Otatso Wetlands I Can Hear the Wild Wind Howling

Dusk. Rain turning to snow. 35°F / 2°C.

Weetzie was new to the area and had not heard any stories of the place, and no one was there to tell him that the woods were haunted. Although, even if he had such stories, he would not have been deterred because he did not believe in ghosts.

The trees provided some shelter from the rain and snow as he made his way westward through the wetlands. He was beginning to feel uneasy because night was falling and he saw no end to the marshy woods. He knew it would be difficult to navigate through the trees in the dark without the light of the moon, and he hadn’t found any good spots to rest for the night.

He started when he heard a series of screeches some distance behind him. He turned to face the sound, but there was nothing nearby. After a brief moment, he recovered. The screeches were too far away for him to see or smell, but he could identify them by their sounds. A red-tailed hawk had caught a squirrel. He thought it unlikely that the bird would bother him, so he continued on his way.

Several steps later, his left front leg suddenly felt cold and wet. He shivered as he looked down in front of him. He had stepped into a puddle. It is a wetland, he told himself.

Only moments later, he heard a mournful howling and wailing to the north. In the cry, he heard his sister calling for help as well as the whimper of his mother, chiding him for not being there for her. He stopped in his tracks with his ears pulled back and hackles raised as the howl continued to taunt him. “It’s only the wind,” he said aloud to himself, “just the wind whistling through the trees.” He relaxed somewhat, the fur on his back settling, but his tail remained poofed up as he continued westward.