The Skadegamooch

On November 18th of the year 1814, the British had occupied eastern Maine, making bold claims to the district east of the Penobscot River, under the behest of the British Empire. The fierce invasion had embarked from Halifax in Nova Scotia Canada, and the force had consisted of the regiments of British regulars and a company of the Royal Artillery, commanded by Lieutenant Governor of Nova Scotia, Major General John Sherbrooke. Fortunately, the local militia was incapable of defending the district, and the few soldiers from the American Army were not successful in their attempt. Thus, the Lieutenant Governor had issued a stern proclamation to the populace that if they did not interfere, they would be granted protection, as British subjects. The defeats at the battle of Hampden and the sacking of Bangor had been enough to impose upon the will of the Americans for the nonce. The towns of Frankfort, Brewer and Orono would have their provisions confiscated, but there was something beyond the battlefields or the Americans that the British would ultimately encounter and be horrified. I was an actual witness to the ghastly appearance of the being that walks amongst the living, shrouded in the dripping blood of the undead. To the native tribes, she is known as the Skadegamooch.

My name is Walter Cummings, an English soldier from the British Regulars, and I had survived the brutal attack of this foul creature. I was the lone survivor of the 89th regiment out of 250 men that had started the journey with me from Canada. I do not know how I survived and was able to return to the fort where my regiment had been lodging, except to say that my life was spared, not by the creature, but by blind fate. I had been traipsing through the labyrinth of endless rows of thick patches of trees lost and lorn in my flight from the menacing witch that had pursued me in the forest. Her terror was unabatable to diminish in intensity and she had stalked me, with such an unremitting ferocity. Whatever evil attacked us was no evil that I nor any other man had ever seen before. Whatever was its true guise, it was not from any natural thing created. It was demonic, and it was the harbinger of death. Any mortal man to cross its path, would confront its sheer devilry. I was extremely fortunate to escape the horrendous carnage and live to tell my story intact. Not even the cold days of the bitter winter were more daunting than the Nosferatu that had killed my fellow comrades, with a savage and ravenous thirst.

When I had reached the fort at last, I was immediately questioned by my superiors, about what had actually betided to me. Naturally, their interest was knowing where were the other men, and how did I survive to return to the fort alone. I was evidently still affected and astounded by what had occurred back in the forest and town of Bangor and I myself was not even certain of what had transpired, except to state that it was an unnatural force of evil that no man would ever desire to meet. The fact that the witch had pursued me in the forest did not assuage my angst, and although I was in the confines of the protection of the fort it did not mean that she could not come for me. I did not doubt her immense power and influence upon me, nor the ruthlessness of her attacks. The only thing that I knew for a certainty was that no one would believe my actual version of events disclosed, including the Major General. To candidly acknowledge that it was something diabolical in nature that had killed the rest of the company of men would be interpreted, as sheer madness or a fanciful imagination on my part. On one hand, I was cognisant of the fact that no one would believe me, and on the other hand, I knew that I had to reveal the horrendous truth in the manner in which my testimony would be eventually credible.

When I was questioned, while seated, I could hear her irrepressible murmurs calling out my name clearly, as she tempted me with her feminine persuasion. I had to control my thoughts and suppress her murmurs, before the Major General would notice my queer comportment. I had made the conscious decision at that moment to replace the vampiric mistress of the forest, with a terrifying wild animal that could be presumed to be from the general area than to dare to utter a vampire. I had no other choice, since to speak the truth would condemn me to the four walls of a madhouse or worse, to the horrible fate of an execution for deserting I had felt. My fate was hanging on a loose thread and I was uncertain of what course of action would be taken against me. Although there are sundry cases of men that have been the lone survivors of their regiments in wars, the thought that I was the only one to survive and return to the fort was simply uncommon and rare. This I felt was what was disturbing to the major general and my fellow soldiers. I was repeatedly asked to describe with precise details what exactly had occurred to the other men that perished, at the hands of that bloody witch. It would not be an easy endeavour for me to make my case, nor appeal to reason.

'You said that a wild beast in your observation had killed the other soldiers that accompanied you?' Asked the Major General.

'Yes sir!' I had replied.

'What was this wild beast, a large bear or wolf?'

I shrugged my shoulders then said, 'To be honest sir, I don't know what it was, except to say that whatever it was, it was quick and deadly'.

'Was it big in stature from your observation?'

'That I could not determine completely sir, but it could have been!'

He was as perplexed as I was, 'Private Cummings, unless you can give me more relevant information about the attacker, then I cannot know what to do with you.'

'What do you mean sir? I don't quite understand'.

