Pukwudgie Peril

Pukwudgie Peril

There are pukwudgies in the National Forest. They are small humanoids between two and three feet tall, with grotesque facial features, and backs covered in porcupine quills. Legends of the First Peoples in that area say that long ago the pukwudgies were friends with humans, working together to hunt, aiding travellers, engaging in trade, and the like. Apparently that all ended when an invasion of Wendigo created unaccustomed scarcity, which brought much conflict. Whatever happened, pukwudgies are now the enemies of all humans. I know it for a fact.

I went into the forestry looking for proof that the pukwudgies had once lived, that they were more than simple legend. I went alone, with no way to contact the outside world but a two way radio, breaking all the rules. No one else believed in the legends of the little people who lived in the American midwest. I believed that they had been a lost species of hominin, similar to homo floresiensis. I was going to make my mark as an archaeologist by proving it. I suppose I succeeded, after a fashion.

For six months I slept in the forest, in my tent. I walked among the trees, and followed a hundred small waterways that led away from the river. I dug dozens of small pits, searching for artifacts in any spot I thought was likely to have supported a tribe of little people. I found dozens of artifacts belonging to Lenape culture, and a few Clovis artifacts, as well, but nothing new to archaeology.

In the final week of my intended stay, while I was considering packing up and trying again the following year, things started to happen. To begin with, I finally found an artifact that I couldn't place within a known culture. I came upon it completely by accident, while taking a morning piss. My stream disturbed the silt of the dry creek bed that I was using as my toilet, and revealed a ten inch long porcupine quill. It seemed nothing remarkable in of itself, but when I pulled it out to inspect it, I found the end of the shaft had feathers attached with hardened sap. It took me only a few minutes of study to realize that it hadn't been there for more than a few years.

My mind raced through the possibilities. It seemed to be a small arrow. Obviously this wasn't something that any modern hunter would use. I considered that it may have been a craft item for a scout troop, but being so deep in the forestry made that very unlikely, and I had never made anything like this while I was in the scouts. It could be something that some survivalist camper had made on a whim. And then there was the other option, the wholly unbelievable one. Pukwudgies. Alive and well, quite recently. I couldn't really credit the idea, but my mind swam with the excitement of the mere possibility, however remote it may seem. I was pacing around my camp, and strayed absent mindedly toward one of my work areas. That's when I found the second strange thing.
The pit I'd been working for the past two weeks, which had been open just the afternoon before, was now filled in completely. Someone was here in the forest with me. Somehow, in the middle of the night, they had moved enough soil and rock to backfill a ten foot square, three foot deep pit, without making enough noise to wake me, while I lay not more than fifty yards away. My pick and trowel were missing, as well. Now I was spooked. I made my way back toward my tent, but I was stopped short by a grisly sight. A rabbit, impaled and suspended with a straight, sharpened stick, head downward. It's innards were pierced through with a dozen porcupine quills just like the first one I found. I didn't really know what the intention was. Was someone trying to make contact with me? Had they meant it as a gift, or a warning, and who were "they", anyhow? Suddenly the rabbit kicked, not quite dead yet. I was startled and exclaimed "shit!"
Out of the shadowy forest came an instant chorus of high pitched cries. "Shit! shit! shit! shit shit shit shit!"

Whoever they were, contact had definitely been made. I peered deep into the trees, but couldn't see my stalkers. "What do you want?" I called out.

"Want! Want want want want want!" came the cacophonous reply.

"Can we talk? Do you speak English?" I asked in a loud voice. The reply this time was in a language incomprehensible to me, yet also somehow familiar. "Could you repeat that?" I asked. This time I did recognize what they said. It was a badly corrupted version of Lenape. I only understood the meaning of a few words, but they were enough to chill my blood. "Go away. Angry. Kill." It was a definite threat.
"Can we meet?" I asked in Lenape. There was no reply, but I heard slight rustling in the brush around me. For one brief, exhilarating moment, I thought I was about to make the discovery of a lifetime, but nothing emerged. I stood for five minutes, waiting and listening, but they were gone. They must have been convinced that I had understood their threat. Now I had a dilemma. Whoever was living in that part of the forest were definitely hostile, but they might have been an undiscovered tribe of hominins, and I couldn't bear to leave without some concrete proof of their existence. I just couldn't do it. Leaving now was out of the question, but I didn't want these people, or creatures, to think I was disrespecting their warning. They probably could have killed me, or worse, done to me what had been done to the rabbit. I started packing up all of my non essentials into the two plastic crates I was using, everything except my tent, whatever could fit in my day-pack, and my dslr camera.

