Wendigo

Chapter 8

Sara awoke in total darkness. She felt for her phone beside her sleeping bag. Her hand hit the battery pack the phone was plugged into and followed the charging cable to the phone. The light from the phone’s screen hurt her eyes, making her squint as she unlocked it and turned on the flashlight. She was disoriented and confused as she looked at the time on her phone. It read almost midnight.

“Crap!” Sara exclaimed.

Sara crawled out of her sleeping bag and went to where her backpack lay. She pulled another chemical light stick out of her pack, broke it, and shook it. She placed it on the table to light the cabin while she checked her phone. She had multiple missed calls and text messages from her husband, Kevin. She quickly dialed his number and waited anxiously for him to answer.

“Are you okay?” Kevin blurted out as soon as he answered.

“I’m fine,” Sara told him as calmly as she could. “Try to take a breath and relax a little.”

“What happened? Did you lose cell service because of the storms?” Kevin questioned.

“No, I don’t think. I’m not sure what happened to tell you the truth. I’m sore from the fall, so I haven’t been sleeping well at night. I felt tired a little before lunch and laid down, thinking I would take a nap. It turned out to be the longest nap of my life because I just woke up.”

Kevin exclaimed, exasperated, “Seriously? You have been asleep for that long and slept through your phone going crazy? I don’t know if I should be mad, worried, or relieved.”

“You should be relieved,” Sara told him, her voice tinged with frustration and anger. “My body finally crashed, and I slept hard. This is the first time I’ve slept well since I started this. It is also the first time I have slept more than an hour and a half since I got hurt. It isn’t like I was intentionally avoiding you.”

“I know, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be mad at you. It’s just that when you didn’t answer your phone, I started running the worst-case scenarios through my head about why you weren’t answering, and I freaked myself out. I’m glad you were finally able to get some good-quality sleep. You needed that, and you need more of it.”

“You don’t need to apologize. I’m glad you worry about me. As for needing sleep, I’m wide awake now, so more sleep isn’t going to happen for a while,” Sara told him.

“You’re going to sit in that cabin and read more of that journal, aren’t you?” Kevin asked.

Sara laughed and answered, “I am. Let’s be honest. What else am I going to do until these storms break?”

Kevin sighed, “You have a point. I’m glad you found that cabin, and I might also be a little happy that you found that journal. I do need to ask you something about it, though.”

“What?”

“When you leave the cabin, are you bringing it home with you, or are you going to leave it there?”

“I don’t know yet,” she admitted. “I think that is a decision that I will have to make when I leave.”

“Okay, I was just wondering,” Kevin said. “Now that I know you are still alive, get something to eat and drink, sit, read, and enjoy your solitude. I need to get to bed so I can work tomorrow without falling asleep at my desk before lunch.”

“That sounds like a plan. I love you.”

“I love you too, bye,” Kevin told her before hanging up.

Sara sat quietly in the glow of the light stick, holding her phone. She could not remember her husband ever being mad at her before, which made her stomach tie in knots. She understood why he was upset and angry, yet it bothered her greatly.

She stood, picking up the light stick to exchange it with the one still hanging from the ceiling. Sara had just finished stringing the light stick onto the paracord when she heard a scrape at the back of the cabin on the outside wall. She listened for a moment, expecting to hear the snort that always followed, but was met with nothing but the muffled sound of rain through the thick log walls and roof.

“I’m not in the mood for you, Ted!” Sara screamed.

Her yell was returned with utter silence, followed by a long scrape down the entire side of the cabin. Sara could feel the hair on the back of her neck standing up and goosebumps rising on her flesh. The buck would always respond to her voice. She had a sick feeling in the pit of her stomach that the sound outside was not being caused by the deer.

Sara jumped and whirled around to face the door as it began to shake violently. It sounded as if someone were holding the handle, trying to force the door open. She stared at the paracord holding the door closed and silently pleaded that it would hold. A loud bang on the door made her flinch and take a step away from it.

Sara turned and ran to the shelf where the wood boxes were. She quickly searched through them, looking for something to defend herself with if whatever was trying to get in succeeded. Her hand hit the cold metal of the straight razor she had found earlier. Pulling it out of the box, she carefully opened it. She looked down at the blade in her hand as she panted. She covered her mouth with her hand to force herself to breathe more quietly through her nose.

