Story: Hooves, Horns, and Teeth

They came that night. Rotten maws full of needle-like teeth; dried matted fur and hollow eyes. The sound of their hooves tapping in the dirt and stone path announced their presence. One snorted and sniffed the air.

Clip-clop Clip-clop

The sound used to herald wellness and prosperity. Mules used to truck bundles of goods  here and there for the people of the town and horses clambered up the street with passengers in tow, heading for far off towns. No one here used to fear the night as they do now. Children could play in the streets until the moon rose high in the sky. Now only the soft whisper of the breathing caribou and the tap-tap-tapping of their hooves filled the night. The townspeople huddled in their homes, trapped within them until dawn burned away the darkness. A curtain twitched, just barely, as someone watched silently from the window. They made a terrifying scene, the reindeer. A dark, huddled mass, full of flesh-ripping teeth and topped with horns moved through the town, scouring for any soul unlucky enough to be caught out after dark.

It hadn’t always been like this. When the town was new and the settlers staked their claim over the land once held by another people, now dispossessed and transient, the reindeer stayed far away. Then the land was beautiful. The water ran clear and the trees grew high and the wildflowers grew so numerous they blotted out the tender green grass in the fields. Only after the land had been swallowed by its new masters, its rivers sullied and the trees cleared, did it change. The earth grew sick and, like antibodies, the reindeer appeared.

They were dumb, vicious brutes. They could rip a man’s arm clean off and leave him for dead. In a herd they could trample a house and a swift kick could kill a child. They were oversized, with bloated stomachs hanging low and full of meat. Their shoddy appearance disguised their agility. Appearing each night only the vanish with the sun, the reindeer now ruled the town. In the early days of their arrival they ran many men down – men who had sworn to capture them and kill them. Few were able to do so. The reindeer’s thick hide left it nearly impervious to damage and its short temper made it a fierce foe. Too often the town’s hunters became the hunted until they thought it best not to further disturb the beasts but to let them pass.

The great beasts became more reckless with time. As the town killed more and more animals for food and dumped more and more of their waste into the water, and threw more and more of their garbage into the surrounding area, the reindeer multiplied. What started as a small group – four or five individuals – was now a full blown legion. Now, their presence weighs like a stone around the neck of the town. Little recourse is available to the people who once called this living nightmare their home. Now, people pack their things and leave.

Clip-clop Clip-clop

The sound now heralds an exodus from the town, now claimed by the ravenous reindeer. Each family, tired of living in fear, now moves on to greener fields, ones not yet infested with the flesh-devouring monstrosities of the night. Some believe this to be the ultimate end of the reindeer, as ghastly retribution for an Earth mistreated. As mother nature was wronged so mother nature sets the score even.

The old town, littered now with garbage which blows between dilapidated houses, stands empty, a testament to the culture which had once claimed it. The reindeer, they say, have lost their teeth now. Without their human prey they have resorted to feeding on the greens which grow lush in the fallow fields. As time wears on and the traces of humans wear away, the reindeer grow fewer still. They now seem as tame beasts, chewing their grass contentedly, drifting between the trees. The memories of their vicious ancestors fade, as do the scars of a neglectful town.

(a herd of reindeer)

Author's Note: This story was based just on a small tidbit from the Raven's myth. In it, vicious, sharp teethed reindeer kill and eat men for over-hunting in the area. The town's people are able to rid themselves of them by setting out very sour berries which cause their teeth to fall out. In my story, I capitalized on the idea of vicious, man eating reindeer and really focused on trying to describe them and the fear they were bringing to that town. In addition, I took out the part about the sour berries because I rather enjoyed the idea of mother nature retaining some kind of guard against more exploitative humans. I kind of think that if someone were to move back into the area and mistreat it, then the reindeer would regrow their sharp teeth and start eating people again.

Myths and Legends of Alaska, edited by Katharine Berry Judson (1911)

Reading Notes: The Raven Myth A

This myth is long in several parts so it should be the best to get a full story from

First man emerges from a pea pod that raven plants, then raven creates animals like mountain sheep and reindeer for hunting. Lastly he makes a woman for the man who came from the pod. Creation makes raven a very powerful figure but he seems mostly benevolent rather than malicious at least at the moment.
He teaches man to make houses that are strong like beaver's and to use muskrat skin as clothing. He makes bear as a warning not to over-hunt and respect ferocity in nature. He also makes important tools like nets, bows, and arrows from sealskin.

The a-mi-kuk is a really interesting monster and I'm considering abandoning the rest of the myth just to write something about this monster. I love the whole "not being able to escape thing" although I already have something similar with another myth I wrote. I'll ruminate on this.

Now, reindeer kill and eat men for being overpopulated and killing off too many animals. That's kind of weird since reindeer are herbivore but it describes "wolf-like teeth." In order to keep from being eaten, the townspeople set out a bunch of very sour berries. The deer eat them and shake their heads so hard (from the sour?) they loose their sharp teeth. Could capitalize on this in combination with the a-mi-kuk for a monster story.

