All know the feeling of hunger, and yet some have never seen it.
You yourself may have claimed to be “starving”, “empty”, “famished”, or “hungry”. But have you yourself ever encountered the merciless beast we call “hunger”? Have you ever considered that the thing you call “starving” is only the fingernail of the monster that plagues the minds and souls of the innocent and sane? Breathing Down your neck and clawing at your skin with blood-covered nails, desperate to get inside, only blocked from you gobbling down cheeseburgers, pizza, doughnuts, fruits, and veggies.
And yet some have come close to hunger. Some of the worst instances of mass hunger known as “famines”, have plagued us for centuries.
Ireland 1845, Russia 1921, China 1959. And yet even in these stages of hunger, when people’s teeth were gnawed and broken from eating leather and dirt, and animals had a feast of the bones and rotten flesh of human remains, ; very few have ever seen hunger, few have seen the wendigo
. All the wendigo ever feels is hunger, for it IS hunger. You may have heard of the wendigo, seen drawings of it. But for the few who have seen it, for most it was the last thing they ever saw
I haven’t seen it, no, thank god I haven’t seen it, yet the blood that runs in my family have seen it, stared at it in its hollow eyes. This is not my story, this is my father’s.
When I was around the age of 15, he told me to sit down next to him, pointing to the brown cloth chair.
I was old enough to know, he told me, why he never lets me set foot in the woods, why we never go up north, especially never when it’s winter.
I recorded it all, he requested for that, wanted a record of what happened to him, to make sure no one else went through it like he did. This is what he told me.
Fathers story:
He takes out a cigarette and clicks a lighter until a small blaze, and puts the small flame to his cigarette, taking a puff before starting
My uncle decided it was time for me to visit the Great Lakes forests, told me “the woods were some of the most beautiful in the whole country.”. It took a lot of convincing until your grandfather decided it was fine for me to visit the north. Of course, when he made the decision, it was winter by then.
The winter down here is a light breeze compared to the freeze-up in the north. Cold days, and dark icy nights. It’s a wonder how the native Americans managed to survive months of thick snow, and the creatures that came with it.
He pauses to take another puff of his cigarette before continuing
This didn’t stop my uncle, who had prepared in case we had to go during the winter. He for both me and him as if we were going to the Arctic; thick puffy jackets, fat boots, and gloves as well as goggles in case we came upon a storm on a walk, as well as bear spray if we came across wild animals. Heal so packed something else, a .50 action express desert eagle, the ones those cops use in the movies. He didn’t actually expect to use it, it was just in case we came across a bear or lynx, and things got close and personal.
He pauses and stares at his right leg
He definitely didn’t think we needed it for something different.
It was around mid-November when we took the plane to the state of Michigan. He had purchased a standard hotel room in a small town (He refused to mention its name), and we spent the most few days simply getting used to the sceneries of where we were.
My uncle was right, it was beautiful, actually, I don’t even think the word “beautiful” cuts it.
I could see the edge of the forest by my window, they were tall, like long hairs protruding from the head of Mother Nature. And along those hairs lied the fleas. Squirrels, chipmunks, birds, and the occasional wolf and fox would pass by, before despairing in the shadow of the trees.
I’ll tell you, even now I do miss seeing the trees, watching the wind blow the tall fines in harmony.
He sighs, and puts out his cigarette on his wooden chair
But I know I can never go back there.
Almost every day we went on hikes, with the snow crunching beneath our feet, stopping every so often to witness the wildlife, once or twice we came across a bear. I was scared of course, but my uncle had faced plenty in his time living there, so of course he knew what to do. “ Don’t look them in the eyes” he would whisper to me, as he pulled out his bear spray, just in case. And eventually, it would move along, searching for some berries to eat.
It was around our second week there when my uncle decided to take me on my first night walk. So, we put on our coats, snow boots and brought along the desert spray and desert eagle. It was somehow even more gorgeous in the dark than it was in the day; the stars flowed above us like fireflies welcoming us to the forest, as the moon as big and bright as ever hovered above us. We walked until we came upon a fork in the path. We usually would go left, as it much longer so we could experience the forest longer, but it was a lot colder than usual, so my uncle decided it was best to get back sooner rather than later.
For some reason, the colder weather did hang in my mind for longer than it should have. Although the weather could be unpredictable, the weather news where I was, was more accurate than the ones down in the north. This thought slept my mind eventually, reasoning that every news channel got it wrong eventually.
So we continued, but as we went it just kept getting colder, and colder. By this point, my uncle repeatedly kept looking up at the sky, with a bewildered look on his face. Looking up I saw not a single cloud in the sky, nothing to indicate a snowstorm was coming, or anything that would cause the weather to get this cold. Soon my uncle put me close to him, to make us warmer. It wasn’t a long hike back, just a mile or more.
Then it was clear something was wrong, more than the weather. As we kept walking, we steps, fast steps. My uncle jerked his head in that direction, instinctively pulling out his bear spray. Looking past him, I could clearly see several pairs of eyes in the shadow of the trees, moving fast, moving toward us.
