The Wendigo


‘We were done making our rounds and heading home, walking, we’d cut through the woods. Then there was an opening and we come on it.’

‘Blood, everywhere. Splattered on the trees, the grass, the creek, everywhere. At first, we figured it was a pack of wolves. We’d seen it sometimes, they can’t scavenge and start hunting deer. The worst was when they breed with feral dogs. But this wasn’t like that.’

‘Something had run up on a den of deer. Wolves won’t attack a den, Coyotes neither, because they’d get too much of a fight. There were three, I think, three bodies. Just torn apart. You’d see a head here, a leg here, and a torso there. Predators don’t do that. They don’t leave behind scraps. What had done this hadn’t done it for food. It had done it for fun.’

‘But we didn’t know that. We saw a bunch of carcasses and we think it’s something we gotta take care of. I remember my brother telling me to go home; he thought it was a pack of feral dogs.’

‘But I wasn’t leaving him, and I damn sure wasn’t walking through two miles of woods alone, with nothing but a knife and my flintlock. Jeb had the musket, and it was cocked and full up ready, and I wasn’t going without it.’





About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)