'You return to the fort, with no major scratches, no serious battle wounds that are visible from an attack. Obviously, you are fatigued from the long trip and demonstrate the wear and tear of being in the forest, but there is little evidence that supports your version of the story. I would hate to declare that you are a wretched deserter'.

I rose to my feet with immediacy to object, 'Forgive me sir, but I am no bloody deserter and I can prove it to you!'

I was ordered to sit, and I did, 'Sit down private Cummings! You say you can prove it, how? I would be interested in hearing your explanation'.

'I can escort you to Bangor, but I rather not have you or any other man of the British regiments be slaughtered!'

The Major General stared at me, 'What do you mean by that private? Your words confuse me'.

I had clenched my fist, attempting to contain myself from uttering the name of the murderess, yet I could not conceal her identity any longer, 'It was a she...a bloodsucking vampiric witch!'

The Major General was stupefied and incredulous to believe what I had professed in my confession to him, 'A vampiric witch? Good God, have you gone mad private? In all my years of command, I have never heard such rubbish. Do you expect me to believe that fanciful tale of yours?'

'For God's sake it is the truth sir. You must believe me. I am not lying!'

It was then that one of the Wabanaki by the name of Ahwesoos from the local tribes that was assisting the British in the war had interjected, 'He speaks of the Skadegamooch! He tells the truth!'

'Skadegamooch. What is that?' The Major General asked.

'In our culture, she is the blood sucker that roams the area from the forest in search of her victims'.

'Blood sucker? Do you mean a vampiress?'

'That is what you call it in your tongue, but in ours, she is the Skadegamooch.'

'Really? I can't believe what I am hearing. Vampires do not exist. They are not real. They are only fabricated stories of mythology'.

'The Skadegamooch is no myth Major General. She is real'.

'I don't believe what you or the private are alleging, but there is one thing that I must discover and that is the truth. It is my solemn duty. For that specific reason, I shall have you and the private escort a regiment of men to Bangor.'

He looked at me and said with a stern tone in his authoritative voice, 'I warn you Private Cummings, if you are found to be a deserter, you shall be punished in accordance with my jurisdiction. I shall have you shot for desertion or locked up for life in a prison to rot away. Is that clear?'

'Yes sir!'

The conviction in the Major General was visibly palpable, and I knew that his words were no idle threat to be dismissed so foolishly. He was a man with much influence and prestige to be reckoned with, and I was only a private. I knew of this contrast between us and could not allow myself to be rattled so easily by his authority. Therefore, I was confronted with the direful dilemma of having to not only prove what I had avowed openly in my averment, but to encounter afresh the hideous beast that had almost killed me just recently. Regrettably, I had no other option afforded to me that was reasonably of my chosen volition or inclination. I was a man that did not believe in supernatural beings, yet whatever had attacked the others was of no natural essence or existence. It was pointless to resist her spell over me. She had haunted me every day, since my arrival back to the fort. It was at night that she had terrorised my mind, and I knew as well that she would be there in Bangor. Nevertheless, I chose to return to Bangor and confront what the Wanabaki native had called with his own admission, the Skadegamooch. It would be a return that only I was the sole witness to the massacre that had befallen upon the other men of my regiment. This time, I would not be the lone witness to survive her brutal and lethiferous attack.

The night for me was spent in the solitude of my barracks, experiencing a sequence of similar nightmares. It was impossible for me to forget the horrific image of the carnage and the guise of the Skadegamooch. The last nightmare I was in the forest all alone scurrying, when the menacing witch had followed me surreptitiously. A wide fog had spread and surrounded the circumjacence. The terrifying howls of the wolves that resounded had begun to irritate my ears. Blood had covered my shirt, as the cold wind had caused me to shiver. There was no one nearby to shout for succour. No one could hear my unsettling voice plead. Fatigue had worn my feet and I could not go ahead any longer. My heartbeat had increased by the seconds that elapsed. When I had stopped to regain my breath, I was confronted with the indelible image of the witch that was the Skadegamooch. Her penetrating sable eyes illuminated a mesmerising spell that had prevented me from fleeing. I was at the mercy of her jagged fangs and deafening screech. That was the last thing I had recalled from the nightmare. I woke up with sudden chills and perspiration. After several minutes had elapsed, I knew I was only dreaming. The thing that was lingering in my mind was, what had happened to me before I passed out in the forest, as I sought shelter from her attack? All I had remembered was waking up, beside a riverbank drenched in blood, nothing more. Why was I the only one to survive or worse, why was I spared? I had so many questions to ask, but few answers to be solved.

