The Chateaugay Record
July 29, 1916
By Reginald Ethelbert Blackwood
Special Correspondent for The Chateaugay Record
Camp Jack, Chateaugay Lake – In a tale as twisted as the gnarled roots of ancient trees, the renowned sculptor Evelyn Nesbit Thaw, with her enigmatic consort, Jack Clifford, hosted an exhibit at Camp Jack that will be whispered about in the annals of Chateaugay history for generations to come. This gathering, under the august banner of the Chateaugay Lake Art Society Festival, promised an evening of unparalleled artistic splendor. Instead, it descended into a spectral cacophony of vanished souls and eldritch horrors.
As the first light of dusk began to fade into the inky embrace of night, a host of the county’s most distinguished citizens gathered at Camp Jack. Among the notables were Dr. Prospero Grimshaw, a respected yet dubious figure known for his unsettling fascination with the occult, and Miss Ophelia Macabre, the heiress whose family fortune was made in the shadowy trade of curiosities and oddities.
Evelyn Nesbit Thaw, a sculptress whose renown had reached the far corners of our earthly sphere, unveiled her latest collection to a hushed crowd. The sculptures, wrought with a mastery that seemed almost otherworldly, emanated an aura that ensnared the senses of all present. As one approached each piece, one could feel the cold tendrils of an unseen force creeping up the spine, whispering secrets of long-forgotten epochs.
The first to fall under the spell was Mr. Barnabas Gloom, a banker whose fortunes and misfortunes were the talk of Wall Street. As he stood before a statue of a wraith-like figure, his eyes glazed over, and he began to mutter incoherently. Witnesses reported a faint, chilling glow surrounding him before he disappeared into the sculpture itself, leaving behind only the faintest echo of his final scream.
One by one, others followed. Mrs. Beatrice Evershade, known for her philanthropic endeavors, was last seen reaching out to touch the delicate fingers of a marble maiden, only to dissolve into a mist that merged with the stone. Her disappearance left a void in the hearts of many, but none could deny the eerie beauty of her final moments.
Dr. Grimshaw, in a rare display of alarm, attempted to analyze the sculptures with his array of esoteric instruments, only to find himself ensnared by a particularly grotesque piece depicting a Wendigo in mid-hunt. As he leaned in closer, his flesh seemed to ripple and distort, eventually blending seamlessly with the dark stone. His instruments clattered to the ground, bereft of their master.
The evening wore on, and the once vibrant gathering dwindled to a few trembling souls. The surviving guests, now mere shadows of their former selves, huddled together in the corner of the room, afraid to gaze upon the remaining sculptures. Jack Clifford, ever the enigmatic host, moved through the room with an unsettling calm, his eyes gleaming with a knowledge that seemed to transcend mortal comprehension.
Evelyn Nesbit Thaw, her face a mask of serene satisfaction, addressed the trembling crowd. “My dear friends,” she began, her voice a lilting melody, “you have been privileged to witness the true essence of my art. The Wendigo’s dark past is not merely a subject but a medium. My sculptures are the vessels, and you, the chosen few, have become part of the eternal tableau.”
The remaining guests fled into the night, their minds shattered by the horrors they had witnessed. As dawn broke over Chateaugay Lake, Camp Jack stood silent and foreboding, a monument to the dark union of art and the supernatural.
In the aftermath, authorities discovered the festival grounds abandoned, save for the sculptures, each now bearing an uncanny resemblance to the vanished guests. The lake’s once tranquil waters seemed to pulse with an unnatural energy, and whispers of the Wendigo’s haunting presence spread through the town like wildfire.
This reporter can only conclude that the Chateaugay Lake Art Society Festival will forever remain a testament to the dangers of art intertwined with dark forces. The legends of the Wendigo, as whispered by the Abenaki, have found a new chapter in the chilling artistry of Evelyn Nesbit Thaw.
Until next time, dear readers, I remain your humble chronicler of the macabre and the mysterious,
Reginald Ethelbert Blackwood
What mysteries of Chateaugay Lake haunt you?