I spent the next two hours dragging the crates back out to my previous campsite, then hiked back to where I'd left the tent. By that time it was after noon, and I was hungry. I took a chance by lighting a small cook-fire. Then I skinned, cooked, and ate the rabbit. No sense in letting the poor thing go to waste. Having finished my repast, I put out the last embers of the fire, outfitted myself with my pack and camera, and hiked further into the forest. Several hours passed, with no sign of the forest dwellers. As darkness began to fall, the temperature cooled dramatically. It was mid September. I removed my sleeping bag from my pack, and hunkered down under a tree for the night. Sleep did not come easily, and when it did, I dreamed awful things.

The dreams seemed a portent of some kind. I saw a cityscape of a thousand different architectural styles, all piled upon each other haphazardly, bound together and writhing in a pulsing, quivering mass of some black substance I could not identify.
It seemed to be aware of my presence, in some arcane way, and I was only aware of it watching me through some dim sense that only exists in dreams. I awoke with the dawn, my head pounding. I had nothing for headaches in the small emergency medical kit I carried in my pack. I just had to deal with it. I breakfasted on granola, beef jerky, and a small handful of dry coffee beans. I washed it down with a long draught of purified creek water from my canteen.

Soon I was on my way again. I travelled all day without encountering the forest dwellers, or finding a single piece of evidence. They had to know I was there. They were just avoiding me. On my second bedding down without a tent, I was prepared to stop chasing them. If they didn't want me to find, then I never would. It was heartbreaking, really. But I consoled myself with the knowledge that I had found the right place, and I could return in another few months, better prepared. If only I had known.
I headed back the way I had come at first light. After two hours, I came to the startling realization that I was lost. I was truly, utterly and completely lost. I had been using a compass, and I paid obsessive attention to my surroundings. I was never lost before, yet now I could not find my way. I kept following the compass, trying not to panic. I heard a rustling in the brush up ahead. As I watched, a large porcupine waddled out, with a bit of foliage sticking out of it's mouth. It saw me and froze. We stared at each other for the span of twenty seconds or so, until the animal was sure that I wasn't a predator. Then it resumed chewing as though I was not there. After a moment, it waddled back into the brush. It's not a good idea to get too close to a porcupine in the wild. They are not vicious creatures, but can be dangerous if frightened. I couldn't afford to get myself wounded in that situation.

To avoid the porcupine, I went a different direction, planning to circle back around to the proper way. When I pushed through the brush, everything changed. There, under a grove of dark evergreens, were dozens of small huts, in the shape of mushrooms. It was an interesting design choice, considering that the forest floor was virtually coated in fungus. Then I saw the porcupines. There was an entire herd of porcupines wandering around the huts, out toward the edge of the little village. I could see the quill covered backside of one very large porcupine at the top of a little hill. It looked like it had hold of a thick sapling. One of the other porcupines caught my scent, and looked over at me. It started to squeal shrilly. The creature on the hill spun about and glared at me. It was not a porcupine. The eyes that now pierced me with the cold fury of their attention were very much like those of a man. The face that held those eyes was wrinkled and haggard, but that nose and chin were unmistakably humanoid. The ears, though, were long and pointed, and reminded me somewhat of the ears of a whitetail deer. I have no doubt that I was looking into the eyes of a Pukwudgie.

The Pukwudgie began to keen, a high pitched ululating wail. From out of the huts, more of them came, by the dozen. They surrounded me, angry and bearing primitive weapons made of wood and stone and porcupine quills. I threw my hands in the air and went to my knees. The tips of spears were pressed up to my belly and sides. One of them, wearing a headdress made of goat horns, put it's face close to mine and began speaking roughly. I couldn't make out what it was saying. The Pukwudgie accent was too thick, and it may well have been speaking a language I had never heard before. I couldn't respond. I just smiled to try to show that I meant no harm. The Pukwudgie with the horns smacked my face with a handful of some strange powder which rendered me unconscious.

I dreamed again of the strange dark city. This time there was an enormous tree in the center, with branches that seemed to cradle the sky itself, and the ground under my feet teemed with giant worms. The tree desired me.

I woke up next to my Jeep, which I had left several miles from my last encampment. I was naked, and none of my equipment was there. It didn't matter. I got in the vehicle and drove back to civilization. I have no evidence for any of these claims, but I am writing my account just the same. Maybe someday the rest of the mystery will be solved by someone, but it won't be me. Hopefully this record of my discovery will be of use to the one who makes the attempt.