Wailings Along the Pemi Published by John French at Smashwords Copyright 2012 by John French – All Rights Reserved No part of this book may be reproduced by any means without express and written permission from the author. This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. Wailings Along the Pemi For over a hundred and seventy years stories have slowly trickled through of a most horrifying, but as known, non lethal event. The myth started with the hardened men who spent countless nights in the White Hills where they made their living. These were truly the men of iron whose fables and legacies created the foundation for what would later be referred to as the mountain man. Therefore their words should not be taken lightly. For they are of a culture that does not stretch the belt of truth, but speak what they have seen in fact and no more. These are men who dared to live under the shadows of the highest peaks, and hunt their prey in the darkest of ravines. They have brought forth stories of their observations and hearings, to those with hunger of the unknown that laid beyond the safety of the fields. It was those who heard the words spoken by the wanderers of the wild, who carried on the stories so that we could some day ourselves learn of their crossings. One such story managed to work its way down the generations, hidden in text forgotten and unnoticed until recent times. The findings of the forgotten words were brought to light when interest in a similar story of present day pulled at the wheels of curiosity. The story implies that more than recreation and water circulate along the peaceful banks of the Pemigewasset. For those who have had an experience let them relate. However, to those who have not visited the river or have had similar dealings, lend an ear and take warning. For there are rare occasions in the wild for which some dare not utter a word. Moments of time that our present society merely sets aside, and for reasons officials do not speak. I suppose an account of these earlier dealings in history would be in order before the most recent that I know of. There are few written accounts that can be found in regards to a haunting scream or crazed howl echoing along the Pemigewasset at night. This haunting sound was first reported by the trappers and hunters who scoured these parts in search of game. It is possible that earlier colonial accounts exist or native legend, but as of yet I have not had the luck in finding one. The men in the early to mid nineteenth century who wandered these parts, would return from their ramblings with tales of strange happenings along the Pemi. On many of their lonely nights camped along the river, they reported to have had visits of frightfully shrill howling in the night. It was told that the screams and cackles were so loud, that one would think a war party was in their very lap. In every case though, not a thing or even slightest movement could be seen. In the morning tracks that were so earnestly sought for could never be found. Other than the sounds of terror, it would seem that the incidents had never occurred. And so it was for decades of scattered stories and written tales. There were a few more stories of similar instances during the twentieth century, but not as horrifying as the accounts of the early eighteen hundreds. That is until the story that was relayed to me of an account in that beautiful and peaceful part of the wilderness. * * * * * Four canoes glided silently with the current of the river. The three families had been canoeing since late morning. They had originally intended to camp at a less secluded spot, but due to their late start they now found themselves looking to set camp deeper in the woods. While they searched for an area large enough for their party, they took in the peaceful surroundings that slowly slipped by. There were numerous song birds filling the air with their musical harmony. Their songs of nature were a wonderful touch to the vibrant colors of summer that stretched across the land. It was such a peaceful place. Just a slight breeze of warm air added to the experience, and kept the bugs at bay that otherwise would have dampened their spirits. Gentle currents bled into swift rolling water then back to still waters again. Turning another bend gave them a new picture of their journey to stare at and enjoy. Soon the canoes drifted upon a small beach with a clearing just up over the bank. It looked large enough for their tents, and the beach would be great place to spend the late afternoon into evening. They landed here and had a look around. The clearing was definitely just large enough for their tents. They tied the canoes off to a nearby tree, and wasted no time setting up the camp so they could enjoy what was left of the day. There were six adults and five children in their party, the children ranging in ages from nine to fourteen. The parents had planned this trip for some time now. They wanted their kids to enjoy the wilderness, just as they had experienced in their youth. This led to a ban of all electronic games and devices while in the wilderness. That did not go so well at first, but the kids soon learned that their surroundings offered much more than they had expected. The campsite was established, and a fire ring was now being built for that