A Personal Experience By Derek

It was a normal fishing trip in 1945. My grandfather and father had gone fishing in a pond deep, deep in the forest. They trekked a grueling 25 km into the John forest.

Before I continue, you have to know something about this place. It served as the backdrop to one of the most hideous and unspeakable crimes committed in Nova Scotia at that time. Back in the days of the contact, a well-known and respected tribe lived there. Then, one day, a posse of soldiers came and slaughtered them in non-human rage. About 150 people died that day. Human bones can still be found there.

After the seemingly end-less road, they came upon a beautiful clearing. They set up a large A-frame shelter and settled in for the night. The first night was numbingly cold - to the point of hypothermia. My grandfather crawled out of the shelter to the dying fire. He stocked it up until it was blisteringly hot. Then, while sitting there, he observed many small lights in the distance. They seemed to flicker and dance in the morning haze. They then disappeared instantly.

That day, the fishing was spectacular. Catching more than 100 fish from the banks, they headed into the lake in a canoe. They started to catch the bigger trout, when a dungeon of fog smothered them. They heard the steady beat of oars hitting the water all around them. It started to get louder and louder, until an oar hit the side of their small canoe and put a hole in it. They quickly paddled toward the coastline of Lake John.

Suddenly, a man appeared at the shore. He helped my father and grandfather out of the boat. He was wearing old, native clothes and spoke English with difficultly. He walked away after a few minutes and disappeared.

(My family roots are linked to the first people that set foot on this land from Europe. I am a direct descendant of an Irish settler who may have attacked the natives.)

They were concerned about the man, but they soon forgot about it and started to repair their wounded canoe. My father went out to collect wood, and, almost immediately, cries of fear erupted in the woods nearby. My father had seen what he described as a mutilated man. My grandfather quickly discarded the idea of that, but as soon as the words left his mouth, a figure of a human with a gaping head wound appeared in front of him, repeating "Why? Why us?" My father and grandfather fled back to the camp. When they got there, about 20 figures lined the camp! They were coming out of the lake, mutilated and bloody.

My father and grandfather ran for lives, leaving all the gear behind. They made it back with shock and terror burned into their eyes.

A few years after, we returned to the spot where the two saw the man. I had brought a shovel with me. We dug until we hit something - human bones! At that moment, fear and horror hit my partners. For the bones were wearing old, native clothes - the same as the man who saved them!