A Louisiana Legend: The Rougarou
a short story
By Rita Monette
Pierre and Jean-Luke
Hebert sat in their small wooden pirogue at the edge of Flat Lake. The glow of
the full moon gave the boys enough light to run their lines and remove their
catch. It was rumored that after dark was the best time to catch catfish. It
was also said that when the moon was full, the swamp creature, known as the
Rougarou, roamed the swamps for its own catch.
The eleven-year-old
cousins had grown up near the big lake in Morgan City, and the swamp known as
the Atchafalaya Basin that bordered it. They’d been fishing on their own since
they were eight and had found their own secret spot just at the edge of the
swamp, which offered up plenty of the whiskered fish. And they certainly
weren’t afraid of any old wives’ tale about a monster.
But on this clear evening, things seemed eerily
different. Quieter. Then the strange noise sent chills up their spines and
raised goosebumps on their skins.
The unfamiliar low groan
came from somewhere within the thick moss-covered cypress trees. They stared at each other with raised
brows. The boys were familiar with the swamps and bayous and were quite used
to its normal sounds. And this wasn’t one of them.
“What was that?” Jean-Luke,
who was the younger by six months, whispered.
Pierre shrugged and let his
line drop back into the water and then peered out through the dark swamp for
signs of whatever made the growl. He squinted, but saw only the blackness of
trees and shadows, except for the occasional glint of the moon off the murky
water.
Jean-Luke held up a
lantern. The pale light reflected off the thick cypress standing silently in
the night. Spanish moss swayed from the limbs like gray ghosts.
The boys agreed that in
their three years fishing the edge of the swamp, they’d never heard anything
like it. They knew the grunt of a gator, and the croak of a bullfrog, but this
was different…more like a mad dog waiting to pounce.
“Maybe we should get out
of here,” Jean-Luke said in a low voice.
“Yeah,” Pierre whispered.
But neither boy moved an
inch. It was as if they were paralyzed. The flopping of a catfish lying in the
floor of the boat broke the creepy stillness. Even the constant whirring of the
cicadas had stopped.
The mysterious sound
came again. This time more of like an evil snarl.
“Rougarou.” The word
spewed out of Pierre’s mouth, as if it was planted there by years of warnings,
and only now took shape.
The tale of the Rougarou,
a werewolf said to inhabit the swamps of Louisiana, has been repeated many
times in bayou country. Some have even claimed to have seen it with their own
eyes. But these Hebert boys were too logical to believe in such legendary
creatures. But what else could make such a noise…scary enough to hush the
other creatures?
As they sat motionless,
and now soundless, listening for whatever it might be to make a move, a loud
crack echoed through the swamp.
Pierre broke his trance
and reached for his paddle.
“T-there.’ Jean-Luke
choked on his word. Something moved near a rotting stump. He pointed to a huge
rat-like creature sliding into the water.
“Just a nutria,” Pierre
said. But his hands were trembling against the wooden paddle. He knew the sound
of the large swamp rat, which was more like a baby’s cry. Nothing like what
they’d just heard.
Just as Pierre dipped
his paddle into the water, an enormous, dark image moved from behind a tree. The
creature, covered in wild black hair turned toward them, its snout curled up
into a grimace showing huge yellow fangs. Its gaping mouth dripping with
saliva. But the eyes were the most terrifying.
Jean-Luke scurried to
grab the other paddle, but it slipped into the gumbo-colored water with a
splash.
The creature lurched closer
to the edge of the swamp with one leap.
As Jean-Luke reached
into the water for his oar, the slimy fish in the bottom of the boat caused him
to slip and fall against the edge. Pierre stood up and caught hold of his
cousin’s shirt, but lost his grip, tipping the boat. Both boys fell into the
lake, flapping their arms trying to grab the edge of the pirogue.
Pierre looked up for a
second to see the glowing red eyes staring back at him. His stomach tightened
and his heart pounded wildly as he tried to regain control of his arms and get
back into the boat. But could he make it before the creature got to them? He
looked around for Jean-Luke. He’d gone under. Both of them were good swimmers,
but with fear taking over, he wondered if they had the strength to get back
into the boat. As Pierre searched the water for his cousin, he saw the creature
stepping around the cypress stumps and into the water.
The monster was coming
for them…and fast.
Jean-Luke popped up like
a bobber and took hold of Pierre’s arm. Both boys mustered enough strength to
get back to the boat. Pierre climbed in first and pulled Jean-Luke over the
edge. With one paddle, Pierre quickly moved the boat out into the lake.
It was rumored that the
Rougarou wouldn’t venture into deep water. Perhaps it couldn’t swim. But there
was no doubt it wanted them.
The creature let out one
last roar that seemed to last for five minutes, as the boys moved their tiny
boat out farther into the lake. They only looked back after they had gotten far
from the swamp’s edge. The creature had disappeared back into its moss-covered lair.
Jean-Luke and Pierre
never spoke of the incident to anyone. But they found themselves a new fishing
spot on the other side of the lake.
Was the creature they
saw actually the Rougarou, or was it some other animal that had morphed into
the swamp monster by their fear?
There are those believers that say beware.
And now Jean-Luke and Pierre Hebert are among them.
