Wendigo

Chapter 13

Sara woke up from her nap and stretched, breathing a sigh of relief that her headache was gone. She could hear the snorting and banging at the door from the buck she called Ted. She had closed the door and tied it shut while she slept.

“I hear you! I hear you!” Sara yelled to the buck.

She got out of her sleeping bag and stumbled her way to the door, still groggy. She loosened the paracord and retied it before allowing the door to open. She did that as an added precaution in case it was not Ted outside.

Sara peeked through the c***k in the door to see the deer standing at the doorway with rain dripping off his antlers. She shook her head at him.

Sara laughed, “You silly deer. Why don’t you go find a place that’s dry to hang out?”

Sara opened her mouth to say something else but was interrupted by her phone ringing. When she picked it up off the table, she saw it was her husband, Kevin, making her smile.

“Hello,” she chirped when she answered the phone.

“Hello, Babe. How are you doing? Sorry, I had to go earlier,” Kevin said.

“That’s okay. I know how things go. Everything will be calm, and then things hit the fan. It happens all the time at work for me.”

“I thought you would understand. Now, about my question. How are you doing?”

“I’m good now. Earlier I had a headache. I took something for it and took a nap. That seemed to be all I needed,” Sara told him.

“That’s a relief to hear,” Kevin said. “You know I’m worried about you, right? Especially with that crazed deer hanging around. Is he there now?”

Sara laughed, “I know you are worried, and yes, the deer is here. You don’t need to worry about him. This morning, I was petting him and fed him a granola bar.”

“Petting him?” Kevin asked incredulously.

“Yes. Relax; I have the door tied so it is open a few inches to let fresh air in. The deer comes to the door and sticks his nose inside. It’s like he’s checking on me. Anyway, one of the times he stuck his nose in, I let him sniff me, and he started nuzzling my hand. That led to the petting and him getting a granola bar.”

“I feel like you are going to need an intervention to separate you from that deer when you get home,” Kevin laughed.

“Very funny. There is a better chance I will need therapy from reading the journal.”

“That one, I actually believe. Are you alright?” Kevin asked, softening his tone. “With the journal and everything?”

“Yeah, I think so. There isn’t much I can do about it now. It happened nearly a hundred and fifty years ago,” Sara sadly answered.

“I have an idea,” Kevin told her. “When you leave the cabin, pack up anything that might help us track down their families. We might not be able to help them, but we can at least help their families have some closure about what happened to them.”

“Really? You want to help me with this?”

“Of course. I would be inconsolable if you went missing, and I did not know what happened to you. I know it has been several generations since that journal was written, but I’m sure their families want answers if they can get them.”

Sara fought tears and said, “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, and so you know, I’m still worried about you.”

“I know you are,” Sara answered, turning to look at the door where Ted was making noise. “I am going to send you a picture of my door guard. Maybe that will make you feel better.”

Kevin laughed, “I doubt it.”

Sara quickly went to the door and peered out. The buck was lying against the door looking at the opening as if waiting for her to return. Sara took a picture and sent it to her husband.

“It is on its way to you now,” she told Kevin.

“Just got it,” Kevin replied. “Wow, he is big, and he’s gorgeous. I think you’re right about him having been hand-raised. He looks healthy and well-fed, so I doubt anything is wrong with him.”

“There is nothing wrong with him. His behavior and affinity for people is a little odd, that’s all.”

“Odd? That is one way of putting it.”

“What can I say?” Sara laughed. “I am a master at understating the obvious.”

“Babe, I have to go. Someone is standing at my door holding a stack of files, and they do not look happy. I’ll tell you bye, and I will talk to you later,”

“Bye, sweetheart,” Sara answered.

She hung up her phone and placed it back on the table. Sara sighed as she sat down. There was again thunder in the distance, the low rumble vibrating through the cabin and her body. The thunder aggravated Sara, leading her to pick up the old journal again.

December 18, 1879

That abomination was here again last night. It was stomping around on the roof of the cabin and scratching anywhere it could find wood. The strange thing is, when I looked for marks on the door this morning, it had left none, even though I clearly heard it clawing at the door. It is becoming quite the enigma the way it acts. Sometimes, it leaves gouges on the door; other times, it leaves no signs that it was here.

This morning, I could have sworn I heard Jim say my name several times. I am beginning to think I am losing my mind a bit because of everything that has happened. Then again, it might be Jim trying to get my attention. He told me that his spirit could not rest unless he were buried immediately following his death, and I have not been able to do that. I hope he can forgive me if he is angry with me. I keep telling him that I will bury him as soon as it is humanly possible for me to do it.

