The Day the Loons Stopped Singin’: A Chateaugay Lake Guide’s Account of Pure Adirondack Horror

Dear editor, so picture this. Me, Eph Goodhue, 64 years young and tougher than a boiled owl, leadin’ a bunch of green city folk – not the learnin’ kind, mind you, but the boisterous kinda fellas with more brawn than brains – into the Adirondacks back in ’90. Headin’ for Chateaugay Lake, a real beaut of a spot, figured I’d show em’ a week of good ol’ fashioned wilderness fun.

First few days were peachy. Sunshine dapplin’ through the trees, paintin’ the forest floor green like a fancy tablecloth. Loons hootin’ at dusk, soundin’ like a mournful orchestra across the glassy lake. But then somethin’ started tsingin’ off. Like a sour note in a perfect song. Animals all of a sudden shut their traps, and nights got quiet… too quiet. An unsettling feelin’ settled in, like we were bein’ watched by somethin’ with eyes we couldn’t see.

One night, campfire cracklin’, the boys’ yappin’ died down to spooked whispers. Then it hit us – a low, guttural moan that seemed to come from the very heart of the woods. Sent chills down my spine, a primal fear I ain’t felt since I was a wee lad.

Mornin’ light showed us the first sign. Well, what was left of it. A deer carcass, all ripped and tore apart like somethin’ monstrous had gotten a hold of it. No earthly critter coulda done that, and it filled us with a dread that stuck in our craws like week-old bread.

Next night, the moans came back, louder and meaner this time, shriekin’ like a banshee on a bender. Sleep was a distant memory, replaced by a cold sweat that wouldn’t quit. And that’s when I saw them – the Wendigos, under that sickly moon glow.

Their eyes were like burnin’ coals starin’ straight into your soul. Hunger clung to them like a stink cloud, a hunger for somethin’ more than just flesh and bone. We ran, like scared rabbits, those playful city boys reduced to whimperin’ babies. The screeches of the Wendigos chased us through the woods, a constant reminder of the nightmare we were in.

Days turned into one another, a desperate fight for survival against somethin’ that shouldn’t exist. We saw things that’d make your hair turn whiter than snow, things that’d challenge a preacher’s faith. The forest itself seemed to twist and turn on us, the familiar transformed into a maze of nightmares.

Somehow, by the grace of whatever gods there be, we stumbled out of those woods, blinkin’ in the sunlight like newborn babes. We were forever changed, though. The carefree spirit of youth replaced by a shiver that runs deep. The shrieks of the Wendigos still echo in my head at night, a constant reminder that the world ain’t what it seems. There’s somethin’ dark out there, somethin’ monstrous, waitin’ for the unwary soul to snatch up.

The Adirondacks, well, they still hold a kinda beauty, I guess. But it’s a haunted kind of beauty now, one that comes with the knowledge that the line between our world and somethin’ far worse is thinner than a spider’s web.