Cheryl’s face paled slightly as she picked up a baby crawling towards her. “You took it after they warned you about the curse? You might be a brave city slicker to your friends, but here you going to be a dead city slicker.” Max chuckled softly. “They never told me about a curse and even if they had, I still don’t have any friends, or I’d spend my birthday with them.” Cheryl shut her mouth and slightly blushed. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.” Max laughed as he put his hand out. “It’s okay. Now tell me more about this curse and I’ll hear what you have to say. If I think it’s a bunch of baloney I’ll stay and if I take to what you tell me I’ll leave without a fuss.” She nodded and took his hand and shook it hard. “The curse started when my great, great, great granddaddy had cleared the land of all the Indians, who had lived there about four hundred years before, and he found their burial site. He torched the sucker higher than one of them new fangled skyscrapers you city folks take such great pride in. After all had been said and done; a little girl about four, five laid in the ashes; barely breathing; her arms slashed; legs burned; feet destroyed beyond repair; her hair gone; face burned to where she was never going to see again; and my granddaddy having a soft heart for little kids; picked her up and took her back to his cabin; the same one that you’d be staying in; and nursed the poor thing back to health. She started getting better around the time of the full moon when my granddaddy helped an Indian woman inside his home and sat her down on his chair. The little girl comes in on her crutches my grandmamma made for her and the native screamed. Her face drained of color right as the girl’s face started to have her skin peal right off. Her face twisted and turned as she dropped on all fours. Her feet suddenly grew back and morphed into the feet of a wolf as her hands grew to the size of an adult elephant’s foot ,and then webbing between her fingers moved and spread as it looked like tiny spiders were spinning their silk over and around her hands. She gave a unearthly howl as her backbone pushed up against her skin and looked like it was going to split her right in half. As the girl’s monstrous transformation continued, the native chanted softly as my granddaddy took his shot gun off the wall and fired four shot into the little girl; one into her heart, one to the left leg, one to the stomach, and the final blow to her face. That seemed to have done the trick but the little girl looked up with her dead eyes slinking in and out of her sockets like our lungs do when we’re breathing, her face was half gone but you could see how far her transformation had progressed. Her final words to my grandfather were, “When your family has settled here and made this land theirs, and allowed others to borrow this land for their amusement, I’ll be back and I won’t be so easily defeated.” My grandfather growled softly as the native woman collapsed. She spoke in a soft voice after an hour had passed. “That was the wendigo, our protector, and you have angered her.” My granddaddy looked at her and smiled. “Well I may have angered the old stick in the mud protector but she ain’t coming back to mess with my family as long as I have a say in the matter, whether I’m alive or dead.”
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