Wendigo

Chapter 12

Sara sat half-dozing after her meal. That morning, she had prepared macaroni and cheese for the day. She had not eaten much at breakfast, and she had made up for that at lunch. Sara made a cup of coffee, hoping the caffeine would wake her up a little. She nearly chugged the first cup before making a second.

As Sara listened to the rain, a noise on one of the shelves caught her attention. She watched it intently for movement, expecting to see a mouse. Instead of seeing a rodent, she heard the distinct sound of breaking glass.

Sara got up and cautiously made her way the short distance to the shelf. She began to peer into the wooden boxes and quickly discovered the sound had come from the jar that contained the willow bark shavings. It had inexplicably broken into several pieces.

Sara could feel her pulse quicken. There was nothing that could have caused that jar to break. She tried to be rational and think of a reason why it would, but she came up with nothing. It had been sitting in that box for nearly one hundred and fifty years. For the glass to break now made no sense.

Sara backed away from the shelves, never taking her eyes off of them. She was still trying to think of an explanation for how the glass could have broken. Her train of thought was disrupted when she bumped into the table. Sara sat in her chair and picked up the journal.

“Alright, gentlemen,” Sara said nervously. “Which one of you is trying to get my attention?”

A snort at the cabin door made Sara jump so hard that she almost fell out of her chair. She whirled around to see the snout of a deer stuck in the opening as it sniffed the air inside the cabin.

“Ted!” Sara yelled. “You are so freaking lucky! I swear I’m going to take up hunting just so I can take you out and save everyone in the future from your craziness.”

Sara began to laugh about how anxious she had become, all because of a glass canning jar breaking and a deer being overly friendly. She took a drink of her coffee and opened the journal. After finding where she left off and looking around the cabin one last time, she went back to reading.

December 15, 1879

Jim has taken a turn for the worse. He is burning up with fever this morning. He is delirious and talking to people who are not here, often not in English. I think he is talking to people from his childhood and the village he lived in with his tribe. I wish I knew what he is saying so I could try to comfort him.

I have tried to get him to eat or drink something to no avail. I think he has given up. If he has, there is nothing that will help. I have seen healthy men waste away just because they gave up and wanted to die.

December 15, 1879

Second entry. I tried to rouse Jim enough to drink some willow bark tea to help break his fever, and he fought me. Moving around and fighting me made him start coughing again. This time, there was a lot of blood, and he passed out once more.

I don’t know what else to do for him. I sit here listening to him struggling to breathe and thinking of what he told me about him being buried as soon as he passes. I cannot even do that for him. This blasted snow won’t let me. The last promise I made to him I will not be able to keep. I hope his soul can rest when this is over. I doubt mine will.

I am going to divide up what food we have left. There is not much. The only venison that is left is in the soup pot now. We still have a few potatoes left and a bit of the wild rice. We still have some flour and salt. The rations we have left won’t last the two of us long.

The traps and snares Jim took out and set are buried under a good two or three foot of snow now. Even if I can get out of here, I doubt I would be able to find them or anything caught by them. If this snow stops, I might be able to dig out and set new ones. That’s the only thing I can do.

December 15, 1879

Third entry. Jim woke up for a few minutes and seemed lucid when he did. He told me to not worry myself about what had happened to him, as it is his time to leave this world. This is his destiny. He said he understood that I won’t be able to carry out burying him as soon as he dies, and he is not worried. He knows his soul will rest.

Dear God, Sarah, what he said to me next chilled me to the bone. He told me that after he dies, he wants me to do whatever I have to do to keep going. Jim said, if I cannot get out to get food, I am to eat him. The thought of that turns my stomach and makes me want to retch. He told me to not fear the wendigo or the legend of it. That it would not bother me. I don’t know if he believes that or if he is saying it to make me feel better.

Sarah, I do not believe in some evil entity that will possess me if I eat human flesh. What I do believe in is that I cannot fathom butchering my brother like an animal. I think I would rather starve to death than cut him to bits.

December 15, 1879

Fourth entry. Jim woke delirious with fever again. He began screaming, terrified of something. He passed out again before I could even make it across the cabin to him. The sleep he had was fitful and full of incoherent mumbling. He is quiet now and lying still.

I keep thinking about what Jim said to me earlier and how awake and conscious of everything he was. It was like he was possessed by something. I am a little comforted by what he said. I hope that was why he said it, and he meant it.