After I have a little breakfast, I will go back to work on the snow. The one bright spot this morning is that it did not snow last night and cover everything I had done yesterday. If the wind stays calm and the snow does not return, I might make some good progress today.

December 18, 1879

Second entry. The snow and wind moved back in. I can no longer see the sky. The wind is swirling the snow, both what is falling and what is on the ground, too much to see anything but white. I hate this. I take one step forward in progress, and the weather pushes me back two steps. It has filled everything I had dug out this morning and yesterday. I am so frustrated by it that I do not know if I want to scream or cry. I am sure I will do a bit of both before this is over. I know I have already done a lot of crying.

I keep thinking about what food I have left. Even trying to conserve it, I only have enough in the pot to last until tomorrow. I have enough flour to make a little fry bread, but that is all. If I want to be able to carry out Jim’s final wishes, I will have to do what he instructed me to do. The thought is so repulsive, yet I feel there is no choice.

December 18, 1879

Third entry. I have given up on trying to clear snow for the rest of the day. There is no point in it. Between the snow and wind, it is covering things up so fast that I can’t keep up with it. It is moments like this that I want to give up. If it weren’t for Jim, I would have. I have to keep that promise and bury him.

I made a little bit of fry bread to go with the soup. I am trying to make it last as long as I can. I keep thinking that maybe, with some luck, I will be able to get out of this cabin and not be forced to resort to the unthinkable.

The silence in this cabin is maddening. At one point, I would have thought it was peaceful and relaxing. Now, all I can think about is how quiet it is without Jim here to tell me stories. I miss that, and I miss him. There are times when I think I hear his voice. He is saying a word or my name. I always look to see what he wants without thinking. After I have, I feel a pang of grief and loss that I have not felt since losing Sarah and Timothy.

My Sarah, I came here so that I would never have to feel this way again. So that I could avoid the loss of others I love. I had no idea I would feel like this when I lost Jim. He was my brother. I feel that in my heart. It does not matter that we were not blood. We were brothers.

December 18, 1879

Fourth entry. I can hear the wind howling outside. There is something in it. It is carrying a low, deep moan. I don’t know if it is that thing that keeps stomping on the roof, but if the sound can be any judge of the size, it is massive.

My thoughts keep going back to what Jim and I saw in the forest while we were trapping. That beast was not a wolf or bear but some amalgamation of both. Perhaps that is what the sound is I hear in the wind.

I can tell that sleep will be sparse tonight. I can picture that monster, along with the thing that stomps around the cabin, working together, tearing in to get to us.

December 18, 1879

Fifth entry. Dear God, what evil abominations have you sent to descend on this place? I can hear them screaming. The sounds are so unearthly that I would never believe they could exist if I were not experiencing them myself.

It sounds as if the two monsters are battling one another. Howls and shrieks echo in the night and are carried on the wind. Only Satan himself could have created something that would make those sounds. I have heard every animal that should live in this forest and have listened to them for years. What I am hearing does not belong here.

December 19, 1879

I once again lost all progress I had made in my attempts to leave this cabin. The winds packed the snow tight against the door. It is so hard that I will have to chisel the snow out in chunks. The one good part of that is that I might be able to clear an opening in the snow above the door and then throw these lumps of snow out and away from the cabin.

If the snow is nice and solid, it will not be blowing around and covering up the work I do. This might be our saving grace and allow us to escape the blasted cabin. I am going to have a bit of breakfast and then get to work.

December 19, 1879

Second entry. I broke through the top of the snow to see enormous flakes falling. They are the size of the palm of my hand. They will pile up quickly, and it could mean several feet of new snow. If that happens, there will be absolutely no digging out of here.

I am almost entirely out of firewood inside this place. I have to dig out the wood beside the cabin. At least with that, I can start right beside the door and work out a piece at a time until I have enough inside and drying to last for a while. That will also help me dig out the doorway and maybe even get out of here.

December 19, 1879

Third entry. I am only able to get a few sticks of wood loose and inside before I have to rest. The weight of the snow is much more than I had expected. It is hard work, and I must eat to keep up my strength to do it. The pot of soup I have on the stove might last until tomorrow if I continue to eat it sparingly. After that, if I cannot get us out of here, I must resort to the unthinkable.

My dear Sarah, how do I commit such an atrocity? I know I was told to do it, yet I am not sure I will be able to bring myself to commit such an act. I have no doubt that you would want me to do anything necessary to survive, the same as Jim told me. I want to stay to carry out the last promise I made to Jim and bury him the way he asked. The mere thought of what I may have to do makes me retch, so I am not sure how I will be able to do it.

