“The Qaakil”

By Bill Nielsen

Young Powerful Love + Tragic Terror = Spine-tingling Excitement!

Colt and Molly, intensely in love, face devastating horror with grace and humor while fighting to contain a truly horrendous invasive species.

The Qaakil is a very timely novel-sized work that mixes humor and romance with the stark terror of a believable monster story. This novel is timely because of the headlines that have been reporting the discovery of Killer fish imported from China in a Maryland pond and now in the Potomac River along with big-headed carp that have decimated fisheries in the Mississippi River system and now threaten the Great Lakes. Great care has also been taken to keep the story line technically correct and logical. This is NOT a giant alligator in my basement type of story!

Ecocidae Gigas Dentire or Giant Toothed Pike were thought to be extinct although Inuit people have tried for years to tell the Kabloona (White Man) about what they call The Qaakil; sixteen-foot monsters found in some remote lakes of the far north. Those stories were dismissed as folklore.

However, they do exist as John Stanton of Stanton Electronics found out in the last few seconds of his life while on an expedition to the far north.

The Stanton family takes a brave and principled stance when they realize they are responsible for importing these monsters and allowing them to escape into a New York State river.

Colt and Molly will experience horrifying situations including attempted murder as they work to confine these monsters while at the same time discovering the joys of new-found love.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Trafford Publishing
• Release date: Nov 14, 2012
• ISBN: 9781466966871

Bill Nielsen

An old school romantic with a belief in the inherent goodness of man, Bill Nielsen’s fascination with romance and humor crafted “Passion and Pandemonium.” His fears about the invasive snakeheads and big Asian carp overrunning local waterways added a fearful aspect, the giant Qaakil, to this tale. An ex-marine and a widower, Nielsen has been involved with technical journals, coauthoring one published book and producing many papers involving dyeing and colors. He writes humorous articles with morals for a local newspaper under the pseudonym Hill Bill. As an avid Northern Pike fisherman, Nielsen tries to catch the nearest thing to a Qaakil that he can. Retired, he now lives in rural Upstate New York.

Book preview

Chapter One

T he bitterly cold wind howled across the blue-black night of the Arctic Winter carrying finely powdered snow with it into the small Inuit village. It squeezed its way past the skins that covered the entrance tunnel to the communal igloo, causing the oil lamps inside to flicker while an aged shaman chanted the oral history of his people with an old and sometimes cracking voice. The eerie shadows of him on the icy dome wavered in the flickering light, accented by his arms pointing toward the directions he sang of.

The younger Kagamuit children sat huddled together, their round faces and widened eyes highlighted by the twinkling lamps as they listened. They were being watched by the older ones who had heard this chant before and although still frightened by it, wanted to see their reactions.

Our People wish to move all about the land, but the great Sky God sent the ice that never melts and the great white bear to keep us from the land where the summer sun sleeps.

He sent the Kabloona with white skins to rule the land of the high sun and the Utkamuit People to keep us from the land where the sun climbs.

He hesitated, allowing tension to grow while the young children huddled even closer while the others watched intently as they waited for what they knew was going to come.

The old man’s eyes glowed from the shadows of his face like burning coals, accenting his emotions as he continued the chant with a deeper and more mysterious voice.

But to the land where the sun falls, He sent The Qaakil! Mighty ones who rule all the waters there!

Suddenly, he turned toward the children as he faced the West, moving his arms like snapping jaws, startling the children as it always did and shouted, Men die there!! And then in a quieter mysterious voice added, Those lands are forbidden to us.

Years Later

The Inuit man and his woman paddled the qajaits up the sluggish river. Having never been separated from the tribe before, the woman already felt disoriented and unsure of herself, but now her heart raced from fear as they entered the forbidden lands together. The water looked dark and forbidding, giving credence to the warnings of the shamans. She frequently looked over toward the man, trying to draw on his seemingly confident bearing as they moved along.

They were scouting for a group that wanted to separate from one of the Kagamuit tribes because overpopulation had begun to strain the available food resources in that area and the resulting hunger had begun to splinter tribal unity. Unable to find a suitable site in the lands normally inhabited by them, desperation, along with a weakening belief in the shaman’s tales, had caused her husband to take them into the forbidden lands. She was able to accompany her husband, one of the leaders, because she had no suckling baby.