December 16, 1879

Jim passed this morning. I heard him stop breathing in the early morning hours before dawn as he slept. I feel ashamed to say that I am relieved that he is no longer in pain and can now rest.

My beautiful Sarah, I have not hurt or cried like this since the moment I was told I had lost you and Timothy. I have lost my brother. I could not protect him, and he is gone because he was trying to help me. I feel as guilty of his death as if I had put a bullet in his head. I have lost a part of myself.

Sara stopped reading to wipe the tears rolling down her cheeks. She could not imagine being in Herschel’s place, watching her best friend die, and feeling responsible for it. She heard sniffing at the door and turned to see the deer’s snout sticking in the cabin.

“Did you know I needed something to cheer me up, Ted?” Sara asked the deer as she wiped her eyes again. She got up and walked toward the door. “You’re not a bad guy, are you?”

The deer replied with a soft snort. His nose was inside the cabin. The buck wiggled his nose in Sara’s direction as she approached him.

Sara inched toward the deer until she could look at him through the c***k in the door. She cautiously offered the back of her hand to him, allowing him to smell it. The deer nuzzled the back of her hand and licked it. She turned her hand over and scratched under the deer’s chin as it sniffed her palm.

“You’re a sweet boy, Ted,” Sara told him. “Thank you for doing this. I needed it. I know you don’t understand this, but I found a book someone wrote when they living here. I feel like they are my friends, and one of them died. I’m sad and crying for someone I never met, yet feel like I know. Silly, huh?”

The buck raised his head, looking into her eyes. He lowered his head and closed his eyes as if he were showing respect for Jim's death. The deer opened his eyes and, while gazing into hers, placed his chin in her hand once again.

“I feel like you understand for some reason,” Sara said, wiping more tears. “I also feel like an i***t because I am talking to a deer, and I think he understands.”

The deer nudged the palm of her hand in response.

Sara giggled and said, “Okay, I get it. You do understand. Don’t move. I’m going to get you something.”

Sara gently pulled her hand away from the deer before going to her backpack. After a moment of digging, she pulled a honey and oat granola bar from it and returned to where the deer was waiting patiently.

“I’m not supposed to feed you, so don’t tell anyone, okay?” she softly told the deer.

She unwrapped the bar, broke off a chunk of the granola bar, and offered the piece to the buck. The deer sniffed it tentatively before he began to nibble at it. She grinned broadly as the deer ate piece after piece from her hand.

“You are a good boy, Ted. Now, you need to go be a deer for a while, and I need to get back to reading. Thank you for the distraction,” Sara told him as she rubbed under his chin one last time before the deer moved away from the door. Sara muttered as she went back to the table, “No one is going to believe that just happened,”

Sara sat down at the table and looked at the journal lying in front of her. She felt her chest tighten from anxiety and anticipation of what she would read next. She took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly as she found her spot and continued reading.

December 16, 1879

Second entry. The wind is blowing hard. I am hoping that it will help uncover the cabin or melt the snow. I am no longer worried about getting out of this place to get food. I need to do what is right by Jim and bury him as quickly as I can.

I am so tired. I need to sleep. I think that is what I will. I will sleep for a while. I hope that if I sleep, I won’t think of Jim lying in his bed and the stillness that has enveloped this cabin.

December 16, 1879

Third entry. I slept long and hard. I think it is well after sunset. It is difficult to tell.

The fire was almost out, and the cabin had cooled enough I could see my breath. I almost thought about letting the fire die and being taken by the cold. Then I thought about Jim, and I cannot do that. I have to honor him and bury him the way I promised.

I have now built up the fire and put the last of the food in the pot to cook, with the exception of the meager amounts of flour and salt I have left. If that runs out before I can get out of this cabin, I am not sure I can do what Jim told me to do. The thought of consuming my brother makes me want to retch.

Sarah, this is the first time I can say I am truly frightened. I had always had hope that we would be able to get out of this cabin and get food. Now that Jim is gone, that hope is waning to nothing. He was my hope of our salvation. That hope is gone, and I am utterly alone.

My love, the thought of being forced to desecrate my brother’s body in order to survive, crushes my soul. I know what he said to me, but I also know it is a vile act, no matter the reason.

I am trying to reconcile my fate, but it is so difficult. I made the choice to come here after I lost you and Timothy. It was my choice to do this and to bring Jim on to help me. My choices are what have caused this, and I must make the right choices now and do my best to make amends.