My Uncle had quickly raised the bear spray and put himself in front of me, screaming to get packed. Looking over, I could now clearly see it was a wolf, mouths open, panting and stamping its feet on the ground, creating loud cracks as the snow fell beneath them. Looking up, Uncle had his finger straight on the bear spray trigger, ready to blast them straight in the shouted faces.
Then the wolves ran right past us, I mean right past us, they were maybe 10 feet away from us at most, moving so fast I could feel a small gust of wind push against my face.
My uncle put down the bear spray, and looked around dusty, in complete utter confusion encompassing his whole face. That’s when I saw more eyes.
He motions his hand in a circle around him
There had to be dozens of critters and birds. Running, they didn’t even stop to look at us, they were just running. All the animals I had feared, all the critters and birds, and all sorts of things in the woods I had stared at in amazement just days before. All of them were running. I had never seen anything like it in my life, nor did my uncle.
He decided that it was time to go, most likely because whatever the animals were running from was something that we didn’t want to come across.
Now my uncle was someone that doesn’t get scared easily. From the stories your grandfather told me, he had faced death more times than he could count, coming across an angry grizzly, a hungry pack of wolves, and even someone pointing a gun at him straight in the face.
Even then, I didn’t see fear in his face, but looking into his eyes, I could see worry, and that was enough I needed to know.
Our standard walk had turned into a jog, with uncle deciding that it would be fast to go off trail through the woods.
On the trail, there was a clear opening overhead for the light of the moon and stars to shine through, but off trail, the pine needles blocked most of the light that came through, with small beams piercing the thick hide here and there. My uncle just kept walking straight, straight towards the town, he probably just had half a mile left when he suddenly stopped, making me bump into his back.
He didn’t move, didn’t even make a kind, almost like he had stopped breathing.
“Uncle?” I asked in a squally voice, I looked ahead of him, my heart pounding against my sternum as it pumped blood like a bicycle pump.
Up ahead was the outline of a person, though it was too far away to see any facial features or any features at all. It was, I don’t know, 30 seconds before my Uncle started backing up, gesturing me to do the same.
“Hello, can we help you?” I heard a tremble, it was a small one, but it was enough to tell me everything I needed to know. My Uncle, one of the coolest people I’ve ever known, was scared.
. Slowly, ever so slowly, my uncle put his hand behind his back, moving towards the bear spray.
But my eyes nearly popped out when his hand went past the bear spray and moved toward the gun.
Crack
Up ahead I heard what sounded like a small twig break, and breaking eye contact with my uncle’s hand looked forward back at the figure.
He had taken a step forward, stepping on a small branch that poked out of the layer of snow.
And with that step, there was a new feeling in the air, it wasn’t the cold, it wasn’t fear; it was hunger. An almost lustful amount of hunger.
“Look,” my uncle said, as his hand still gradually moved towards the desert eagle, “ We don’t want any trouble, we’re just trying to get back to town, so if you could please..” he didn’t get to finish his sentence.
By this point my father stopped looking at me, instead looking out the window
It all happened too fast.
First, there were the steps, fast, rampant, each step came with a snarl. It was too fast for my uncle, too fast for me to process.
What came next was the gunshot.
It rang off the trees, bouncing back into my ears making them ring like a church bell.
He got one shot off before it got to us, one shot off, before it made him scream. It slammed into him, flinging both me and his gun to the left, slamming me on the ground with a loud thud which knocked the wind right out of me. Oh god, the screams.
It didn’t kill him quickly, I didn’t see it happen, but I heard the crunch of teeth going through flesh and meeting bone. It probably stopped there for a second, to savor the taste of the blood against its rotten teeth, before it continued.
I’m glad I didn’t see it happen, but I could well damn hear it.
Splish and splash, as blood poured on the ground, as it continued to sink its teeth into his flesh, seemingly hard for it to hold back. It had enough of the taste; now it wanted to eat.
Crunch after crunch came, followed by tearing and popping sounds. I think it was pulling the organs out of his stomach.
Don’t know how long I had my eyes closed, but the. I opened them, I was facing away from them, and looking at a light that bounced off a silver object. The desert eagle.
I stood, up still shaken from the fall. The funny thing was I wasn’t scared, my brain must have taken a hit, making it difficult for me to process what was happening behind me.
I took a casual step forward, towards the gun, cracking the show beneath my feet. And that’s when the crunching stopped. That’s when I remembered where I was.
We both turned around at the same time, its eyes meet mine, and my eyes meet it if you could call them eyes.
I say this because I don’t even know if they were eyes.
They were black and hollow and black, I say black because all there was in those eyes was black.
Then there was the rest of its body.
I couldn’t believe the thing that did that to my uncle was unbelievably skinny. Its ribs poked out of its chest, bones clearly seen through its slender arms and legs. There were antlers that looked like that of a deer, protruding from its head.