Now well into their quest, they entered one of the nameless lakes that dotted this region of the Northwest Territories. This lake had a large bald island in the middle and the couple paddled toward it to set up camp for the night, trusting that its location would protect them from some of the insects and any large predators in the area.

They had no sooner disembarked than the man noticed a large herd of caribou crossing a bay at the far end of the lake. A grin split his features as he pointed toward them and turned toward her with a smug I told you so look.

They climbed back into the little kayaks and started toward the caribou, he holding a spear across his lap because the old rifle that they carried wouldn’t be needed to get just one animal. They rapidly approached the herd and then silently drifted into them. He was concentrating on the caribou and didn’t notice the large dark objects moving under the water. A wild melee ensued and then stopped as the last caribou to make it climbed up the other side. When the bloodied waters finally became still, the kayaks were gone.

1988

The late morning sun, low in the sky and dimmed by mist gave the town a dreary look. John Stanton, standing alone on a wharf next to some bags of gear, watched the noisy Beaver plane that had deposited him there taxi out into the inlet and then lift off. When the noise dimmed, the plaintive cry of a gull and the cold salty smell of an adjoining marsh seemed to accent the lonely feeling that had come over him. He wished that the plane had waited until someone met him.

He was at the small town of Sandy Inlet on the Hudson Bay in Canada’s Northwest Territories. He looked at the bright yellow plane tied next to the floating dock. The Beaver pilot had told him that it belonged to his guide George Ikuutqaq and was the plane that was going to carry him up north to what he hoped would be the ultimate wilderness trip; a trip he had been promising himself as far back as the war.

His ownership of Stanton Electronics had been both a blessing and a curse, making him wealthy enough to do whatever he wanted, but demanding so much in return that he found it difficult to get away for any meaningful recreational time. Providentially, his brother Charles had joined the company several months before and was now proficient enough to take over for a while and give him a well-earned rest. Charles, wealthy in his own right, had surprised John when he came to him a short time after selling his own transistor company. He said he had become bored and wanted some work.

Even though John’s blonde hair was becoming thin and his waistline a little beyond what would be called athletic prime, a surge of youthful excitement began to replace the lonely feeling as he again took in the alien surroundings. He was finally on his way!

A slight frown accented the normally serious mien of his face when a thought took away some of the enthusiasm. He remembered that his wife Sally hadn’t been too happy about the trip. When she found out that he was heading into the wilderness for his first vacation in years she had rightly made a scene. After all, because of his work her vacations had been alone except for a quick weekend here and there.

A wave of guilt swept over him and he promised himself to spend more quality time with Sally and their son Colt. A slight smile took away the frown as he thought of that little boy with the dark curly hair and the bright blue eyes. The hair had been a joke in the family because no one else from either side of the family had hair like it and everyone wondered where it came from. It could have been more serious if it hadn’t been for Colt’s eyes. They were obviously John’s.

He knew that Sally would be expecting some meaningful family times and vacations after this trip and he intended to give them to her. Deep down, he knew that he was being selfish but he couldn’t seem to help it, he was driven to keep this appointment, an appointment that had been set years before. As a boy, his fascination with the far north manifested itself by his reading of Jack London’s books again and again and of his accumulating a collection of Inuit artifacts. Other boys skied and sledded when a large snowfall happened in their area while he spent his time trying to build an igloo that wouldn’t collapse on his head.

The real drive to come up here had started out as a daydream in Vietnam. After being shot down, he had spent a month alone in the jungle nursing his wounds and trying to survive until he made his way out. At night, as he lay in the rotten vegetation, sweltering from the humidity, he would remember those Jack London stories and yearn for the feel of a clean and cool far north.

The planning of such a trip became an obsession, an obsession that gave him another incentive to stay alive. Later, it became a goal to work toward as he spent twelve to fourteen hour days building the company.

His thoughts were interrupted by a voice asking, You’re Mister Stanton, eh?

John turned and saw a short, swarthy-skinned young man approaching him and figured that he must be the Inuit pilot and guide.

That I am, and you must be George Ikuutqaq, right? he said as he extended his hand and added, I hope that’s the correct pronunciation.

Right to both, George answered.

The two men were quiet as they sized each other up, then they both started to speak at once with George prevailing. You still got your mind set on the Back River Area up past Pelly Lake?

