given that bears roamed these woods I figured that it would be nice to have something with a little more stopping power.
When I mentioned this to him he said that it would cause more trouble than it would prevent. Eventually we actually managed to find and snag a buck, it was a nice one too, enough meat that we would be alright for a while. We threw it on the sleigh and began dragging it back home.
Yet more hours ticked away before we got back to the cabin and something rather interesting was waiting there for us; ravens.
Normally this wouldn't seem so strange but when I hadn't seen signs of life save the trees in this area for almost a week, it seemed a little off. Dana stiffened up when he noticed it too. When I asked him about it he told me
>"Drop the sled and come with me, we're going to need to butcher this fast"
Not sure where this was going but remembering our conversation from earlier and figured that it would be best to just go with it.
We circled around the cabin, the ravens sitting on the roof watching us the whole way. Lying in a small snowdrift in front of the door was a rabbit's head, just the head, cleanly severed.
The snow was still a bright red so it had to have been pretty fresh. There was also a little indent through the snow leading up to it, made it look like it had been thrown over here.
that evening we butchered the deer and when we were done my grandfather took the head, antlers and all, and walked out into the woods a short ways before gently setting it down and coming back.
We brought the rest of the meat over to the cabin and Dana took the rabbits head off the table where I had placed it. That night we had rabbit stew and potatoes. When I asked about why we were going to just eat something we found sitting there he told me it would be rude to just throw it out and it wasn't wise to "insult the neighbors"
"There are other people out here? I thought you lived alone."
>"Alone? No, I just don't live by people."
"Who are your neighbors?"
>"I thought I already told you; the tomtenissar live here."
I didn't really have a good response to that.
The next morning when we went out to check the fence (as was becoming routine) I walked out to see the spot he put the head down. There was nothing there, not even a bit of blood.
The next few weeks went by in relative peace; we would collect firewood on every so often, we went ice fishing occasionally, and every morning we cleared snow away from the cabin.
The temperature continued to drop as the winter solstice drew near, the already short days becoming a scant few hours of near perpetual twilight. You'd think it would get old seeing the same setting sun throughout most of the day but you'd be wrong, it managed to be breathtaking each and every time, I probably would have stood there staring at it all day if I wasn't being ushered along by Dana. Things probably would have continued much the same way if I hadn't fucked up one night.
It was somewhere around mid-December (you start losing track of the days out there, especially when they are mostly night) and we were going ice fishing again.
We set out early, as the sun was just barely peaking over the distant mountain range, and hiked for about an hour until we reached a small frozen over lake. We set about like always, checking the ice's thickness and cutting a hold, etc. After only a few minutes into it we heard the snapping and cracking of branches behind us. We both stopped and stared for a few moments before my grandfather said it was fine though I could tell he was bothered, every so often he'd look back and scan around the trees.
We weren't having much luck with the fish and were about to call it in for the day when I got a tug on my line. I pulled up a big trout and thought that this was great, we hadn't had fish in a while. When I turned to see if my grandfather had noticed I saw him just sort of staring at it. A little confused I gave it another look over and saw that it had a few huge gashes taken out of it, little indented lines cutting through the grey scales.
>"Throw it back, this isn't ours to take."
"o-ok then."
I was a little nervous at this, although not too much had happened during my time here I had at least managed to pick up that when Dana got weird like this it was best to not argue. I threw the fish back into the pond and we started making tracks back to the cabin. Along the way I noticed that the trees near the lake, the ones we heard the noise coming from, had huge cuts taken out of them. Not like an axe or bear claws, more like numerous small chunks had been ripped out and thrown around. I asked what that was about and Dana just started walking faster and said we shouldn't come back here, it wouldn't be safe.
>"Well, it could be worse. We didn't really need the head anyway."