December 19, 1879

Fourth entry. The pain I am in is almost unbearable. While I was pulling a stick of firewood loose, I lost my footing, slamming my busted shoulder into the doorframe. The pain has eased a little, but it puts an end to my collecting wood for the rest of the day.

I feel very defeated right now. Once again, I could see I was making a little progress, and then something happened to derail that.

I will add some wood to the fire, drink some more willow bark tea, and then lay down. I hope I can get a little sleep, but to be honest, I will be happy if I can just lay still and rest for a while.

December 19, 1879

Fifth entry. I woke up to find the wind has picked up again. I can hear it blowing even with the thick blanket of snow. At least tonight, all I hear is the wind and not those abominable creatures outside.

My stomach is growling. That is the only time I will eat now. I have done my best to make the food last, but it is nearly gone. I have enough soup for the morning to have with fry bread. The bread is what I have been eating the most of. I have a piece of it and a few bites of the soup.

Tomorrow will be the day I have to decide what I am going to do. That gives me another night to sleep on it and make that choice. I know what I should do, but I have that conflict about it. After tomorrow, I will not have much of a choice. I either do it, or I starve.

December 20, 1879

I made fry bread this morning and had a few bites of soup. I still have enough soup to go with the leftover bread for lunch. That will be the end of it. Later today, I have to prepare to cut some meat off my brother. Even if I have to wait for the snow to melt, I still need to be alive to bury him as I promised.

The thought of butchering and preparing another human being as if they are an animal is an utterly repugnant thought no matter the circumstances. It is something that had never crossed my mind before. I feel like a criminal for thinking of it now.

I have been keeping snow packed on and around Jim. My thought is that it will keep him in a better state if I can keep him as cold as possible. I have seen cold used before to help preserve someone until they could be buried. I pray it works now.

December 20, 1879

Second entry. I cut a small piece of flesh from Jim’s thigh, gagging the entire time I cut. The stench of the blood was so pungent it was nearly overpowering. I put the flesh in a pot filled with snow to keep it usable until I cook it. I don’t know when that will be.

I sit here staring at the pot, repulsed by what is in it and what I have done. The more I think about it, the more I wish the wendigo was real and that it would come and take me before I am forced to eat a single bite. I know that if I take even one bite, it will make me a monster. It will not take an evil entity to do that.

December 20, 1879

Third entry. I cooked the meat. It is sitting on my plate here on the table in front of me. I am eating the fry bread and looking at it while I write this.

My Sarah, I know what I must do, yet I cannot bear the thought at this moment. Perhaps if I am hungrier, I will be able to force myself to do it.

I think of you and think about how being with you and our precious Timothy is all I truly want in this life. That is all I have ever wanted, for us to be a family. If not here, it will be when we are again together in Heaven. That is where I know the both of you are. I am not sure that is where I will go, but I hope God will forgive me for what I have done and what I may be forced to do now.

December 20, 1879

Fourth entry. I woke up with a start. Jim came to me in my dream and yelled at me. He scolded me for not eating the flesh yet and for wanting to give up. He told me that I am being foolish for not doing what I have to do to make it out of this cabin alive. He reminded me that I promised to bury him as soon as I could. I told him I would keep my promise.

The strangest part of all of it is I do not even remember falling asleep or even being very tired. I feel like Jim’s spirit is here in this cabin, watching over me. I’m sure he is also laughing at me quite often.

December 20, 1879

Fifth entry. I did what Jim told me to do. I ate the flesh. I had to put little bits of it with big bites of fry bread to be able to do it. It was vile, a horrible taste. It was strong and like chewing on a copper penny, along with the flavor of meat. It is not anything that I will ever have a taste for. I have eaten many things over the years, and this is like nothing I have ever tasted before and something I wish I had never tasted. I dread needing to do this again and again until I can clear enough snow to get out of this place, or worse, until the snow melts.

Sarah, I cannot tell you how much I wish that Jim and I could trade places. I would be with you, and he would be strong enough to do what needs to be done here. I still feel guilty about his death, and I think I always will.

I am going to bed for now. I have to tend the fire first to make sure it lasts the night. At least tonight, I don’t hear those creatures battling outside the cabin. It would be asking too much for them to have killed each other in battle. I am sure they will be back eventually.

Sara sat thinking about what she had just read. She had read descriptions of what human flesh tasted like from people who were forced to consume it to survive and criminals. The description Herschel gave was similar to many she had read.

She glanced at a bag of beef jerky sitting on the table near her. Her stomach instantly turned, and she began salivating as she tried to keep her trail mix down. She had no doubt that meat would be excluded from her diet for some time to come.