July 17, 1903,
Morrison’s, Merrill, NY
My Dearest Charles,
I pen this letter to you with much anxiety and disbelief, for the events I am about to relate defy logic and delve into the macabre and inconceivable. I beg you to listen to me, for what I have observed will haunt the deepest corners of my soul for the rest of my life.
It appeared to be a harmless summer retreat, my brother, a much-needed escape from the city’s tumult. Marion, Suzette, and I found refuge beside Chateaugay Lake at Morrison’s, in the tranquil embrace of nature’s riches. We had no idea that our journey would unravel a tapestry of tragedy that would shake us to our core.
As the full moon cast an ethereal glow over Chateaugay Lake’s peaceful waters, strange music drifted into our ears as we sat outside our cabin, enjoying the crisp night air. The distant strains of music, joined by wild, otherworldly singing and howling, came through with frightening clarity. Curiosity gripped us, and we felt obliged to follow this mysterious chorus.
We boarded a sturdy skiff with two sets of oars, its hull slashing through the silvery ripples as Suzette and I rowed with Marion across the lake. The haunting melodies became more audible as we approached the opposite shore, beyond the barren island that stood like a neglected sentry. We noticed a tiny trail illuminated by the moonlight among the dense undergrowth.
We followed the meandering path that led us deeper into the ominous woods, driven by a mixture of intrigue and dread. The air became thick, weighted with a foreboding discomfort that made the hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge. Then, through a clearing, we saw something that defied explanation.
A nightmarish band — a literal band with instruments! — of monstrous creatures stood there, Charles. Wendigos, if my feeble mind dares to call them that. The twisted and emaciated figures of these towering monstrosities were dressed in torn rags. Their body was pierced by bones, and their red glowing eyes burned with an awful fire. The unusual assortment of instruments they handled, though, struck us with a mixture of dread and astonishment. And the sulphuric smell of rotten flesh was horrible, but we were unable to stop looking at the unbelievable abomination before us.
Accordians, Charles! Those demonic creatures were creating an otherworldly symphony of horrible harmonics, as strange as it may sound. Their song, if it could be termed music at all, filled the air with a palpable malevolence. It was a cacophony that gave rise to nightmares and invoked the mind’s deepest corners.
Despite their hideous appearance, these monsters played their cursed accordions and other strange instruments with incredible precision, dexterity, and virtuosity. Their fingers danced across the keys, generating an erratic and discordant tune that both mesmerized and repelled. It was a perplexing and paradoxical fusion of horror and beauty, Charles, a testament to the twisted capabilities of their malformed minds.
We stood there, frozen by horror and fascination, unable to take our gaze away from this abominable display. The Wendigos seemed to be ignorant of our presence, engrossed in their own sick rhythmic yipping ecstasy. As a result, we were locked in a terrifying reverie as the moon threw its unwavering stare onto these nighttime monstrosities.
As we witnessed a diabolical performance that challenged the borders of sanity, time seemed to lose all meaning, Charles. Our dread-filled hearts raced in time with the incessant rhythm. I’m not sure how long we stood there since it felt like an eternity of horror compacted into a single moment.
It wasn’t until a sudden gust of wind rustled the leaves that the enchantment that had bound us was broken. The Wendigos immediately stopped their diabolical symphony, as though aroused from their stupor. They uncannily locked their piercing gazes on us with a simultaneous turn of their hideous heads, their horrible glowing eyes aflame with a hunger that chilled us to the bone.
Fear coursed through our veins, Charles, and we were forced to flee. We staggered backwards, our limbs heavy and clumsy, as if the very essence of horror clung to us like glue. Sensing our vulnerability, the Wendigos unleashed a cacophony of screeches and otherworldly howls, a terrifying yapping that rang through the ghostly woods.
The monsters pursued us with each step, their terrifying howls becoming louder and more frantic. The trail seemed to stretch out in front of us indefinitely, as if the forest itself was conspiring to keep us within its cruel grasp. But fortune smiled on us that night, and we finally emerged from the spooky woods, exhausted and terrified, and hurriedly rowed back across the lake, managing to escape just as the Wendigo horde reached the water’s edge, where they screamed in rage when they realized that we had escaped their clutches.
Arriving back at Morrison’s just as the sun was beginning to lighten the early dawn sky by a few shades of dark violet, we sought safety within the walls of our cabin, Charles, our heads weighed down by the horrific sights we had witnessed. The eerie strains of the Wendigos stayed in our ears, creeping into the deepest recesses of our consciousness. Sleep became an elusive luxury since the dreams that tormented our evenings were a harsh continuation of the terrors we had experienced.
With a heavy heart, I write this letter to you, dear brother. The horrors we witnessed in those woods are beyond mortal comprehension. I believe that they must come from some place far beyond our understanding, where reality’s borders are warped, and the gulf of eternity pierces much too far into ours.
Please, Charles, heed my warning. Prevent your curiosity from taking you down a dangerous path — as did I. The Wendigos’ music — their nightmare symphony and monstrous virtuosity, are not to be sought after. They only serve as a disturbing reminder that dark forces are still at work, lurking in the shadows of our world, waiting for the right moment to unleash their unfathomable malevolence.
May this letter serve as a warning, a monument to the horrors that lurk beyond the surface of normalcy. Keep your spirit safe, Charles, and avoid the haunting airs of accordions and other twisted instruments. Because the melody of the Wendigos will forever resonate in the depths of your nightmares, a reminder of the forbidden and horrible.
Yours, in utmost dread and caution,
Amelia Caldwell
What mysteries of Chateaugay Lake haunt you?