I am the Bak’was, forsaken in death to the Skull Crusher.
Abandoned by the clan inside my bentwood box, I suffer
From the loneliness of solitude. I transform into a misshapen terror.
Seeking revenge, I descend from the Mother Tree.
My people flee in the fear of recognition, shrieking when I emerge
From the threshold of the Dark Lands. I seek vengeance, I become your scourge.
I am the Bak’was, I carry your young ones off to ease my seclusion.
I am the one who makes your children obey in apprehension.
I steal the disobedient ones for companionship and carry them off in the night.
The good ones stay inside, cowering until daylight.
Some I tempt with toys, some with dainties to eat.
“I am your granny. Come special one with you I shall share sweets.”
I am the Bak’was, with whom the drowned souls of the fishermen dwell,
My newborn circle of kinfolk, in an unseen house of cedar. Not in heaven or hell,
But in a ghost world of ancient timber, older than the Raven,
Trees as big around as three men can stretch, so tall they reach to heaven.
In the murky light of the forest floor we tell tales of the mythical,
We sip clam soup and wait for the next unwary individual.
I am the Bak’was, tell all the city boy hunters,
When you are lost in the woodlands and your body hungers,
I give you food; eat of my soup and become my companion,
Stay with me and become one of my ghostly minions.
I am the hunched-back old one I’m sure you have guessed
I am the Bak’was, the wild one of the forests.