night. The kids found refuge on the beach, and searched eagerly for adventure. The evening was spent with fishing, horseshoes, stories, and laughter. As the sun began its final descent over the western horizon, a campfire was lit giving a little warmth to the chilled air. The three families sat around the fire and talked. Their conversations were mostly of previous campouts and future plans. As they were talking the kids broke into the cooler holding the precious ingredients for their s'mores. Sticks were retrieved and fashioned into spikes to cook the marshmallows. It didn’t take long before everyone was partaking in this camping ritual. After filling their appetites with the sweet taste of camp snacks, the families drew closure to the flames for a few campfire stories. Tales of the wild and rugged terrain that surrounded them kept the children’s attention. Soon yawns could be heard and eyes could be seen closing and opening. The parents sent the kids to bed, and began to prepare for sleep themselves. The fire now being low was smothered out, and the last of wandering soles turned in for the night. They had a long day of drifting and paddling tomorrow, so sleep was more than welcomed. As in any part of the wilderness, the sounds of crickets and peepers charmed the campers to sleep. An owl could be heard in the distance as the last person drifted into the dream world. That night was relatively peaceful with only a few coyotes howling far off in the woods. The campers slept soundly snuggled in their sleeping bags. The canoes sat alone in the water anchored only by a rope secured to a large maple tree. Silence began to fall upon the river, and so also in the minds of the slumbering campers. Sleep was soon taken as the campers awoke to a loud screaming noise. Voices were now filling the camp as they spoke to each other from inside their tents. Everyone had heard something, but they weren’t sure what. Mothers comforted their children as the fathers dismissed it as some animal calling out in the wild. As they lay again their sleepy heads to the ground, the sound seized the night louder than before. The men emerged from their tents and stood looking around the camp. The dim light from the flashlights they carried offered little view into the deep woods that hugged the small clearing. They heard the shrill scream again, this time from another direction and much closer. It was apparently frightening to the kids and the mothers who remained in the tent. The fathers restarted the fire and threw enough logs in for the flames to light up the entire camp. They questioned each other to the noise attempting to discover its source. No one could quite figure out what could possible make such a noise though. Again the sound traveled through their camp. The scream now would not cease, and was piercing to the ears. Cackling and mad laughter could now be heard accompanying the screams. The men had the women and children all get into one tent away from the edge of the forest. The men stood between the fire and the tent, staring into the woods for some sign of movement. The frightfully loud sounds continued, and soon carried to the waters of the river above their camp. Then whatever it was traveled downriver pass the clearing they were in. Just then a wind of immense trouble blew through the campsite and extinguished their large fire. The men now stood closer to the tent waving their flashlights in all directions. They franticly searched the trees and river for any threat that might appear. The sounds slowly died away as they traveled down the river. A slight warm breeze now blew across the camp, and their fire relit in a torrent of flames. The men just stood staring at each other not understanding what had happened. Neither did they try to as they comforted their wives and children. They did not sleep well the rest of that night, if they slept at all. In the morning they discovered that their canoes had broken away. Two of the men went downstream finding three after a short search. They crammed themselves and their gear in the three remaining canoes and departed. Before they reached the car they had parked for pick up they drifted by the fourth canoe. It had been tossed into the high canopy of an old oak tree. They didn’t even bother to recover the canoe, or ponder on how it had made it to its perch high in the tree. They kept this story amongst themselves for a few years. It never stopped them from returning to these peaceful waters though, and they have not had an experience like it ever again. Indeed some say shrill screams and the cackling of crazed voices can be heard along the river at night. I would assume it is mostly shrugged aside as coyotes hunting in the dark. For those few stories of late that involve an in-camp experience, there are no attempts to explain. None of the newer reports though are as eerie or mystifying as this, and closely relates to the earlier experiences spoken of by the hunters of old. Who knows if animals are to blame, or freak weather, or the supernatural? Either way, campers beware. About the Author John French lives in New Hampshire with his family. If you enjoyed this story, you can purchase his book “Stories From A New England Campfire” in print or ebook. This book contains “Wailings Along the Pemi” and many other ghost stories.