When I asked what he was talking about he told me
>"It's only right to return a gift with a gift, take that inside and meet me near the butcher shed." (a little ways off and past the "Wall" a couple feet off of the treeline)
One of my more frequent chores was to go out and make sure the Ord Vägg's posts were still secure in the ground, of the many things that my grandfather was methodical about keeping just right, the Word Wall came second only to our food stores. This mainly involved going out and giving them a solid shove, if there was any shift I needed to hammer them in and pack the snow tighter around the bottom until I could no longer get it to move.
Anyway, that night he insisted that we go over all of them again before going to sleep and so we went out after finishing our dinner (mostly deer, you'd be surprised how long a single deer can last). He took one end of the yard and I the other. It was getting blistering cold out, where any bare skin started to sting, a cloud cover had swept over the land, there were no stars and no moon tonight and the sun had dipped below the horizon leaving everything an inky black and grey. It was quiet again, like on our hike up here, where every little movement you made sounded like an earthquake.
A little ways off I could hear my grandfather working, the shifting of his coat and the snow being pressed underfoot. I was about three posts down when I found one that was a little loose, I straightened it out and picked up the sledge hammer we used for driving them back into the ground.
As I lifted it up and got ready to bring it down on the post, cringing because I knew that in the suffocating silence of the forest this would be VERY loud, but as I was about to swing it I heard something, like a quiet hissing mumble. Reflexively I swung around while I was bringing the hammer down and hit the post with a glancing blow, knocking it off center. Spinning around I tried to listen for it again, thinking maybe it was my imagination, the woods will often make you think you're hearing things that you aren't.
After a few seconds of nothing and figuring that it was either just me imagining it or overhearing Dana saying something to himself I turned to start fixing the post again but just as I put my back to the trees I heard it again. It seemed so quiet that I couldn't make out what was being said but I am sure that it was someone whispering, quickly and in a whistle-like tone.
I really starting to freak out now, I slowly began walking towards the cabin, my back to it and the cliff face as I scanned the trees looking for where it was coming from. The noise didn't seem like it had a direction to it, it was like it was everywhere at once, still quiet and indiscernible but very much there.
While in panic mode, combined with being tired and cold, I got it in my head that if I threw something into the woods it might scare off whoever was there. Reaching the woodpile we had outside I picked up a small log and threw it into the treeline and started shouting about how whoever was there needed to come out.
My grandfather comes running over
>"(my name) what the fuck are you doing!?"
I told him I heard someone talking nearby and before he can say anything the trees near where I threw the log start to shake and I could hear snapping branches.
>"Get inside right now!"
He said, not taking his eyes off the trees and so the two of us back peddled into the cabin, by the time we closed the door most of the trees had started shaking, the once oppressive stillness of the woods replaced with something akin to a hurricane.
That night neither of us slept, we just sort of stared at the door, my grandfather holding his hunting knife. Throughout the night the sound didn't die down, it was so loud and violent I thought the trees must have been snapped in half.
Periodically we heard things hitting the cabin wall, crunches and ripping noises from every direction. I told myself that it was just branches and the like hitting the wall, that it was just a bad storm.
The outside walls of the cabin had been covered, every inch from top to bottom, with words, violently slashed into the wood. Chunks had been ripped out of the corners and the door, the fence was in ruins, some of the barbed wire having being thrown into the treetops and many of the posts smashed into splinters. After a string of curses that I could barely even understand he started to calm down
>"Never do anything like that again, ever. Come on, we need to get the fence fixed before nightfall."
And like that he set off to start gathering up the broken fences. At this point I had gone from thinking my grandfather was a little unhinged and had started to take his native folklore to heart, right up to thinking he was the sanest man on Earth.
I helped him pick up the scattered remains of the fence, ever so often we would find little bits of fabric or hair stuck in the barbs, I didn't want to ask why.
We were making good time on having the barbed wire fixed but I was still worried, most of the posts that made up the Word Wall had been broken or were missing. When I asked about this he said that they won't like it but hopefully they just did this as a warning, tomorrow we'll go hunting and bring them back something, a thank you for not killing us last night.
