She was a force I would wrestle with on a cold November morning. The monster was grief, the widow’s wail in the night, calling to her man forever compressed within icy waters. Somewhere between the finality of the depths staring back at me, and the absence of a greater power giving meaning to my loss, a monster began to form. At the end of the day, I would find myself sitting by the water, staring out at its seemingly endless volume. I filled them with cooking and cleaning for my family. My days were a lot different than before I left. If only I knew what a challenge it would be. I took this return to my loved ones, and to the shores of the lake that had destroyed my family, as the next great challenge. Time had changed me, made me stronger and less self-absorbed. It wasn’t until a family friend contacted me, asking me to come home to look after my mother and younger siblings, that I returned. I moved away to bury my grief in the moment, and adventure. A storm ensued, and by the end of it, all that was left was an unused life jacket and a lifeboat ripped in half by the waves. It was an early November day, around eight in the morning, when heavy gales descended upon their boat. They’d go out on the lake every day, and report the conditions to a database for larger boats. Two years ago, I moved away from my lakeside home after something unthinkable happened.Īt the time, I was seeing a man, Doug, who worked with my father on a surveying team. It seems like a thing of the past to be lost in these bleak waters, but you’d be surprised. And many more have perished on our Great Lakes. Many have collapsed while standing on the assembly line, making your cars. People freeze to death alone in their homes every winter. Growing up in a place like Michigan, death is a normal part of life. Regardless of my beliefs before, I do believe in the witch of November now, and I believe she’s different than any of the forlorn souls of those left behind could have ever guessed. Now, I’d never believed in the Witch of November, or that this girl had really met her end by the waters of Lake Huron. The Witch of November had claimed another seaworthy ship, and by extension, the young girl. It is said that she herself made this journey into the cold lonesome waters of Lake Huron, on a crisp November night. It is said that if you walk the shores of Lake Huron at night, the spirit of a young girl who lost her betrothed to the darkness of the great lake’s depth will call to you until you meet her at the bottom of her watery grave. There’s a place on Lake Huron, where the dark blue water sings to young women.
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