| Dear Since the dawn of time, humans have told stories of strange and scary things that lurk in the darkness, beyond the flicker of the firelight. Our earliest ancestors, huddled in caves or simple shelters, feared the sunset, when darkness descended and most large predators became active. Some of the oldest cave paintings ever found depict nameless monsters that apparently hungered for human flesh. Cultures all over the world held similar beliefs about the darkest depths of the woods, remote mountain passes or inaccessible caves being home to flesh-eating trolls, giants, ogres or other frightening things. I never took such legends too seriously as far as my own expeditions went — or at least, at any rate, they didn’t much trouble my sleep in the wild. That is, until the one I stumbled across one cold winter’s evening alone in my study, my desk piled high with old maps and books. In the early 1900s, an isolated homestead near the foothills of the remote Mealy Mountains in central Labrador was the scene of an extraordinary haunting by large creatures none could identify. Strange tracks were found in the woods. Unearthly cries were heard in the night. Sled dogs went missing. Children reported being stalked by a terrifying grinning animal. Families slept with cabin doors barred and axes or guns at their bedsides. The eye-witness accounts were detailed, and those who reported them included no less than three medical doctors and a wildlife biologist. Reading the passages I’d unearthed, my mind fixated on that mysterious place on the old map, and the little-known mountains that surrounded it. I decided to investigate further. There was only so much I could glean from old accounts. Tracing my fingers across the faded map, I resolved to set off for Labrador to see if I could find any trace of this legend … | 
