The Valley Of The Headless Men
A Journal found in an abandoned cabin in the Nahanni Valley, in Canada. The journal is dated 1826, and belonged to a man by the name of Carl Smith.
The horses didn’t want to go into the valley, they whined and wouldn’t move a single step deeper into the Nahanni valley. Poor old Johnny died, he tried to get a horse to move but it kicked him in the head, his brains leaked like jam out from his destroyed skull. We dug him a grave and held a small funeral for him the next day, we didn’t know him well so we simply said he seemed like a decent man. Carter thinks one of us should stay here with the horses while the rest get the camp set up, and maybe if we can build some shelter for the horses, it will be easier to bring them.
Johnny was the brains of the operation, oh, the irony of that, but we aren’t completely incompetent we still plan to check if there is indeed gold in these rivers. Since Carter came up with the plan, we left him with the horses while we went to set up a camp. He protested as we left “Don’t leave me with them, leave Brian! He’s the dude that loves them so much” Brian shook his head and started running ahead with his equipment, “I ain’t dealing with all their shit” and most of us except Carter were laughing pretty hard as we started our hike into the valley.
We are a small caravan of sorts, with around 20 people to go into the Nahanni Valley and see if the rumors of the rivers flowing with gold were true. That old dog, Landon, claimed that most of the men that went in never came out, except for him. Landon went to the valley when he was a young man, and according to him he got a bucket of gold, but he still held the secret of what happened to the other men on his expedition. “Something foul is in that valley. But, as they say, no risk, no reward, right gentlemen?” The reward of buckets of gold, there was no risk we could face that could stop us from getting that.
4/9/1826
It was a long day of work, but we finally have a nice camp for all of us to stay in, and Carter even managed to get the horses to move so we have all of our equipment. Something is off with Carter though, his eyes are real shifty, he is very jittery, and constantly has a look of being startled. When I asked him about it, he told me that he just saw some wolves while waiting with the horses, but I didn’t believe him. We have guns and other weapons, and a couple of wolves aren’t much trouble to us. I plan to press him for more details in the morning, but right now he’s just plain passed out near the fire.
Throughout the day, some of the other boys kept saying they kept seeing something deep in the woods, it really freaked them out but they kept working. Brian described it as someone dressed like everyone else, but he was a redskin, which made sense since this valley technically belongs to natives. We already got permission from the dene tribe to pan in this valley, “The soil is salted, we do not go there” is what an elderly native told me, they believed something tainted the earth but they do not know what it is. I understand that these people have superstitions, but they probably just saw a couple of animals that weren’t a big deal but considered them sacred, or something like that.
The horses still seem nervous, constantly whining and putting up a fight whenever I try to ride one deeper into the forest. I can’t figure out what’s wrong with them, neither can Brian and he grew up on a farm and understand more about horses than anyone else in the caravan. Brian thinks that it may be because of some kind of predator in the woods, maybe some kind of black bear, but whenever one of us went into the woods to try and scare whatever it could be off, nothing was ever found, not even animal droppings. In fact, the only animals we have seen here are the vultures and some passive species, but it’s very oddly desolate considering this valley has been barely touched so it should be bustling with life.
4/10/26 The Day Carter Died
Carter was found dead in his own tent, there was no signs that anyone had come into the tent and nobody in camp saw anyone go into his tent. Yet, Carter was found with his head chopped off, we have no clue where his head is, just the rest of his body. His knees were bent and his arms seemed like he had been trying to crawl away, blood was everywhere on the inside of the tent. I served in the war 14 years ago, and Carter was one of the very few of my friends that survived the war with America, and here he was, dead.
He was a good man, loved his family and friends above anything else, never gave up, and always remembered where he came from. We buried him in the woods, the way he always wanted, and left a simple headstone which read “Carter Livingston, 1796-1826. He was a soldier, an explorer, a father, a husband, and a wonderful friend.” I spent the rest of the day praying at his grave, but eventually I returned to the camp. Everyone was either sad or fighting with each other, we needed to figure out who had done it since this means we might have a murderer amongst our camp.
