Punish you?" I asked.My mother's face had gone slightly pale. She gazed at me for a long moment. Then, looking away, she quietly replied, "Yes. He use... to spank me whenever he decided that I'd crossed the line."Emboldened by that knowledge, I continued. "Did he do that to you on the day he died?" No," she replied. "He told me that I was lucky he was running late, or he would have turned me over his knee and spanked me like a bad little girl." She sniffled, on the verge of tears. "He ... he. And I could live with that.Then, in my last class, something weird happened.It was social studies, and we had a guest speaker who came to talk aboutsome Native Canadian myths and stories.He was introduced as Dr. Michael Twoyoungman, and the story he sharedalmost seemed like something out of Lovecraft rather than somethingbelieved by native Canadians - a story about terrible monsters who onceroamed the land, who had been exiled thousands of years ago, but werealways trying to find a way back to. More

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