That’s where I want to go alright, any problem? John had spent a lot of time to find someone capable and willing to go hundreds of miles from any settlement even though he was paying out quite a chunk of money for this trip.

I don’t have a problem. My people the Kagamuit come from near that area, but I want to make sure you know what you’re getting into, eh? You’re probably hungry so we’ll go get a bite to eat and do some more talking.

The small Inuit guide surprised John in that although seemingly young he didn’t seem the slightest bit cowered by the presence of a well-known American millionaire. In fact, rather than he being fawned over, John could see that it was going to be necessary to sell him on the trip. The guide’s dark eyes and calmly authoritative demeanor immediately placed him on an equal level with John. Money alone would not talk to George Ikuutqaq.

They ate in what appeared to be a trading post with a few rooms and a small dining area stuck in a corner. George, although getting a fine fee for this trip, knew firsthand how dangerous it could be where they were going and wanted to know as much about this wealthy American as he could.

So Mister Stanton, why do you want to head up to that area? What are you looking for, beautiful scenery? Lots of big fish? Adventure?

First of all you can call me John, and I know we’re looking at barren landscape, lots of bugs, some char, pike, and maybe a few trout. Because this is about the wildest place left in North America, I want to experience it while it still is. I want to fish it, observe the plants and animals, look at the geology, smell the air, look at the stars, and feel like part of the land.

George was pleased with the answer and replied, If that’s want you want I’ll probably enjoy it more than you will! Are you familiar with that area at all?

Well, I did talk to a geologist some. He told me that glaciers covered the whole region until a few thousand years ago, exposing some of the oldest rock on earth and leaving long rows of rubble that he called eskers. Since then, with the weight of the glaciers gone, the earth has rebounded causing the area to drain north toward Bathhurst Inlet, also the lack of sharp gradients means that there are no fast-flowing rivers. He added that the area isn’t too well known.

It’s pretty much unexplored alright. My people come from that general area but you want to head further west, into some places that even we aren’t too familiar with.

Well, it should be enjoyable to both of us then. By the way, you have a very cultured command of the King’s English; I didn’t expect such up here. Where did you go to school?

Let me see, you expected some grunts and a few Hows?"

Oh God! You got me! A classical image built up in my mind. I’m really sorry about that!

Don’t worry about it, I was only kidding; I do speak better English than most because I grew up at a mission school in Bound Lake. We’ll see it later.

You went away to school then?

No, Years ago I was orphaned and the mission took me in. That was before the government school came.

John tried to picture him as a youngster. I’m sorry to hear that, it must have been tough on you, being an orphan.

George, looking a little embarrassed responded, Not really. At first I missed my own people—Bound Lake is far from where I lived—but there were great people at the mission. I didn’t miss out on much. George’s manner became more serious as he went on, Let’s finish eating and get loaded up. We’ll stay at Bound Lake tonight and head up north tomorrow morning, eh?

That sounds good to me. John patted his stomach as he went on. I’ve had enough anyway.

George checked in at the Royal Canadian Mounted Police Post after they loaded up John’s gear. They soon boarded and took off, heading west. They were silent as John took in the seemingly endless terrain, sparsely settled and having many lakes and swamps. The land was covered with bushes and speckled with small hummocks on which grew stunted trees.

They finally arrived over a very large body of water that George declared was Bound Lake. We call it Qamani’tuag which means huge widening of river. It’s pretty big, eh?

That it is, I feel like I’m flying across one of the great lakes or something. Is the town on the other side?

Yep, we’re coming up on it soon but don’t expect to see much. It has some Government type housing, the trading post, the mission, aid station, and the school. See that narrow bay over there? That’s where the Fisher River comes in; the town is right near its mouth.

When it appeared in the distance, the town looked very lonely setting in the middle of such a vast wilderness. Curls of smoke hovered over a few of the buildings, the only signs of life.

They landed and taxied up to a dilapidated dock in front of what, according to a faded sign painted on the side, had been the Hudson Bay Company’s trading post. As they unloaded the overnight bags they saw a boy come out of a building, stop just long enough to look at the plane, and then hurry toward what George told him was the North Trading Store. That’s where we’re heading, he added. They found out why the boy was hurrying when clouds of mosquitoes surrounded them.

The bugs aren’t a problem in the town unless the wind blows them in from the marshes. George remarked.

Oh, I’m sure we’ll see more where we’re going, right?