Sara faced the door and waited for something else to happen. Tears were involuntarily streaming down her face out of fear. She kept thinking about all of the supposedly true horror stories about campers being attacked in the forest. She had felt her little cabin sanctuary was safe. Now, it felt like a prison. Would someone or something be waiting for her the next time she opened the door?

She stood anticipating something would happen for what felt like hours. After the bang on the door, nothing else had happened. There was no sound of any kind other than the light rain. Sara stood until she could no longer tolerate the pain throbbing in her leg.

She limped to the table and gently sat in the chair. She placed the straight razor on the table beside her and looked at the bandage on her leg. A small spot of blood was starting to form on the white gauze. Sara sighed as she began to change the dressing as quietly as possible. Her hands were shaking so much that she could barely do what was needed, and it took twice as long as it usually would.

When Sara had finished, she sat quietly, listening for the slightest sound. She could hear the distant rumbling of thunder and nothing else but the ceaseless rain. She wanted to call her husband just to listen to his voice, but she knew he was asleep and did not want to wake him.

For the first time on her trip, Sara considered calling Steve’s cousin Danny. The problem was that she did not want to sound like a scared little girl because there was a strange sound outside. Sara did not know Danny. What would she even tell him?

A sudden growl from her stomach startled Sara. She shook her head and smiled about getting so upset about a noise that her own stomach growling would make her jump. She grabbed the pot her jambalaya was in, tipped it toward herself, and looked at the contents. She curled her lip and put the pot down. She opted for a protein bar from her pack as she picked up the journal and began to read again.

December 4, 1879

Jim woke up this morning wanting fry bread and coffee. His belly started hurting after he took a few bites. It still looks swollen and bruised. I felt a little relief when he felt better yesterday and asked for breakfast this morning, but now I am worried again. I did get him to drink some willow bark tea. We will see if that helps him.

I had hoped my busted shoulder would start to heal by now. I think it hurts more this morning than it ever has since it happened. We are quite the pair. Jim is bedridden. I have my arthritis and can only use one arm. We aren’t much use right now.

December 4, 1879

Second entry. Jim is starting to feel a little better now. After he had his breakfast and tea, he went back to sleep. I guess he just needed more rest because now he is having another piece of fry bread and talking about what he might want for supper.

Jim asked me how much snow we had gotten. I opened the door to look, and when he saw it all packed in the doorway, he said something that I think were curse words. I’m not sure since they were not in English.

The snow is now three-quarters of the way up the door. I think the snow has stopped falling for the time being. There is still a brutal wind whipping it around to make it near white-out, so it is hard to tell.

Jim has informed me he wants a stew tonight for supper that he knows how to make, and I do not. He is promising he will tell me how to do it. If we go hungry because it is inedible, he will have to take responsibility for it.

Sara started laughing so hard she had to stop reading. The last paragraph made her remember how she had sprained her ankle the year before, and her poor husband, Kevin, was left to do most of the cooking. They did not starve, but the meals were far from gourmet. Kevin had also made her promise that if anything like that happened again, they would eat take-out or delivery until she was able to cook again. Sara happily agreed to that for the sake of her taste buds and stomach.

December 4, 1879

Third entry. The stew I cooked us for supper was edible. I am sure that if Jim had made it, it would have been better, but it wasn’t bad. Jim ate a full bowl, drank a cup of water and a cup of willow bark tea. He is back asleep now. Sleep and rest are what he needs right now.

I hope some of this snow melts in the next week. That deer we got is not lasting nearly as long as I would like it to. We usually get rabbits, squirrels, and other small game while we are out trapping to go with the venison. Being trapped in this cabin by the snow is not letting us do that. I am worried.

December 4, 1879

Fourth entry. The wind has died down, and it is now as still as death. I can hear something walking in the snow outside. It keeps stopping in front of the door and standing there. I have the door secured, so I am not worried about it getting in. I am worried about what it is. Something feels very unnatural about it. It’s big, and it sounds like it is on two legs, not four.

After what we saw and the stories Jim has told me, I have no doubt that unnatural things live in this forest. There are times when I feel as if it is cursed or that I am cursed for being here. I am no longer sure that man should be in this place. Maybe it should remain with nature.

