I haven't found the Blackwood story, but here's my favorite.

Two hunters, white men, were in the woods, randomly slaughtering animals. Night came, and they made camp. After some time, they went to sleep, but one of them, who hadn't killed as much as the other, couldn't sleep soundly. Shortly after midnight he awakened to hear his buddy screaming...and he saw his friend running through the snow, his feet barely touching the ground, as if something was holding him up just high enough so that he had to run, run faster and faster and faster.

The second man leapt to his feet and followed the footsteps of his friend, whose footsteps were becoming less and less frequent but whose screams where growing more and more despairing -- and higher and higher above the ground. Finally, the footprints disappeared altogether.

The second hunter (if you can call him that) stopped and looked up. A speck was hurtling to earth, and yes, it was the body of his friend -- whose feet and legs were burnt off to the knees. He was, of course, quite dead, with a look of such horror on his face that the friend ran all the way back to town, never stopping until he slammed full tilt into the church.

Those who knew the woods collected the dead man and the hunters' gear. The second man spent the rest of his short life in the madhouse, staring at the sky.



Now, if there were only two of them and one was dead and the other mad, how do they know what happened? Perhaps I'm too rational....)