We might on occasion but we’ll try to stay out of the worst of it. Let’s beach her over on that shore, eh? George gestured toward the plane.

Why not leave her at the dock? John asked, as he was in a hurry to get away from the bugs.

You’ve got to experience the wind up here to believe it John. We’ll anchor it on the beach facing out, just to be safe.

When the plane was situated to George’s liking, they hurried to the North Trading Store to escape the insect onslaught. Entering the door was like stepping back into an era long gone. Stuffed animal heads and fish, looking worn and dusty, peered out from the gloom of the log walls, poorly illuminated by a pair of reindeer antler chandeliers. The smell of wood smoke and kerosene accented the illusion. It looked and felt like an old-time general store except for what John noticed was more than modern-day pricing

The youngster they had seen earlier shyly approached George.

Well, if it isn’t my old friend Matthew! George exclaimed, surprising him by bending down, picking him up, and turning him upside down. The boy giggled as he struggled to free himself.

How have you been, eh? George asked as he set him back down.

I’m almost seven! Adding, When I grow up I’m going to fly the bush too.

George grinned. Keep to your studies and when the time comes I’ll teach you myself; is Harry around?

He said he’ll be right back Mr. Ikuutqaq. Matt looked apologetic as he added, I’ve got to go now because they’re waiting for these at home. He picked up a bag from the counter, said goodbye and went out.

John remarked, Do I detect a bit of hero worship here?

Kids around here look up to bush pilots the same way kids in the states look to sports idols. I’m the local Bobby Orr, like it or not.

A door opened and a pleasant-faced middle-aged man entered. After sizing up John he nodded and then asked George, We thought you forgot all about us. What’re you here for, come to donate blood or something?

We already gave on the way from the plane. This is Mister John Stanton, and this is Harry Dodge; he runs the place.

Call me Harry, he said as he held out his hand.

John took his hand in a firm grip and responded, And I’m John.

Nice to meet you, so what can I do for you Gentlemen?

We need a place to stay tonight. Can we have that same cabin?

It’s all yours; will you be eating here?

As much as I enjoy your wonderful cuisine I must decline, we’re eating at the mission. Ah, you don’t mind do you John?

Harry interjected, Believe me John, and try hard not to mind. I eat over there myself every chance I get. We haven’t won any cooking contests here for a long time.

When did you ever? George retorted.

You know, on second thought maybe that cabin is already rented, I’d better check.

Alright, take it easy Harry! John, Harry is famous for his umingmak steak, that’s Musk Ox to you.

"Really? I’ve never tried those but I’ve heard that you prefer caribou up here, right?

Right; but they’re good as far as umingmak meat goes.

Harry gave in. I shouldn’t do it but on that note the cabin is yours.

Thanks a lot Harry; we’ll be back after supper. Come on John, let’s go eat.

The wind was now coming in from the lake and with the mosquito problem somewhat diminished they walked westward along the shore, moving away from it and onto a gravel road at the edge of town. John noticed how very quiet it was, the silence broken only by the noise of their shoes on the gravel. The smell of wood smoke permeated the air. A cluster of small stilted homes came into view; one of which emitted the sounds of loud Rock and Roll music. A nearby hill was dominated by a building topped by a modest white cross.

A man with a clerical collar came out of one of the buildings and walked toward them.

Hi George! Saw your bird come in and figured you’d be along about supper time.

Good to see you Rev! George exclaimed and then questioned with mock surprise, Suppertime already? Today seemed to fly right by!

After they hugged George introduced the two men. Reverend Hanbury, this is Mister John Stanton. John, Reverend Hanbury.

Hanbury appeared to be in his sixties, ruddy complexion, with fine white hair that refused taming and large blue eyes framed by dark horn-rimmed glasses. Hello and what would bring you up to this neck of the woods and in such rough company? He winked as he asked.

I was hoping for more of an endorsement because George and I are taking a trip up north tomorrow.

Oh, I guess he’s okay and of course there’s one part of the trip you won’t have to worry about and that’s eating. I never saw him miss a meal yet. At the sound of a bell he looked toward George, Your timing is as good as it ever was, it’s time to eat. Let’s head toward the dining hall.

They walked around the church to a low building and entered. The room had four plain wooden tables placed two on a side with a counter dividing the kitchen from the dining area. They sat at one of the tables while an older woman placed steaming pans of food emitting tantalizing smells on the counter.

