Bjorn and the Jersey Devil

Welcome to another adventure from the Thousand Acre Woods from deep within the NJ Pine Belt’s Trollheim! Tales Chronicled by Jonathan Hulton. That’s me. I’m here to clarify a local legend about our favorite cryptid. Now there are many misconceptions about who and what The Jersey Devil is. Was he a marketing scheme of Benjamin Franklin’s almanac or a real cryptid walking among the pine trees? What do you think? Is the devil only a myth to keep the children out of the woods at night, or more? Much more! Listen along and I will tell you the truth.

 

 

One day, while walking through the Thousand Acre Woods, Bjorn was caught by surprise. Was he startled by a sasquatch?

Maybe a man-eating Mhuwe!

No, it was a tall, talking dodo of sorts.

 

 

Bjorn just passed Pop-Pops as he journeyed to take a dip at 21 Lakes. Pop-Pops was shaping some trees again above the Disappearing Pond.

Bjorn waved to Pop-Pops and continued on. Further down the trail, he cut himself on some cat briar as he went around a puddle.

Distracted by the blood, he looked up to be surprised by this critter as it chowed down on some wintergreen.

 

 

“What are you?”

“Is that kind of rude? I didn’t ask you about those horns growing out of your head—though you have a nice tail...”

“I’m married and have a daughter...”

“I’m just jealous; to tell the truth, I’m envious. My cousins have long, fine tails—mine is a little stubby.” Gast said, pointing at his short, wagging tail. “It’s sort of a sore spot with me, especially when I occasionally get tripped up running from those sasquatch hunters from Philly. My cousin once got caught, and they plucked him to make one of those goofy mummers costumes.”

 

“Well—”

“Right. I’m a Gastornis—well, that is what I just found out; my family and friends just call us the Birds. Gaston Planté: I never met the guy; neither has anyone in my family,” said Gast, with one wing to his chest and the other out as he bowed. “G. gigantea of the Gastornithidae family, as I have been told. These bone hunters I had seen skulking through the Pines I overheard describe us once before they got into this fabulous fist fight, almost as monumental as the Sullivan fight at Ong’s Hat. Cope kicked Marsh’s but!”

 

“Could you be what people have mistakenly called the Jersey Devil?”

“Don’t get me started on that old story Franklin started—Leed’s Devil, a story he made up to sell almanacs—you know I got drunk with him once outside the Cedarbridge Tavern. Boy, did I surprise him when I pulled down my hood to expose this honker of mine, Jersey Devil… My tail is not as long as the stories say; I wish it was. Though my wings are nicer than those on the wanted posters.”

 

“Did you have any predators? How did you live so long? I’m assuming you were walking with the dinosaurs, or at least some of your family were.”

“The T-Rex—nasty sort. I spread around crushed blueberries mixed with bobcat poop to keep them away. I got a bag right here; do you want to take a sniff?”

“No thanks, but T-Rex has not been around here in quite some time—“

“See it works. Though I don’t need it—I’m quite scary.”

“How so?”

“I just scared away a whole coach of Quakers just this week; in fact, I was so scary, I ran a mile away from myself.”

“What? Never mind, I once caused a whole carriage to run,” said Bjorn.

“How?”

“I ran away, and they chased me.”

“Can you help me carry some of these bags of lichen back to my house?” Gast asked as he pointed to his right.

“Sure, where do you live?”

“If I told you, you might rob my house.”

“Oh, come on—do you live behind 21 Lakes?”

“You know a fish once saved my life?”

“How so?”

“I was starving,” Gast said, rubbing his stomach.

“I’m glad I took this shortcut through this beautiful garden.”

“How so?” asked Gast.

“If I could meet such a confounding critter as you here, imagine what I would have found within the catbrier through the gouge.”

“Hey, I’m famous—haven’t you seen my face on those wanted posters?”

 

“I don’t care who sees your face, as long as you don’t show it to me again..”

“Am I that aggravating?"

“No— I apologize.” Bjorn said, holding his hand on Gast’s shoulder with a smile. “I just got dunked by the Great Serpent crossing his pond. Now, can I help carry those bags for you?”

“OK.”

 

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