The Iron Writer Challenge #113 – 2015 Annual Champion – Mathew W. Weaver

From the Journal of Daniel Brian O’RogersMathew W Weaver

Mathew W. Weaver

22nd April, 2011

Pukwudgie – noun; creature, mythical. Known abilities: teleportation, transmutation, and (undetermined) sparse magic.

It is a creature of Native American lore (Wampanoag, precisely) that I turned my pursuits to upon this fresh endeavor. A strange being; said to measure no taller than three feet, with grossly exaggerated human features, it has a range of abilities bordering on the bizarre.

As with most specimens I have tracked, these, too, exist only as lore; nonetheless, I have yet to fail in uncovering a species. Like the Sasquatch and others before, I vowed to unearth these creatures, and as promised, I now have. To protect their habitat from man, I will not divulge this location until I can ascertain their safety.

It was after three months that I fell upon the trail I sought. Hidden in the undergrowth, I perceived a group pass within reach of where I lay. I was content to observe and record, but unfortunately, this was when my assistant Arnold’s cellular device rang.

It is to be noted that the creatures seemed quite taken with the ludicrous tone; one Arnold explained to me was, “The Three Stooges Birthday Song.”

Droll, I admit, but the incident did allow us to examine the creatures within closer proximity. The leader, a manure covered individual with prominent crimson eyes, took to the device very much; indeed, it… or dare I say ‘he’… went so far as to buff it against his genitals quite vigorously, much to Arnold’s ill-fated dismay.

It should also be noted that the Pukwudgie does not take kindly to having things grabbed from it, and will respond violently. The poor boy’s fate was his own doing, and I am afraid he paid his price.

However, by baring my hands and humbling myself before them, I have earned their trust, and am now privy to the locality of their hidden village. I now believe that my hosts are quite intelligent; even capable of conversation among themselves. It was with delight I observed the hollow rods at their belts; blow darts, tainted with the venom of the nefarious poison dart frog, rare in these parts yet lethal in their potency.

I have attempted conversation with the scarlet eyed chief, but thus far it has proven futile. I am confident, however, that a few days will be all I need to learn their ways. For now, these observations will have to suffice.

I write this as I lounge within the primitive yet spacious wooden room they constructed on my behalf. With an ingenious system of ropes, it hovers high above ground; doubtless, they are arboreal and wish to protect their guest from the dangers below. It is an impressive sentiment, given their treatment of my former assistant.

A large fire burns below, warming me against the chilling winds, and the populace dance and chant all around. I acknowledge their welcome, even though the box strains alarmingly, and the heat has grown rather oppressive.

I close with a final thought; since I have arrived, I have yet to see them feed. With trepidation, I eagerly look forward to determining their dietary habits, among all else, in the days ahead.

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