Hanbury spoke to John, I hope that you enjoy our food. It’s probably plain fare compared to what you normally have but we think it’s pretty tasty.

Plain or not, it sure smells good! John responded.

Another Inuit man entered and approached them. George stood up and introduced him. John, this is Paul Irsiraq, my uncle. He works here but doesn’t understand too much English. George spoke something in his native tongue to Paul that John didn’t understand except for his name, after which Paul offered his hand to John. He was surprised that such a young looking man could be George’s uncle. Did you say your uncle?" He asked.

I know he looks too young, he’s only five years older than me but he’s my mother’s brother.

When another smaller bell signaled the start of supper, Hanbury stood and offered grace. They then served themselves buffet style and returned to the table, Paul joining them.

So, where are you going on your adventure? the Reverend asked after wiping his lips and picking up a coffee cup.

George responded, Mister Stanton wants to go west of the Back River, past Pelly Lake, and fish some of the lakes southeast of Bathhurst Inlet.

The Reverend Hanbury gave him a strange look and didn’t respond. Paul asked something in the native tongue and when George retorted, in a very loud, angry-sounding manner, John inquired, Is there a problem I should know about?

George wagged his head from side to side as if he was reluctant to answer the question before finally saying, Well, something happened to my parents up there.

Something happened? What do you mean by something happened?

We never found out. They went up past Pelly Lake in qajaits, what you call kayaks, to the same general area where we’re going, and never returned.

John, whose own parents had died in a plane crash when he was a youngster, felt a shiver of understanding. So that’s what happened to them; it must have been tough on you. How old were you then?

Oh, I was just a toddler. Not to change the subject but that area has a bad reputation among most native people, my uncle included.

What do you mean?

Oh, it’s about people disappearing and such, which the loss of my parents only reinforced. I guess they believe it’s sort of a northern Bermuda Triangle. Our people have a legend about creatures that they call The Qaakil; giant creatures that are supposed to live in those waters and attack anything that gets in their way.

He went on, As a child I was terrified when the old shaman would talk about them, especially since my parents had disappeared. I thought for sure that The Qaakil had gotten them. Of course I know better now. It was probably something like a bad storm. Also, up in that area small parties have been attacked by Atsaqs, what you would call Barren-Ground Grizzlies. My Uncle Paul is only five years older than I am but he has more of the old beliefs, enough to believe in The Qaakil at least a little.

Silence reigned for a while as each one thought about the tragic loss of George’s parents. John broke it by asking, What is a Barren-Ground Grizzly?

Hanbury answered. A smaller variety of grizzly, but people say they can be meaner than the normal sized ones.

It’s beginning to sound like more of an adventure every minute!

I should think it will be but don’t get me wrong, I envy you. That area is almost totally unexplored and I expect it will be quite a wonderful experience. I hope you will stop back and tell us all about it.

Paul began to speak to George some more. It appeared that George had won the exchange because his uncle shrugged and continued to eat.

You can be assured that we will be praying for a good and safe trip, Hanbury added.

John felt good about the substantial sum he was paying George when he saw him slip an envelope to Hanbury.

After dinner, John and George said goodbye and used the remainder of the daylight to check and reload the gear before they turned in.

They took off in the morning sun and headed north, passing over miles of tundra sprinkled with many small lakes. In the afternoon they came to a very large body of water that George said was Garry Lake and turned to the Northwest. Many rounded lakes, seemingly marching off to the horizon, appeared on the left side of the plane as the sun, low in the south, reflected off their surfaces accenting them against the darkened land.

They followed the Back River and soon passed Parry Lake. Tundra, to all appearances unending, surrounded that body of water, broken only by smooth bare rocks, lakes, and some long ridges of rocks and gravel that went as far as they could see. John knew that they must be the eskers he had heard about, left behind by retreating glaciers.

They soon passed the lake and left the Back River Area far behind as they continued heading Northwest over the tundra. The unfolding scenery with its many lakes kept them so occupied that neither spoke for awhile.

Finally George broke the silence. This is the general area you wanted. If we go too far we’ll be getting back into fairly well known places south of Bathhurst Inlet and also use enough gas to make it necessary for us to refuel up there. I think we should start checking out some of these lakes, eh?

John, whose neck was getting stiff from looking out the side window of the plane, agreed, Sounds good to me. I hope we can find someplace high and dry.

