Yankton Dakota Plains of North Dakota,
South Dakota and Nebraska, Circa 1920
Charles poured a cup of coffee and gave it to his friend. Ehawee wrapped her hands around it and blew at the hot steam before taking a sip.
Charles returned the pot to the stove and pushed back the curtain to peer outside. Today, it was snowing, but spring wasn’t far away.
“This time of year we need to be wary of Miniwashitu,” Ehawee said.
“Miniwashitu?” asked Charles, bringing his own coffee with him to the table.
“Yes, I think that is the monster you want to know about, the creature you called me here to discuss. It is the time of the ice when Miniwashitu stirs.”
“Yes,” said Charles, “the monster …” He retrieved a pen and paper and wrote down the name.
“Tell me again,” she said. “Why do you want to know about Miniwashitu?”
“It’s a story I heard,” he said, “about a man who saw it. Not very many years ago. I want to know more about it.”
“Tell me,” asked Ehawee, “what happened to this man you speak of?”
“He died,” said Charles. “I want to know if it’s because of the legend, but I can’t find much about it. That is always when I call you, to tell me about the legends I can’t learn about anywhere else.”
Ehawee smiled before taking a sip from her mug. Charles knew that smile. She was happy to help him preserve the history of her people’s stories.
Charles smiled back. He enjoyed the stories of his American Indian friend, and he knew that the book he was writing was important. After all, he was helping to preserve the rich Dakota history and legends.
“And tell me,” she said. “What did they say it looked like?” Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she spoke.
“I’m not sure,” said Charles. “Do you know what it looks like?” He set down his coffee cup and prepared to write.
“They say it has a strange form and is covered all over with hair like a buffalo, but it is red in color.” She spoke with her eyes closed, in a rhythmic tone, and her body swayed. “It only has one eye, in the middle of its forehead, with a single horn above that. Its back is notched and jagged, like an enormous saw.”
Charles nodded, jotting notes on the paper. “What else can you tell me about this creature?” he asked.
Ehawee took a tentative sip of her coffee and leaned forward. “Miniwashitu has seldom been seen by humans. Anyone who saw it said it was dreadful. Sometimes, it has been seen in the water, in the middle of the river, a redness shining like a fire. It makes a terrific roaring sound, and it passes through, breaking up the river ice.”
Charles continued to write down her words.
“It is said that the monster still lives and that, in the springtime, it moves up river, breaking the ice.” Ehawee opened her eyes and took another sip of her coffee. She waited for him to look up. “They say that anyone who sees this creature during the daytime will become crazy soon after. The person will continue, restless and writhing as if in terrible pain, until he is finally relieved by death.”
Charles stopped writing and stared.
“You said the man died. Do you know what happened? Did he see Miniwashitu?” Ehawee asked.
He nodded. “They say that he saw it. They say that he barely made it home. When he did, he had lost all of his reason and could not speak coherently. Not long after that, he died.”