The Howler- nights of Native

Vast on 6 legs, 4 clawing arms covered in grizzled hair. A tall beast, an unimaginable fear, snout covered in saliva and sweat. Jaws of an enlarged canine, rotting and infected, a mongoloid of an animalistic human being. A true, terrifying, freak of Mother Earth. In the native land, they called the cryptic being the “Howler of the ravaging moon.” Yet thee only existed in the minds of people- a fantasy, a folklore, a tale.

A tall man, Mohawk, covered in face paint made his way into the hut of the pre reservoir investigation unit, trotting on native soil into the white man's tent of cashmere and silk, held up by logs and sticks dug deep into the ground, worms sneaking and peeking into the tent like they’re keeping a watchful eye on whatever was going on. In the tent facing was the elder retired chieftain, head and eyes low in deep sorrow and shame. His eyes wandered from the now clear faced chieftain, no longer wearing his tribal makeup to what he was looking at below his feet.

A young girl badly beaten, shivering and trembling. Bleeding and bruised all over her face, the inside of her legs stained with blood and piss.

One of our own!!?

He thought, the girl wore his native village colourings on her clothing. It was one of his own. She was raped, clearly raped and beaten.

Another… another of one ours.

In an instant, shock went to anger, then to sadness as he gently looked into the girls' eyes, she was no younger than 16, he recognized her from the party of bleeding he held for his granddaughter when she first had bleeding, it was only a year ago. She was her friend, they sat and ate together, he recognized her and suddenly heard a stick breaking outside, a sudden noise, now felt in his chest. A spiky stick broken in his chest, piercing his lungs, internal bleeding of fear and regret, only a delusion but it hurt just as bad as the real thing, he lowered his eyes from the young girls raped and torn body. The chieftain, a look of despair and regret painting his face.
“Who did this…?” His voice incredibly shaky.

He knew the answer.

The same answer every time.

It’s as if he was going to reply to himself,

“We don’t-”

We don’t

“Know.”

Know.

They should know, I should know. What am I for then? Just a chieftain that lets his little girls get raped!

He swallowed hard and gripped his chest, doing the breathing exercises he was taught by a dear friend.

And yet, another night fell onto the reservoir.