Don’t worry; I never set up on that spongy wet stuff if I can help it.

The small plane skimmed over quite a few lakes until they spotted one that had some high ground adjoining it. It was a desolate looking place, surrounded by spongy bogs riding on a permafrost base with some exposed bed rock that had been rounded and smoothed by glaciers. One side did have a rise that was bare rock with a few scruffy-looking pines. It also had some islands that were low and marshy except for the largest of them. It was dominated by twin hills seemingly made out of one large bald rock with a saddle in the middle causing it to resemble a peanut.

This one’s got high ground, George pointed out. But look at that rocky island. That’ll be further away from the bugs and it’s even got a little beach in that cove.

The plane landed and taxied toward the small cove, protected by a rock outcropping. The two men got out and after securing the plane they started unloading the gear.

John squinted at the sun that added to the desolation by being so low in the sky. He remarked, George, I think this place has more than enough wilderness for me. Then he stopped, cocked his head and spoke softly and reverently as if to not ruin a spell, It’s so quiet—so absolutely silent up here!

George, used to the quiet of the far north responded, It is quiet. You usually don’t notice that because of the whining of the bugs, but out on this rock they aren’t too bad.

The spell broken, John answered, Not bad at all. I don’t think we’ll find a better place than this; it looks like a peanut, doesn’t it? Let’s name it Peanut Island.

That fits it all right, Peanut Island it is.

Where do you want to set up? John asked.

Up there, George pointed to the nearest summit. If we can find enough dirt near the top of this rock to sink our tent stakes into.

They found a place just below a small ledge with enough soil and spent an hour or so setting up. John, pleased with the lack of insects and the view, remarked, I couldn’t have imagined a better site! And then remembering the grizzlies asked, What’s the chance of any bears around here?

I’m sure there’s some, but they’ll have to swim quite a way to get at the food or us so I wouldn’t worry too much. We’ll hang the food off the side of that bald rock well away from our tents in case one does make its way out here.

That sounds good; I’m not in a hurry to see that side of the local fauna. What do you think we’ll catch in this lake?

I’m not sure; we’ll just have to see. These lakes are frozen much of the year but they’re deep enough for some nice char or maybe even trout. A few pike might be in here also. My people used to get enough char out of what you call Garry Lake to sell some.

You’re making me anxious George, let’s get that boat inflated and see if we can catch something for supper. I’m amazed that it’s still daylight up here!

The boat was inflated and after attaching a small outboard to it, they gathered the fishing gear and started off.

I don’t have any idea how deep it is so we’ll just have to fish blind, George said and then held up a spoon. I’d suggest a silver spoon like this; it’s the lure of choice up this way.

Those are shallow runners aren’t they? I shouldn’t hit the bottom with something like that even if it isn’t too deep.

They trolled around the island and started toward a bay that was bordered with weeds when a pair of geese circled and landed in it. They soon noticed that the boat was not a natural object and honked their displeasure at the intrusion but were not quite excited enough to take off.

John remarked, I guess they’re up here for a summer vacation also. Hello fellow travelers!

Suddenly the surface of the water erupted in a large splash and one goose was gone. The other one took to the air after running noisily along the top of the water, honking all the time. What the hell was that? John cried out.

I didn’t see it, but that was one big splash!

Splash hell! A big fish took one of the geese!

George, embarrassed and a little hesitant to disagree with his client, answered, Ah, I doubt it John, the goose probably dove underwater.

John’s face flushed as he tried to make George believe what he had seen. I’m telling you that whatever it was took that damned goose! You don’t see him popping up anywhere do you?

Mister Stanton, uh, I mean John; there shouldn’t be anything up here big enough to take a bird that size.

George, I’m telling you that as unlikely as it may seem, something hit and took that goose! It happened right in front of my eyes!

You sure that a beaver didn’t swim by and slap his tail? No, wait a minute, they aren’t up this far.

Both men were quiet for a minute as they tried to understand what had just happened. John finally asked in a way that could be taken as a jest. Are you sure that that qaakil thing is just a legend? I’m glad it’s too cold to swim because I wouldn’t feel too much at home in this water!

I’m sure it’s just a story; we had hundreds of them. I’ll have to tell you about the Inurajak people sometime; beings who disappear right in front of your eyes!

They continued to troll without any luck until they crossed in