Just as the sun started to set again (at this point in the year there was only about six hours of daylight making it difficult to do much) we had managed to get the barbed wire back into a rough semi-circle around the cabin. Given the damage that had been done the night before I asked how much good the barbed wire actually was and he told me that it didn't stop them but is slowed them down since their beards and hats would get tangled in it and they had a hard time getting free.
I couldn't tell if that was a joke or not but at this point I was about ready to believe anything. Little did I know I hadn't seen anything yet.
https://thebarchive.com/data/b/image/1470/01/1470017247496.jpgThe problem was that when the occurrence happened it was almost December 21st and that means that the cold was near unbearable, that and there was so little daylight that by the time we got to the part of the wilds where animals roamed normally it was nearly time to begin to head back.
The first day we went out and searched for signs of animals we could bag, we didn't see so much as a squirrel. That night the wind was howling again, the creaking of the cabin would get to the point where I thought it would collapse on us and all the while I would stare at the cracks between the log walls, where the candlelight didn't touch and I could swear I saw things moving in the dark. When I finally did drift off to sleep the last thing I heard what a quiet whispering, like I had heard before.
The next few days were no better, each time we would go deeper and deeper into the woods, usually in the direction of the distant mountains, we would be frozen stiff to where walking was a challenge for me, I have no idea how my grandfather managed it at his age but he never slowed down, and we would come back empty handed.
Each night the woods would be louder, the shadows in the cabin seemed to draw closer to the candle than the night prior, and the whispering seemed to get more intense as well, so much so that I started to make out words though none of them were in English and if they were Swedish I couldn't understand what I was hearing. On the third night I asked if Dana could also hear it, he told me to try not to think about it.
Each day was more overcast than the one that came before; the daylight was just a lighter shade of grey. It started to get to the point where our own food stores were getting low, our need to find something became doubly desperate.
It started to get worse by the 5th day, it started to snow. Not your simple puffy white snow that you see further south, no this was big, heavy and wet flakes that seemed more like little snowballs landing everywhere, it clung to everything, weighing us and the trees down alike. All the while, as we walked in a misty forest where we could hardly see more than a few meters, I kept swearing I could see things out there; little shapes sitting on rocks and tree branches that would be there one moment and seem to disappear as soon as I looked directly at it. I asked my grandfather and he told me not to acknowledge them, just keep moving. The longer the days went the more of them I would see.
It was on the 9th day of trying and failing at our hunts that we returned to a troubling sight. All along the treeline surrounding the cabin, a couple meters off the barbed wire fence, there were a number of large stones, big boulders that came up to my chest, most were oddly shaped where the tops curved off in a direction. They were all pointing at the cabin. They had been placed every few feet all along the treeline, almost like a fence of the forest's own. When we saw that Dana stopped and said
>"Pack your things, we are leaving at dawn."
I wasn't going to argue. Even as we got past the fence and closed the door I felt like we were still being watched from somewhere out in the snow, it was too dark to see any of the little shapes that had been following us whenever we went outside but I knew they were there, hardly a moment when they weren't.
We didn't sleep long. Sometime in the middle of the night, between the howling winds and the biting cold, there was a deafening crash and the door split down the middle, snow and frost flying in and blowing out the only candle before we even knew what had happened.
There was a scurrying noise and after a few seconds my grandfather had managed to light a little oil lantern he had hanging by the wall. The table and pantries had been overturned, everything not nailed down was either broken or scattered around the room.
I asked if we should leave right now. He told me that was what they wanted us to do, that we would wait until first light. It was the longest night of my life, we sat there shivering and staring at the broken door, the lantern's light just barely keeping the dark and who knows what else away. Several times I thought I saw something there, just outside the door, watching. When I saw the horizon getting brighter it was like waking from a nightmare, only this one wasn't quite over.