We embarked upon the following morning, with the order given by the Major General, who had instructed Sergeant Bowers to lead the regiment that would accompany the Wanabaki and me to Bangor. As to be expected, the Major General was not convinced of my dubious narrative and had implied already that he would not hesitate in not only disproving me, but worse, punish me for desertion. We had taken caution and observance upon the dusty roads of rusticity, knowing that there were still small pockets of American resistance in the general vicinity. I knew the daunting peril that was awaiting us upon the return to Bangor, but I was feckless to avoid the bloodbath that would occur, once we had reached the town. No man could ever imagine such a dreadful being in existence, or could he assume the consequences of such an evil nature unfolding before him. The devil had unleashed his maiden of horror, seeking to condemn us to the sins of the past.

When we finally arrived at Bangor, what we had encountered was a grisly gore that few men have ever witnessed ere, except me. There were British soldiers strewn upon the gardens of houses, stone dead and unmovable. They had appeared to be stiff corpses and were indeed, the transparent remnants of my regiment that were brutally murdered. The evidence was undeniably cruel and had shocked Sergeant Bowers; even the Wanabaki who had forewarned us of the Skadegamooch was affected by the horrendous scene. Nothing could truly prepare the sergeant for what he had witnessed. He had ordered the men to search for any possible survivors or present denizens that could be potential witnesses to this macabre spectacle. I knew that there were no men alive and the Wabanaki had as well known this tragic circumstance.

'I want all men to search for survivors or locals to question!'

'You will not find any survivors sergeant!' The Wanabaki had interjected.

'What are you talking about Wanabaki? Do you know something that we do not know?' The sergeant queried.

'I am telling you sergeant that you are wasting your time if you think you will find any survivors'.

He was sceptical and did not quite understand the utterance of the Wanabaki.

'What killed your men was not human but supernatural in origin? It is a nightly devourer of endless blood.'

'Do you expect me to believe that version of your story?'

'Whether you believe me is not important sergeant. What is important is these men are all dead! If you want to catch their killer, then I can help you. If not, I will return to my people'.

'He is correct sir. I have seen this Skadegamooch in person!' I stated.

'Are you telling me that an unnatural witch that drinks human blood is the culprit to this massacre?'

I nodded my head and had replied, 'Yes sir!'

'I can't believe you!'

'I know it sounds strange, but it is the truth. Whatever this bloody thing is called attacked us with no warning given'.

'Now is not the time to deal with foolish stories private. I have strict orders to adhere to, and I shall execute them at whatever cost permitted'.

I did not envy the position the sergeant was in, or did I desire to be discredited in my account of the events that had befallen upon the men that perished. I had no other recourse than to make him believe that there was at least an attacker, and the possibility of some unknown creature or beast was still possible behind the murders. He had no other recourse but to proceed ahead with his orders. He was not a facile man to convince nor was he a firm believer in the preternatural, yet he had to discover the veracity of the horrifying fate that transpired in Bangor. No one was present in the town; for no American could be located. It had seemed that they had either met the same fate of our cadent men, or they had mysteriously disappeared into the enveloping mist of the forest. Whatever was the case, it would have to wait for the nonce, until the Skadegamooch was destroyed. Every inch of the town was meticulously searched, but no sign of the attacker. The morbid irony was that we would not have to search far, for the attacker would find us, and it would not be a welcomed invitation.

At around ten o'clock during that night, the Skadegamooch would claim her next victims, and quench her diabolical thirst with a ravenous bite unmatched. A thick patch of fog had encompassed the environs, as a pack of howling wolves were heard obstreperously in the distance, accompanying the stealthy footprints of the nocturnal demon. The branches of the cedar trees had swayed back and forth with the ominous birr, as the twigs from below had crackled, as if someone was unannouncedly treading upon them. The temperature had abruptly dropped considerably, and I sensed her cold breath coming from the direction of the forest nearby. The Wabanaki had perceived this also, with his keen sentience. Sergeant Powers had noticed our odd behaviour and queried.

'What are you two thinking that I want to know?'

'We better make a fire. She is coming', said the Wabanaki.

'Who in bloody hell are you talking about?'

'The Skagademooch!'

Unfortunately, the sergeant did not heed the Wabanaki's stern admonition. He simply discarded his words, and he would deeply regret that fatal decision to not light a fire as was suggested to him. He had ordered the men to advance boldly towards the forest to investigate promptly, but the fog was too thick for the men to see clearly what was advancing.