(A Deer with Sharp Teeth)

Myths and Legends of Alaska, edited by Katharine Berry Judson (1911)

Reading Notes: California and the Old Southwest

I think the story I like the best at the moment is the fable of the animals. It has some good comedy potential. All the animals have been made and Man is coming in the morning to give them all bows of varying length correlating to their power. Coyote wants the largest bow and stays up all night to be first in line but ends up falling asleep. He then gets the smallest bow and all the animals make fun of him. Man then gives him a consolation prize of 10x as much cunning as he originally had.

It's really simple and short so I'm trying to think of how to spin it. I think I could have kids being given presents by their grandma. One stays up all night to see her in order to get the best gift but she sleeps in. Once she wakes up, her siblings have already claimed their gifts and she gets the one she likes least. Maybe an embroidered pillow or something. As a consolation though, grandma actually teaches her how to embroider, which ends up being a useful skill that none of the others have any patience to learn.

(child's embroidery)

The Fable of Animals, Karuk People's tale. Myths and Legends of California and the Old Southwest by Katharine Berry Judson.

Story: A Warning of the Shadows

Beware the thief of masks for he hunts in the shadows.

You know him because you have seen him before. He stands only just out of sight, and he does not move, and he does not speak. He follows and he hides. He hides in the dark corners of your home and you know this, and you do not go there. You fly from your basement – quickly, quickly up the stairs, and you’ve escaped. You turn to look back down the stairs, to make sure he hasn’t followed. And he is never there, but you knew; you knew he followed, so you ran. And you were smart.

You have seen him, but you cannot remember what he looks like. He is not a man but he stands like one. He is dark and his fingers are long. He stands, just out of the corner of your eye. You know that if you turned your head you’d see him. If you could only focus on that bit of black in the corner of your vision, you would catch him. If you were quick enough, you’d see your companion, but when you look, he is no longer there. He is gone again, but not for long. Ever persistent, he returns. Perhaps he will stand just a little closer this time, and perhaps he will move, and perhaps the hairs on the back of your neck will prickle and stand on end, and you will dare yourself to turn around, to check just once more that you are truly alone. And perhaps you will turn again, to find no one there. And you may go back to your book and think of him no more.

But sometimes, sometimes, the thief will grow bored. Sometimes he will cease his game, and he will not move, and you will turn and meet him eye to eye. He will pretend that you have offended him, that your gaze has unveiled him and you must pay the price for brazen intrusion. Should this happen, know that your time is short, for only the wisest of people have seen the thief and escaped, and you are not among them.
 The thief is capricious, and he is cruel. His favored trick, should you offend him, is your demise. Should you look at the thief, should you take the anonymity he covets, you will see him, and nothing else. He will make quick work of stripping you of your skin. He will eat you, and your heart will beat as his. When he is full, he will don your remains. He will wear your skin and assume your life. He will attend your job, and eat your food, and kiss your loved ones. None will miss you, for they will not know that you have gone, and you will rest forever in his stomach.

Watch closely your loved ones, for they may not be who they once were. You will know the thief when he becomes bored, and he shirks his duties. Be wary should animals run from them, for creatures can see the thief and have more respect for him than we. Perhaps he will move too quietly, and perhaps he will not laugh at your jokes, and perhaps you may catch just the smallest glimpse of his true form, and you will know that the thief has taken them.

Should you decide to confront the thief there is but one way to kill him. When he sleeps and you see that he does not stir, place kindling around your loved one. Be strong and light the blaze. Watch as they are engulfed in flames and, just as the fire has eaten them whole, you must cut out the heart.

You must be strong and kill the thief, or else be content to live a lie. Should your will run short you may content yourself to harbor this monster. They look like the one you have lost; they sound like them. How can you be sure they are not them? Do not ask this question for the seed of doubt will grow in your mind and once doubt takes root, you may never fully kill it. Strike once and be done with it. See the killer burn and die and know that you have avenged the one you loved.

Or you may live with your doubt. Touch the one you love and wonder if their flesh is still theirs. Share your meals with them and wonder if they taste with their own tongue. One day, perhaps, the thief will grow bored with his lie and with you, and you may turn your head to see him, and you will wish that you had lit the flame.

(a hand, reaching from the darkness)

Author's Note: This story was very loosely based on the story of The Lion Who Took the Woman's Shape, from South African mythology. In the story, a woman offends a lion and the two chase each other. When the lion finally pounces on her and eats her, he wears her skin, returns to her family and resumes her life, although he acts very strangely. Eventually, the woman's mother sees some of the lion's fur sticking out from under her skin. She gathers the village and they burn the lion and cut out its heart. The mother then places the heart in a jar with some milk and the daughter reappears from the jar some days later. I decided to make it a little spookier. I think most people tend to see things out of the corner of their eye even when they know that nothing is there. I thought that if this entity were more sinister, and especially if they took your skin, if would make a great urban legend sort of myth. In the end, there's no reviving the person you lost because that loses a bit of the spookiness of the story and regeneration feels kind of silly in the context of urban myths. It is also, of course, not a lion because that's not a creature you see much in suburban life.

 South African Folk-Tales by James Honey (1910)