You give me the title to a story I didn't write (or that no one wrote, it doesn't have to be a real title to anything), and I'll give you a synopsis of what the story would be, were it written by me.
The winter of 2003 in a small village near Lac St. Jean. Giant avian footprints in the snow and horribly pecked corpses point suggest to the superstitious locals that the legendary Werechicken of Roberval walks again.
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Date: 2006-02-26 03:57 pm (UTC)