text: The Wendigo You and a group of four of your friends are huddled around a tiny campfire, the bitter cold cutting through you like a knife. You can see your breath every time you exhale, and the cold air hurts your lungs each time you draw in a breath. Watching the fire dance, you can’t help but remember the park ranger’s last words to you. Telling you that not to go up the mountain today, a storm was rolling in, but that if you did to be back before night fall or you’ll be stuck up there until spring. You laughed it off and headed up the mountain, but thanks to the “expert navigator’s” directions you and your group get off the beaten path and quickly become lost. Night fall came just as quickly as the snow did and everyone deciding to wait out the storm. Your group picks out a spot and start building a fire, hoping that help will come quickly. You realize the meager rations your brought for a weekend hiking trip will only last you until the end of the week if you are careful. The snow flurries in, the wind ripping through your coat. You spend the time huddled together and try to keep the fire going. You shiver through your first night as the waiting turns from hours to days, then to a week. You check your bag and realize that your rations have been exhausted. You and your friends try hunting for food, but you catch nothing. You’re not exactly the hunting type, after all, you’re from the suburbs. The most “hunting’ you’ve done is sneak killing Zombies on Xbox. Besides, your small pocketknives and hatchet can’t take out big game and you don’t know how to set traps for small game. Your body is screaming for nutrients. Your group hasn’t eaten in days, maybe weeks? You’re not sure, the days have been blending together. The bitter cold continues to cut through you, you haven’t felt warm in weeks. Your clothes have begun to hang off your emaciated frame allowing the wind to wrap around your skin. Then suddenly, one of your friends stumbles and falls to the ground, you quickly rush over to see what’s the matter. You shake him, check his pulse, and try CPR but to no avail. Your friend has succumbed to hunger and the elements. You suggest that we give him a proper burial, but one in your party has a different idea. A taboo and macabre idea. An idea so dark that it takes you a moment to realize what he’s suggested. That you eat him. You put up a fight, people don’t eat people... what would we tell the authorities? .... His family? But the growling of your stomach says otherwise. You protest again, but one of your friends has already gone off to find firewood. You watch as another begins undressing him and using a hatchet to cleave off his limbs. You’re handed a cup of thick, red liquid. Steam flows upward as the hot blood contacts the cold air. The fire roars and your dead friend’s leg is now roasting. The smell is something familiar, like sizzling pork. The next thing you know you’re looking down at a steaming piece of cooked meat. You stare at the hunk of meat, disgusted at the thought of eating it. You went to school with him, his kids are friends with yours... before you can think about what you’re doing, your body takes control, and you feel your teeth have sunk into flesh. The warmth of the meat radiates throughout your body. Your stomach screams for more, you take a drink of the blood. So warm, slightly metallic, but satisfying. You devour your meal and go back for more until the four of you have picked the bones clean. Each one of you takes an article of clothing and settles in for the night, resting assured that you know have the strength to wait for help. That night, you toss and turn. Visions of your friend dances in your mind, something is chasing him. You see the warmth of his breath rapidly inhaling and exhaling as a large pale figure gives chase behind him. The pale figure pounces on his back and rips into him. Crimson blood flows on the porcelain white snow. You run toward the figure, trying to help your friend. The pale figure turns its head slowly toward you and lets out a blood curdling scream. You freeze in place as it turns its body and runs toward you. It pounces on you; you try to fight it off! It pins your head to the ground and right before it goes in for the kill, it looks you in the eyes. The face is familiar, a face you’ve seen many times.... Because it’s your face. The shock wakes you in a cold sweat and you sit up from a dead sleep. The warm morning light hitting your cold body, the realization of what you have done settles on you. The four of you create a story in which your friend walked off to get help and you haven’t seen him since. You look at your hands, they are pale and gaunt. They look a pasty pale white, almost waxy looking. *Is this from the cold? Did they look like this before?* You ask yourself, but your brain is in a fog. The only thought in your mind is hunger. Your stomach growling and gnawing, feeling every pang wash over you. You need to eat. The growling of your stomach permeates your mind, the only thing on your mind. You want more, more food, more... flesh? You look around your camp, looking at your friends intently. Your head pounding and stomach screaming for more. You stare at them like a predator stares down its prey. Focused, determined, hungry. After what feels like an eternity, you spring into action. You grab a hatchet, lifting it over your head and dropping it into the skull of your nearest friend. Blood spurts around you and the sound wet bone snapping echoes in the air. You remove the axe and plunge a pale hand deep into the cavity pulling out bits of brain. Your cold hand steaming in the bitter frozen air. Devouring what’s in your hand you reach for a second helping, the feeling as it slides down your throat throws you into ecstasy. Blood flowing over your cheeks and down your neck. You laugh and reach for more. The other two scramble to their feet and begin to run, you quickly twist your neck in their direction. Their muscles are far too tired to attempt and escape. You twist your body in an ungodly position, you hear bones cracking as your body begins to contort. As the pair are running, one falls to the ground. You run after, pouncing on their back and snapping their neck. Your look around for your last friend and find them running through the forest. You look up and let out a blood curdling scream. You bound after him, running more like a dog than a person. You knock him to the ground, he rolls over on to his back waving his arms to try and protect himself. You place a hand on his head. Your fingernails now long and black, pinning him to the ground. Your other hand pins down an arm, you lunge toward his exposed neck, ripping out a chunk of throat. You gulp it down, that feeling of ecstasy returning. You begin dragging him back to the makeshift camp site. Months pass and the snow begins to melt, spring has finally arrived. Ripping a chunk of meat from a deer carcass, your head snaps from side to side. You hear the familiar sounds of human voices. You slink out of your cave and take refuge in a large bush just off the hiking path. A couple have made their way up the mountain and stumbled upon your campsite. One of them notices something moving in the bushes. A woman nudges her husband, “Look honey, a deer! I think it’s a buck!” As she points at the antlers. The woman brings her phone up to take a picture on her phone. She’s about to take the picture when she notices a pair of red eyes pear back at her. The husband grabs her shoulder to try and pull her back, but it’s too late. You lunge at them, your deerskin cloak flapping in the wind. You knock the man to the ground, pinning his arms and legs. Your stomach growling and your head pounding, blood boiling. You rip a chuck out of his chest, the blood flowing out and mixing with the dirt on the ground. The wife tries to run but you grab her by the hair and smash her face into a nearby tree. You collect your bounty, a trail of blood follows you as you take your bounty back to your dark, musty cave.