CHATEAUGAY LAKE STEAMBOAT GAZETTE CO.

Letter to the Editor
Adirondack Almanack
October 24, 2024

Dear Editor,

I’m writing in response to your recent article about “Bat Week,” and it brought to mind a tale of shadow and echo, a ghost story woven into the very fabric of our Adirondack home. Allow me to take you back to the last days of the Banner House, when the walls crumbled like forgotten memories, and the air buzzed with the whispers of the old-timers.

Picture this: Alonzo Bellows, a man of ambition and fire, staring out across Chateaugay Lake, blissfully unaware that his own insatiable hunger for time and knowledge was leading him into darkness. The gentle lapping of the lake against the shore was a deceitful melody, lulling him into a false sense of security, while above him, a pair of bats from the cave of ‘W’ Mountain fluttered with secrets—swirling away, like ink blots against the twilight sky, guarding their own mysteries deep within the caverns.

Around the warm glow of the fire, elders would tell tales that danced through the smoke like specters. They spoke of the Chateaugay Lake lead mine, its entrance hidden by the thick brush, and how the Abenaki princess watched over it. “Beware the Wendigo,” they’d warn, eyes twinkling with both fear and delight. “It is not merely a beast of the night, but a reflection of our own greed, ever hungry.” Alonzo scoffed at these tales, of course, considering them the fanciful stories of men grown old and weary, too afraid to challenge the unknown. But the Wendigo was patient, lurking in the shadows of his ambition, waiting to unveil the truth that would bring him to his knees.

As the final guests fled the crumbling Banner House, Alonzo found himself alone, staring into the abyss of his own making. The Wendigo emerged from the shadows, its presence as cold as the winter winds that blew across the lake, whispering secrets of the First Builders—a universe where time did not flow like a river, but rather spiraled inward, consuming itself in an endless loop. Alonzo’s eyes widened as he beheld the truths laid bare before him: he had not escaped the chains of time; he had merely wandered into a different prison, a hunger that gnawed at the very marrow of his existence.

In those fleeting moments, Alonzo Bellows realized that the Wendigo was not his enemy but rather a manifestation of his own desires—a reflection of the insatiable greed that had driven him to build and claim and conquer. The old guides’ warnings rang true, echoing around the fire where stories of the past intertwined with his present. “Time is a consuming fire,” they had said. “One that devours all who seek to control it.”

And so, as the Wendigo began to consume the last flickers of Alonzo’s soul, he understood: the darkness that had surrounded him was of his own design. The Banner House stood empty, a hollow shell on the shores of Chateaugay Lake, as the echoes of laughter faded into the void. The Wendigo’s hunger had been sated for now, but somewhere in another universe, the First Builders whispered their warnings—reminding us all that to challenge time is to invite our own demise.

So, as you enjoy this “Bat Week,” I urge you to reflect upon the shadows that dance just beyond the firelight, and the stories that weave through our woods. The Wendigo waits for the next soul who dares to question the very fabric of time, lurking in the Shatagee Woods, where legends and truths intertwine.

Yours in the spirit of the wild,
Ephraim Goodhue
Chateaugay Lake, NY