[Avalanche is alone at night sleeping in his tent in a dark forest]
“I was rattled out of sleepiness by a screaming, penetrating uproar that filled me with a terror of the most frightening horror movie. The monstrous sound echoed back and forth through the blackness and turned my blood cold. It was as though the voice of Death, deafening, was bellowing the incomprehensible cadence: ‘Who cooks, for youoo! Who cooks, for youoo!’ At first, I was afraid to move. Like a sudden cold steel hand locked around my throat, fear gripped me. It blared again, yelling in the darkness with the force of a shattering bullhorn, riding back and forth on the forest gusts. It was enough to turn your blood to ice. This was no ordinary beast. It was the Jersey Devil for sure. I hoped it wouldn’t notice my little tent in the vast pine darkness. It ignored me, but shouted again and again.
“When it finally went away, I sat shaken in my tent, sleeping bag up over my ears. I didn’t know what made that sound, but just after it left I heard something equally frightening—a pack of vicious dogs.”