Wicked Woods Read Online Free PDF

concrete slab by night.
    So was Rebecca really a witch or was she just a simple farm girl whose memory unjustly suffers from modern-day teenagers’ restless imaginations? The storyteller in me has already made his decision, but I’ll keep that verdict buried under a yard or two of freshly poured concrete for now.

5

C LUTCH
AND C LAW
    WOLF POINT

    New Brunswick’s forests hold an awful lot of secrets. The woods are full of life and death as green shoots push up through the ground cover of dead branches, pine needles, and rotted leaves. More bone–yard than forest, never are you closer to the secrets of life and death than when you travel these winding paths through the woods. The wind is a whisper gossip–ing with the trees. Listen hard when you travel alone in the woodland. There’s just no telling what you’ll hear.
    The Bay of Fundy stabs upwards into the Maritimes, slicing a watery barrier between Nova Scotia and New Bruns-wick. As it approaches Westmoreland County the bay is split in two by one long peninsula, forming Shepody Bay on the side closest to New Brunswick and Cumberland Basin on the Nova Scotia side.
    The waters here are anything but calm, surging upwards to create the world famous tidal bore of the Petitcodiac River. I have seen this bore, and to my overactive storyteller’s imagination it looked as if a sea serpent was speeding straight up the river, cut–ting a wild, strong wake behind itself.
    On the shores of Shepody Bay a little cape juts out into the surge of the Atlantic Ocean. This cape is called Wolf Point, and though you won’t find it on too many maps, the local folk may be able to point you to it. They will warn you of the quicksand and boggy terrain that abounds in that part of the countryside. Some folks believe this dangerous terrain is caused by the Fundy tides working their way through underwater passages, while other folks will talk of darker doings.
    Let me take you back to the days of the American Revolution. Britain was on the tail end of a defeat and the Loyalists, who remained faithful to the monarchy and the British Empire, were in retreat. They travelled up to the provinces of New Brunswick, Nova Scotia, Prince Edward Island, and Newfoundland, seeking shelter and hoping to find a little peace.
    One of these Loyalists, whom we shall call Miles, landed in a small skiff upon the shores of Wolf Point. He was accompanied by a trusted servant, Dougal, who had chosen to follow Miles to this new country rather than remain in America. Miles, like a lot of Loyalists, had to flee on very short notice. He carried his cash in a moneybelt tucked beneath his shirt.
    Miles purchased a horse from a local farmer and rested near the shoreline, trying to gather his thoughts. Along with nearly fifty thousand fellow stubborn lovers of the crown, he had fled his home of New York following the end of the American Revolution and the signing of the Treaty of Paris in 1783. He had left everything behind, taking only what he could carry. It was a scary situation and he was doing his best to cope. He decided to make camp beside a twisted apple tree and a cool running stream.
    â€œPrepare a meal,” he told Dougal. “We’ll rest here for now before travelling inland.”
    Dougal was a little tired of his master’s constant orders, and he was weary from the long journey as well. Still, he had served this man for ten long years. He went to the bags and got out the provi–sions they’d brought, following his master’s command.
    Old habits die hard.
    Except fate stepped in. Dougal, tired from the journey, stum–bled as he was bringing Miles his meal and spilled the food upon the ground.
    â€œYou clumsy cur,” Miles cursed. He was a proud man, upset that he’d been reduced to such circumstances. Pride leads to anger —and you know what comes next.
    Miles beat Dougal again and again with his riding crop. Dougal lost his temper and