Thus, the inevitable had transpired. Once the men had raught the forest, a swift burst of a powerful force had grasped them through the fog, with a deadly aftermath. It was the Skadegamooch. She had violently attacked the men killing them all, sucking their life within a span of minutes. It was a vivid slaughter. The audible screams of the men were heard so hauntingly, followed by a strepent screech I had heard before. I was aware of her capability and sinister craving, but Sergeant Powers was not. All that he had intuited was the fact that his men were being murdered. The culprit was the unnameable that he could never fathom, nor defeat with mortal ingenuity.

'What in the bloody hell is going on here? He vociferated.

'You were warned sir. For God's sake, light the fire before it is too late and we perish, under her merciless thirst!'

I'll put a bullet in her head, before she kills me', the sergeant brashly uttered.

'You cannot kill the Skadegamooch, with a bullet or a thousand bullets Sergeant Bowers!' The Wabanaki had declared.

He had lit a fire, whilst the men were being murdered. 'Fire, is the only thing that will destroy her!'

Immediately sensing the Skadegamooch was advancing towards us, he gave the sergeant and I, a torch lit with blazing fire.

It was not enough to destroy the evil one, but it was enough to make her halt her celeritous attack and flee from the fire for the rest of the night. In the end after the mist of clouds had dissipated and the Skadegamooch disappeared, we were then reduced to three individuals, Sergeant Powers, the Wabanaki and I. None of us the survivors could have predicted that we would lose a whole regiment in one night. I was not even certain that the others or I would be spared of her wrath, not meeting the same terrible fate of our fallen men.

The thought in my mind was to destroy the Skadegamooch, but Sergeant Powers wanted to capture her. Naturally, neither the Wabanaki nor I thought it was prudent to attempt, such a daring plan of provocation.

'I want that thing whatever it is captured and taken back to the fort to be executed. We cannot allow it to go free any longer'.

'Pardon me Sergeant Powers, how do you expect to capture the Skadegamooch?' I had asked.

'This time we shall be the hunters and that thing the prey, private'.

'What do you mean by that?'

'Tonight, we shall prepare an ambush! She will be captured this night!'

'Sergeant Bowers, you do realise we are only now three men. We have lost a whole regiment in one night. Would it not be wiser to return to the fort alive? You have already seen what has happened to the men'.

'I am fully cognisant of that fact private, nevertheless, we shall not leave Bangor, until we apprehend her'.

He looked at the Wabanaki and had asked his opinion, 'You are from these parts of the country. What do you recommend we should do?'

'I think you should prepare yourself for death. You can return and save your life, or be bold enough to defy your death,' said the Wabanaki.

'Which of the two options, do you think I should choose Wabanaki?'

'We Wabanakis do not fear death or the Skadegamooch'.

'Neither do we the British!'

With the dawn of the sun came the cold and bitter morning. We were able to find few labourers that were travelling through Bangor and former slaves to assist us in the burial of the deceased soldiers. They were paid for their utilitarian service and were allowed to continue their path forth, without any major interruption nor imprisonment. The snow had begun to fall upon the northern landscape covered in wintry snowflakes, over the once ground of puddles of scarlet blood. The awful stench of the blood was still manifest and fresh. It had served as a stark vestige of the premonitory semblance of evil that had curst the town, and it was not to be the last drops of blood poured in Bangor.

Sergeant Powers wanted to capture the Skadegamooch and he had designed a plan. Even though we had discussed this plan, we were not guaranteed success nor the capture of the Skadegamooch. This ineffable witch was no foe ever seen or combatted, yet we knew that it had to be stopped. I did not agree with Sergeant Power's plan. I had acquiesced, because I had no other choice. I was only a mere private of conscription. The Wabanaki did not think that we could capture the Skadegamooch neither. I had wondered deep in my conscious thoughts, whether we the British and the Americans were the monsters for having robbed their lands than this foul creature of the night hunting us. He could have easily been deceiving us and had led us to our death from the beginning, instead, he chose to assist us in destroying the wandering Skadegamooch. For what reason?

When I asked him, he had responded with a sharp remark, 'I shall help you destroy the Skadegamooch, not to please your general or save your life. I shall help you be rid of her, for the sake of my people'.

'You are a trustworthy man Wabanaki. I admire your candour and bravery. It is a shame that the Americans and we have mistreated your people for decades. For that, I hope you can forgive my people. I know I don't speak on the behalf of the Americans, but if Britain can regain her former colonies again, you shall have your tribal lands under your control'.

'For years, those words have been hollow promises unfulfilled', he declared to me demonstrating his discontent and distrust.