“I say it was that redskin we saw yesterday!” Brian spat into the fire as he said it “Saw us on his tribe's land and probably wanted to kill one of us!” Brian’s theory made the most sense, everyone here either liked or loved Carter, none of us had any reason to kill him. “If anyone sees him, tie him up, don’t kill him.” I lit a cigarette and took a puff before continuing “I want to be the one to see the fear in his eyes when I kill him.” The men around the fire looked to me, they saw the fire reflecting in my eyes, and gave no protest.
4/15/26
There is gold in those rivers, oh yes there is, not buckets on the first day, but enough to fill one of our cooking pots. I left a small chunk of gold, around the size of my palm, at Carter's grave. Joseph was the first to find gold, he was screaming and dancing in excitement as he pulled it from the river, it was a welcome feeling of joy after the days of sorrow and hunting for the native that killed Carter. Even I decided to join in on the celebrations, I danced around the fire like a little girl prancing in a field, Brian was doing some weird dance he saw Egyptians doing when he was sent there in his youth.
We held a vote, and decided to send Brian to take our small haul of gold back to town while we kept prospecting. Brian was going to say he had found it in America's territory of Michigan, we also badly needed more supplies, and we needed the news of Carter's death to reach his family. It was wrong for us to not tell his family as soon as possible, but now we can right our wrongs or at least Brian can. He left a couple hours ago, and should be gone for at least a couple of days.
There has been no sighting of the native, but Killian swears he keeps feeling like he’s being watched by something in the woods, and that he thinks the native might be simply hiding up in the trees. Everyday, it just gets harder for me to think about how my best friend is dead, but I have to keep strength, I am the leader afterall and must not show weakness. Although, I am starting to wonder if Carter’s life was worth the rest of us getting rich, and the only answer I can come to is that it won’t be worth it.
4/16/1826
This morning, we woke up to the horses screaming and when we ran to them, half of them were dead. The only trace of who did it was some muddy footprints going into the woods. I didn’t even think, I just bolted after whoever it was into the woods, holding my hatchet in my right hand tightly as I ran as fast as my legs could carry me. Eventually, I started to slow down as I stared at the tracks, they were changing? First it was just normal foot prints, then they started getting smaller, then some toes disappeared and it started to look more paw-like. I grew up studying tracks with my father, and I knew they were without a doubt in my mind, coyote prints.
The tracks just kept going, and I knew I would have to get the others to follow the tracks with me, so I ran back to camp, which was a mile away. I still can’t understand how that happened, it simply makes no sense to me that something of this world could change its prints so seamlessly. Maybe the culprit put on shoes that had what looked like coyote prints to throw me off, but all the prints weren’t there for long so clearly whoever it was never stopped running. Nothing about this makes a lick of sense, except for killing some of the horses.
Even with the horses, it still had something very odd about it. They had bite marks, meaning whoever did it was eating some of the horses, but why not just steal our food? Why kill horses? I guess maybe to also keep us stuck here. The strangest thing is that one of the horses was completely skinned and its hide was nowhere to be seen, meaning whoever did this stole the hide for whatever reason. Nothing makes sense about this situation, all I know is that we need to end it soon.
End of Part one
Author's note: I am not finished with this story, this is only part one. This story is meant to be kind of a thing to help me with the grief I am going through due to my best friend passing away recently. I am making this story to forever immortalize him. My friend's name was Landon and he was a very good man, and I thought that maybe if I put him in this story as a hardened survivor maybe that’s the way he will be remembered. He loved the valley of the headless men, it’s a real life place in Canada, and he would talk for hours on end about his theories about it. I would do anything to listen to him talk about it again.
Please give me your thoughts on the story so far, and tell me your issues with the story’s plot and how I could fix it, don’t be nice just because I am grieving. I hope you guys enjoyed it, and stay tuned for part 2.