Jim is stirring in his sleep. I hope he does not wake. He has enough to worry about without being aware of something skulking about this cabin.

Sara stopped reading and thought about what had happened to her in the cabin earlier. There was no way that something would still be alive after all of that time. Perhaps Herschel had been correct about it being something unnatural.

Sara laughed at herself for having that thought. She had never been a big believer in ghosts or the supernatural. Yet, as Sara sat in the tiny cabin, it was something she was questioning. Kevin was the believer, and he would love that she was considering the possibility of paranormal activity taking place.

December 5, 1879

Jim slept through our visitor outside last night. This morning, he asked me why I looked so tired. I told him it was because I had to get up and tend fire during the night. I don’t want him to know how bad my shoulder is or about something prowling around this place. He doesn’t need to worry about anything but taking care of himself and healing.

Jim asked for more fry bread this morning. At least what he wants to eat is relatively easy to make, and I can do most of it with one hand. I think the real reason he keeps asking for it is that he likes to watch me try to hold the mixing bowl and stir with one hand. To do that, I have to sit and hold the bowl between my knees. It doesn’t matter why he wants it. As long as he will eat it, I will keep making it.

I think I will make a pot of soup for our lunch and supper. I might put one on and just keep it going until we run out of things to put in the pot. My mama used to do that during winter when I was a boy. It always tasted better the next day for some reason.

December 5, 1879

Second entry. Jim likes the soup I made. I guess that was a good idea. My mama would do it by adding more ingredients to the pot each day as the soup was eaten out of it. That way, it was continuously replenished. As long as she kept the pot of soup hot, so it boiled for a good while each day, it never went bad. The way I am having to keep this fire going, it will boil all day long.

Sara stopped reading for a moment to regain her composure. The thought of eating perpetual stew made her want to gag. She understood the principle behind it. The heat would keep bacteria from growing in it and, therefore, keep it safe to eat. Even so, the thought of eating something that had been sitting out for days, maybe weeks, or even months at a time turned her stomach.

December 5, 1879

Third entry. Jim is in a fitful sleep again. He ate well at supper and had a cup of willow bark tea before he fell asleep. He says he is feeling better. I have some doubts and think he might be lying to me, so I worry less about him. The way he is sleeping, restless and fitful each night, tells me he is not doing as well as he says.

I can hear that thing outside again. The heavy plodding steps as it circles the cabin are unmistakable. I don’t know what it is. I am not sure I want to know what it is. Some things are best left to the unknown.

I can hear something scraping on the cabin now. Sarah, how I wish I were with you on the farm at this moment. It would still be winter and cold, but it would be far more tolerable than this. To have some unknown and unnatural something stalking you while you try to sleep is a feeling I do not wish on anyone.

Sara paused in her reading to take a bag of trail mix from her pack and began to nibble at it. She looked around the tiny space she was temporarily calling her home. The entire building was roughly the size of her bedroom. There were times when she and her husband tripped over each other in that room. The idea of living with him or anyone else in a room that size for months at a time was unimaginable to her.

Sara froze as a tapping came from outside the cabin. She was not aware she was holding her breath until she heard the familiar snort of the buck outside and let out a deep exhale. She shook her bag of trail mix to pick out a few nuts, resulting in another snort from the deer.

“Oh no!” Sara called out. “Don’t even think about it. I am not sharing with you after you knocked me off a cliff.”

Sara started laughing. What she had said was met in response with another snort and scraping on the exterior cabin wall.

“Sorry, Ted,” Sara said to the deer. “It is going to take me a little while before I forgive you. I thank you for showing me where this cabin was, but I do not appreciate the injuries that came with it.”

Another snort came from outside, along with scraping down the side of the building. Sara stifled a laugh as she listened to the deer make his way down the side of the cabin and to the back of it. She had a feeling that he was pouting as he stomped away.

Sara sat listening to the rain, which was steadily growing heavier. She wondered if Herschel had heard the stomping outside the cabin, which could have been a deer. Herschel would have known what a deer sounded like but he could have been mistaken in his injured and distressed state.

Sara continued to listen to the rain in a near-meditative state. She let her mind drift from one thought to the next, lulled by the muffled pattering of rain on the thick log structure. This peace was what she had needed for a long time.