I did not doubt his loyalty to the cause, but I was intrigued to know what his particular reason was in participating in this search. He had sided with the British during the war against the prior colonists beginning in 1812. That was something I had questioned before the trip to Bangor. If there was a unique trait, he would always display, it was his keen insight. From amongst the three still standing, he was the only one that knew the area well enough to guide us against our known enemies effectively, including the Skadegamooch. He knew the familiar scent and the trails of the forest. He also knew when the Skadegamooch was nigh and skulking.

I have not revealed to the curious reader, yet the complete description of the Skadegamooch, for there are no ordinary words to describe her wicked wantonness and terror. All that is pertinent are the distinct details of this account I disclose with my discretion. When I shall, you will have regretted me doing so. Therefore, know that from amongst the living the undead exist. Perhaps, it is we the mortals who are truly the vampires?

When the night befell, the peculiar fog had resurfaced. The snow had halted before the twilight arrived. It was very cold and damp and the anticipation of the Skadegamooch had penetrated the core of our accumulating anxiety and garments. We hid behind the giant stacks of hay we had gathered, although it was futile. The Skadegamooch was cleverer than us. It was awaiting us like a piercing wolf. Fire was the only way to destroy her. It was the assumption or the manner in which the Wabanaki legend foretold of her eventual demise. We had driven her away successfully the previous night with its usage. Bullets were ineffective against her. There was not much we could utilise against her.

I was somewhat worried that the fallen snow would impede our rapid movement or the inflammable fire. The fog had started to blur our vision directly. We were obviously at a clear disadvantage, but the hay had resisted the melting snow thankfully. At all time, as we hid, Sergeant Powers was occupied with the capture of the Skadegamooch. Unfortunately, for him, he would not live to capture his intended prisoner, for he would perish before we could save his poor soul. When the howling of the wolves was heard, the Wabanaki and I had sensed her diabolical presence anew.

It was the only time that Sergeant Powers would ever see her briefly. A swift force of a strong gust of wind had brought her to us. There before us stood erect was the frightening Skadegamooch, with her long raven hair in a black gown drenched in crimson blood, dripping from her vampiric fangs. Her pallid skin was covered with dried moss. Her hoary eyes illuminated through the patch of the mist. She grabbed the sergeant and tore his heart out, killing him instantly. Then she devoured the heart before our eyes, as we witnessed this macabre display of inhumanity.

It had seemed we would meet the same fate as Sergeant Powers. The Skadegamooch had stared into our eyes expecting our fear. Her thirst was compelling her to kill us. The Wabanaki had made a scarecrow to trick the Skadegamooch and it had functioned. He had put the scent of human blood on it. She had lunged at it and when she did, he threw his fire at her and the scarecrow. He told me to do the same, and I did without hesitation. Quickly the fire had started to burn the witch, as she screeched in agony. In the end, she had been reduced to the specks of sizzling ashes that the wind had taken away. The clouds of mist had vanished, and the howling wolves had ceased to echo. The intimidating forest had sung her plaintive dirge. It was finally over, and the Skadegamooch and her gripping spell was gone for good. That was what had appeared to be the case.

The Wabanaki had perceived something strange in me, as we awoke and embarked the following day back to the fort. We were the only survivors to return. The harrowing struggle with the Skadegamooch had abated, but mine had just begun. So many men had succumbed to her terrible terror and lost their lives unnecessarily. For me personally, the vivid encounter with the Skadegamooch would alter my life forever. History would not recall the massacres, yet I would never forget. When we had arrived at the fort nearing the crepuscule that resuscitated the darkness, he said his farewell. He would depart as I entered the fort, where the Major General was expecting me. Before he did he looked profoundly into my eyes then had uttered, 'Do what you must do. Let them know, who you really are Private Cummings'.

I was startled by his foreboding words, 'Since, when did you know?'

'Since the very beginning. Have you forgotten, I am a Wabanaki. Go now'.

He left, and I had proceeded to enter the fort then, as it had been opened. I would never see the Wabanaki again, but I would sense his presence as he would sense mine. I was now of a special kind of specie that knew the raw scent of death and blood. What I had failed to mention before was the important fact that I purposely omitted, I had become a nocturnal Nosferatu afterwards unwillingly. For decades I would roam the forests of America curst by the witch that had converted me into her vile servant. I was mortal in the day and monster at night. I had learnt to accept who I was and what I had become. I would walk with the living and the undead. There are numerous accounts of vampiric creatures throughout the folklores of Europe and America. If I had revealed to the reader that I was bitten by the Skadegamooch previously but had survived to live amongst the living and the undead, would the reader assume I was not mad? Would it not be madness to believe in such superstitions, or are there really vampires, witches that exist beyond their legends, but the world does not even know of their absolute horror?

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