He pauses and thinks for a moment
No. It wasn’t a head. It was his skull. Cause that’s what it looked like, a skull with deer antlers coming from the top of its head. And even as it crouched I could see it was tall, even towering over me in that stance.
He both stared at each other for what felt like hours before it turned back around and continued eating what was left of my uncle.
Did it even care that I was there? Why didn’t it just attack me next, just get it over with? I didn’t stop to ask these questions, I just turned, picked up the gun, and ran.
For a second I considered taking a shot, but I didn’t know if the bullet my uncle shot at it hit it. If it did, then I don’t even think bullets affected this thing. All I knew was I had to get away. So I kept running, and running, and running. What probably took just 10 minutes felt like an eternity. And then I saw the lights of the town.
I’m gonna make it. I thought, hope creeping up my spine and into my brain. And that’s when I heard the distant footsteps.
I turned around for a split second and felt that hope come crashing down all the way to my toes.
There it was, probably just 1000
meters away, I could see its eyes, they weren’t glowing or anything, they were just so black they stood out even in the darkness.
And it was running, running fast. I couldn’t believe my eyes how fast this thing was running. I would bet all the money I have this thing could easily beat a gazelle high on cocaine. I turned my head back around and continued running, putting all my strength and energy into my legs to just get away from this thing. But the steps just kept getting closer, and closer. Now today I understand why it didn’t eat me before. Because it knew that no matter how much I tried to run, it would never fail to catch me. And it did
A jolt of pain tore through my entire leg when it clamped its teeth into my leg, the teeth reaching my femur and making a small crack in it. This thing had unimaginable strength to pick me up in its mouth and flung me several dozen feet. I landed head first, shock and pain staring at my head, spreading throughout my entire body, but soon the pain was going away, as I felt myself slipping away out of consciousness. In the background, I heard it crunching, savoring the little bit of meat it got out of my leg.
This is it
This is how I’m going to die.
I believed it, I truly believed it. But then I heard it.
“Get up”.
It was my uncle. “ you aren’t going down that easy are you?”.
The words were all I needed. Every emotion in my body. Hopelessness, fear, sadness, despair. We’re all replaced by one; rage.
I turned around and pointed the gun which I managed to keep ahold of and Pinter it straight at its face. It turned, seemingly shocked that I had a weapon in my hand, but soon after, it charged.
I wasn’t aiming for anything, just pulled the trigger. Almost seemingly in slow motion. I saw the bullet fly, and go straight into the void that was its eyes. Time stopped for just a second. Then it stumbled backward, grabbing its face, and I heard it scream.
For the first time in the recording, I saw fear flicker in my father’s eyes, and then he continues
When I saw it open its mouth, I expected a monstrous bellow, or a loud shriek.
But what came out was worse.
It wasn’t the sound of a monster, but the sound of a people. Hundreds of people.
Men and women screaming in pain and agony. The elderly shrieked in terror. I could hear babies crying, and toddlers screaming as if they were denied a toy. But one scream remains in my mind forever, the only reason I can’t ever forget what happened that day. Because I heard a specific scream come out of its mouth.
The scream of my uncle.
The rage was gone, and the terror returned. I got back up and continued running towards the light; I didn’t want to get away from it, I just wanted to get away from the horrible screaming. But I couldn’t, I just couldn’t. No matter how fast I ran, the dream stayed the same. But then it changed, for it was no longer screaming of pain, but screams of rage.
I continued running, I had to get away, I wanted to, I needed to. My femur’s crack was continuing to grow as I continued running, my lungs pressed against my rib cage as my body demanded a huge amount of oxygen that the lungs could not provide.
I remember bursting through the woods, welcomed by the bright street lamps, and the hard pavement beneath my boots. And When I had burst through out of the woods, my body had used up all its strength,and I fell.
The last memory I got before blacking out was the screech of tires, a man looking over me on the phone, and before I lost consciousness, I turned my head and turned toward the woods. I saw it, standing there, one eye closed, the other empty’s eye staring at my own.
I didn’t need to see its face to know what it felt. It was angry, it hated me, and it was still hungry.
I woke up the next day in the town’s hospital. By that time I had been out for 3 days, and your grandfather had flown over after he heard the news. I was greeted with his tears and his warm hug after he saw me awake.
I told him and everyone else everything, about the thing, about uncle, everything.
They didn’t believe me, probably thought the number of hits I took on my head made me reimagine a little old bear as a monster. They did send out a search party, however, didn’t find it, but found my uncle. The rumors spread how every bit of flesh, blood, organ, and even the bone marrow was stripped clean, and all that was left was a clutter of bones.
He sighs
That wendigo is probably still out there, continuing to eat innocent people, continuing to hate me for being the one that got away. And there’s more out there, more that will not stop until they are full, and they are never full, and never will be.
He pauses
The most disturbing thought I have is that of my uncle’s voice in my head when that wendigo had me on the ground.
Sometimes I think, was it actually my uncle’s voice telling me to get up?
Or was it that thing, telling me to get up, wanting me to put up a little more fight, so it could make the kill so much better.