We grabbed whatever hadn't been broken and made for civilization. The snow had stopped but the clouds still hung heavy above us, it would be three days until we got to the truck.
We moved as fast as we could, the snow was so deep and clingy that we had to stop every kilometer or so just to wipe it off, it weighed us down more than our packs did. I don't know how far we travelled, I know we didn't stop and I don't think we ate until it started getting dark. Dana said to get as much firewood as I could find, we were going to need a big fire.
"What about the marked trees?"
I said to him, I still wasn't sure if things could get worse.
>"Fuck them, they're already pissed it won't matter much now.
That night we had a massive bonfire going, I'd bet you could see it from one of the mountain it was so bright. Even so we could hear them out there, the whispers never stopped. Every now and then a branch or rock would come flying out at us or the fire. It didn't make for a restful night. Around an hour before dawn the snow started again.
The second day was worse yet. With the snow back the little fucks got brave and started coming in close, every now and then we'd get hit with a something that fell from the tree branches or a tree along our path would fall down and make it harder to progress. We didn't walk, we ran through those woods, I didn't think I could run so far but I don't remember either of us stopping.
We just managed to stumble into a little clearing as the light was fading again, we hurried and grabbed whatever wood we could find and tried to start the fire, the wood was wet and uncooperative and the shadows started to close in, we could see the little moving figures at the edge of our vision again.
I guess Dana was getting to his wits end because he grabbed the little oil lantern and broke it open, pouring the oil across the logs and lit it up with the lantern's sparker. The shadows retreated for a moment and I think the little monsters were hissing at us.
We were left mostly alone that night, hell if I know why, maybe even they need to rest some time. The snow hadn't quit yet so by the time we woke we were both mostly covered. We set out before the sun rose; I think Dana didn't trust us to make the rest of the way in only a few hours of light.
The trail was a fucking mess, trees and rocks littered the animal trails and the bush was so thick with evergreens that it was no better. It was slow going and of course we were still being followed, we would still catch sight of them at the edge of our vision, watching and whispering in tune with the wind, I couldn't even tell which was which by this point, sometimes I still can't. For whatever reason we were left mostly untouched on the rest of the way back, the poor trail conditions slowed us to the point that it was already dark and we still hadn't made it to the truck. Dana didn't want to stop though, he said we were close and didn't want to risk another night outside.
I'm not sure when it was but we eventually made our way out of the trees and onto a road, we followed it for a few minutes until we saw it, the glorious steed that would get us out of that place, covered under a few feet of snow though it was. We swept out the truck bed, threw our things in and drove away; I don't think either of us looked back.
After we got back to town stayed at an inn for the night, best goddamn rest of my life. We woke early and drove for nearly the entire day until we made to the Erik Nelson airport.
When we got back Dana stayed with my family for a little while, at my dad's behest. We didn't talk much about the trip, just said we needed to come home early. That spring Dana left and said that he was going back home. I asked him what in the fuck he was thinking going back there and he told me he had lived in those woods for almost twenty years, it was his home and he would stay there as long as he had left.
He promised to call or visit on occasion.
That was three years ago, none of us have heard hide nor hair of him. My parents are convinced he passed away, they're probably right but I can't help wanting to know.
And that is where we come to today, I told my friends about what happened that winter and they don't really buy it, can't blame them but we've been talking on and off for a year now about going on a camping trip and I jokingly mentioned that maybe we should go out to my grandfather's cabin. They thought it was a great idea.
We're currently in the Skky motel in Whitehorse. We are leaving tomorrow morning. I'm still convinced that this is a bad idea but I want to know what happened when my grandad came back out here. We plan for the trip to be a little less than a month and we picked summer since I think it is safer than the dead of winter like last time. This is the last story I'm going to be posting for a while. Come the start of September I'll start a thread and let you all know what happens, I'll take pictures where I can and have brought a number of spare batteries for my phone. Wish us luck.