Soon I will try to break through the snow at the doorway. I want to at least be able to see the sky, so I know what the weather is doing. Now, I have to guess by the sound of the wind, which is not very accurate. It is probably closer to right than trying to guess Missouri weather by the sound, but I still need better than a guess.

December 16, 1879

Fourth entry. I was just breaking through the snow with the stove poker and could see a little patch of stars when I heard that thing stomping toward the cabin. I wish that blasted thing would do whatever it is planning to do to us and get it over with.

I can hear it walking on the roof now. Those slow, measured footsteps as it clods about. I stoked the fire nice and hot, so if it grabs a hold of the stovepipe, it will be in for a nasty surprise.

I want to know what it is. Something inside me needs to know, yet I am afraid to find out. I think there are things in this world we are not ever intended to meet, and that thing is one of them. These woods belong to that abomination, and after this year, if I survive it, it can have this place. After some of the things Jim told me, I believe even more that there are things out there that we are not supposed to know about.

December16, 1879

Fifth entry. Scratching at the top of the door and roof woke me up. It sounded like something was trying to dig its way in to get at us. I don’t know what it was, but I do know it was big. The scratches were long and deep. It sounded like it could drag its claws halfway across the roof in one swipe.

My stomach is growling. I am so conflicted as to what to do. I need to eat as little as possible and conserve my food. At the same time, I must eat and keep up my strength so I can dig us out of here and keep my promise to Jim of burying him.

With my busted shoulder, getting out of here will take a lot out of me. The pain drains my energy fast, and I have to rest often. It will take me a long time to do all of the digging and packing to make the opening and steps to get us both out of here.

I am going to eat a bit of soup, then lie down and try to go back to sleep. I need to get to work as early as I can. Sarah. I hope that you are watching over me and helping me as I do this. I need your help to make it out of this alive.

December 17, 1879

I woke up early and ate breakfast. I did not want to eat, but I have to, so I have the strength to work at clearing the snow. There is so much snow. We need a warm rain to help get us out of this cabin before it becomes a tomb for both of us.

I did open the door and check the sky before I ate. That thing on the roof last night opened the space against the door and the small opening I had at the top of the snow by a good few feet. It also left scratch marks on the wooden door. I wonder if it is trying to help us or hurt us. Either way, as long as the door is secure, it can do what it wants to the snow outside our door. The more digging and packing it does, the less I have to do.

December 17, 1879

Second entry. I can only work for ten minutes at the most before I have to stop and rest. The willow bark tea is helping to take the edge off my pain, but it is still wearing on me. Only being able to use one arm is making it even harder to work.

I can hear Jim’s voice in my head scolding me for not taking it easy and for not eating more so I can keep up my strength. I know what my option is when I finish that pot of soup on the stove if I cannot get us out of this infernal cabin. The thought of that turns my stomach sour.

I am going to get back to work on the snow. There is nothing else for me to do other than sit in the silence of this place.

December 17, 1879

Third entry. I stopped trying to clear the snow. It is nearly dark, and more is falling. We will never get out of here. If we do make it out of this cabin, it will be at the spring thaw, and that is months from now.

I sit here looking at the dwindling pot of soup on the stove and what meager rations we still have. It is not going to last much longer, maybe a day or two at the most. After that, if I want to eat, I will have to do the unthinkable. I am doing my best to steal myself to do that if needed. I keep reminding myself of what Jim said to me. About how he said I should not fear the wendigo and to eat him if I must to survive. My reluctance is not out of fear but revulsion at the thought.

It didn’t feel as cold today, so maybe we will get lucky, and it will bring rain and not snow. A warm rain is what we need. I think that will be what I pray for tonight when I go to bed, a warm rain. That would also soften the ground so I could bury Jim. I need to do that. I promised him. I have to keep that promise.

Sara marked her spot in the book and put it down. She began to rub her temples and forehead. Her head was starting to pound for some reason. She began to stretch her neck, turning it to the side. There was a deep pop within her spine, sending a wave of dizziness through her. Sara was so dizzy that she was glad to be sitting when it happened.

Sara sat nearly motionless until the dizziness passed. Her head was still hurt, so she took two acetaminophen tablets, washing them down with what was left of her coffee. She nibbled at her trail mix, sipped her water, and waited for the pain to subside before she continued reading the journal. After a few minutes, Sara decided to lie down, hoping that sleep would help with the pain.