Note to self... never write something late at night while tired and edit it 30 seconds later. Here's my story reposted again, with a total word count of 452. Hopefully it's not as bad as it was when I read it again. Enjoy. **** Butte Des Morts Theres a legend Northeastern Wisconsin about Le Butte Des Morts, the Hill of the Dead. Long ago, when the French traded with the local Indians Tribes along the Fox River. In time, a war came between the Tribes who lived on the river. One tribe, the Fox, tried to control all the trade on the river and stole from all those who traveled it. Try as they might, the other tribes couldnt overcome the Fox without French help. Chiefs from the Tribes warring against the Fox went to petition the French Governor to help them win the war. The French agreed to help the allied tribes fight against the Fox. An expedition of French and Indians was sent to find the Fox and destroy them. After traveling secretly down the river, they came across a Fox village. The French and their allies caught them by surprise and slaughtered the Fox. Every man, woman, child and animal. They took the corpses and piled them into a large hill on the shore of the river and covered it with dirt. Out of the mound rose an evil smell. The putrid stench of their rotting bodies could be for miles downwind! Over time, the war was won, trade began again, and the smell faded away. People soon forgot what had happened there. Hundreds of years have passed since that terrible day. Cities have grown around the long lost hill. Fewer and fewer know what happened let alone know where it happened. It became an obscure local myth. But the slaughtered Fox in the Butte Des Morts did not forget, nor forgive. Occasionally, a person would go missing. Sometimes a family would vanish without a trace. Tongues would wag for a time, but not many would suspect the Revenants of Butte Des Morts. Some know and try to warn others. The vengeful dead from that frightful day come back to exact their revenge on those who stole their land and murdered them! At night, when the wind sighs and clouds play hide and seek with the moon, they come. You may catch a glimpse of their gaunt and rotting corpses as they come for you. They come creeping through the woods, cornfields, yards, alleys, and homes. They are as quiet in death as they were in life. Coming to drag you back to their grave. So if you are ever out late at night in Northeastern Wisconsin, near the shores of the Fox River, beware! For you may be next. And your only warning may be, before you see their rotting smile and gleaming knife is a shadow on the wall and that cloying scent of dirt and decay, floating on the wind.