The Wendigo

‘When I got back home, I got a job for the landlord, working on the farm. We didn’t talk much, not about the thing. But, I signed up for the army when I was eighteen, and he sat me down to drink some brandy as a send off. I asked him, right away, what the Sûreté told him. The story they went with was a wild animal, probably a wolf, or maybe a bear that had been hungry or protecting young. I asked him how they could say that when they had the hand. He looks at me, stunned.’

‘He tells me that hand never made it back to town. The Sûreté who had it, died. The hand was never found, probably taken away by an animal. They said it was the paw of a bear that looked like a human hand.’

 





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