“RODGER!” I yelled to my boss, he had his cockatoo Hulkasaurus Rex, on his shoulder. He was playing tiktoks to keep him entertained on his break. Funny little sight in this world of death we live in, helps make the days easier seeing this feathered little shit sometimes. He’s singing “the cheese tax, *squeak” bobbing his head, and tapping his tiny claws. Rodger is stuck in a thousand yard stare. “RODGERMCFUCKFACE!!!!!” I loudly say to him, usually snaps him out of it.
“What Hellinger?” He said half dazed, rubbing his eye that is scarred over on the left side. “I need help moving these bodies to the meat lockers. We have 6 from that Appalachian hiker incident that just came in.” I was clearly annoyed, I only have so many arms, and Rodgers son Xavier was out “sick” today. He was never sick, probably snorting pixie dust again, it is payday after all.
“You know they’re calling these ‘bear’ attacks right? Made a whole show of it on the news how they ‘caught’ and ‘handled’ the ‘bear’. We know it’s not bears in those damned mountains. It’s fucking Saratoga NY all over again. ‘Cept the rich folks there pay to keep everyone quiet. Don’t wanna mess up their perfect tourism.” He put Hulk in his enclosure, when I noticed a lump on one of his claws. “Hey Rodge, what’s that?” I say pointing to the birds claw with curiosity. “Aw shit, he’s got bumblefoot. It’s like a blackhead in the birds claw, can get real nasty like a cyst if you don’t take it out.”
He gets a bit tense. Despite having his son, Hulk is his real baby. “Can we take it out? Do we have what he needs here?” He looks at me like I sprouted 3 heads. “Girly, I’m all thumbs. I may be the boss here. But even with your dexterity we need a vet for this. I’ll help you get the bodies in the freezer. But I need ya to hold the fort down til I get back. Don’t open the door for nobody, no matter what ya hear. Stay in the office and do the paperwork, the bodies are fine until we come back in the morning capiche?”
I agreed and helped him load everything he needed in His truck, then went back to the office to start filling out the mound of paperwork we have to do to confirm transfer of remains. I had to have been on the third bodies paperwork when I heard the door open, “the cheeeese tax, the cheeeeeeeese tax” a raspy weird voice repeats twice. “Ayo, Hulk, Rodger. You guys back already? That was quick!”
“The cheeeeeese tax, the cheese tax!” It sounded insistent, no way in Sam hell that came from a bird. “Xavier, get your high ass home! I have no time for your antics tonight!” He had done dumb shit when he got pixie dust before. I wasn’t even looking up from my paperwork to entertain his stupid self. I wanted to go home the second bossman walked through that door.
“THE CHEEESE TAX, THE CHEEEEEEESE TAX” The voice was deeper, more sinister. Then a squeaking noise, like something being smeared across glass with too much force. I snap back. “XAVIER! I SWEAR ON EVERYTHING HOLY!” I stop as I look up. Not entirely sure what I was even seeing.
“Yessss, the cheese tax. I am owed. The other human pays the cheese tax. Where is the other human?” Don’t ask me where the courage to answer came from, “his bird is sick. He took it to an animal doctor.” It turned its head at an unnatural angle. “You give me cheese tax then small human. I am owed.” It elongated the last word, for emphasis I’m sure. “What is the cheese tax?” I ask, having no damned idea what it was referencing. It points at the door, the door to the room where we store bodies. My eyes go wide, it nods at me as if to say, “you understand now”
“What cheese tax do you want?”
“The onessss in the shiny boxes”
“Will you hurt me if I give you the cheese tax?”
“The cheese tax, the human says cheese tax is how I ask for this. Give me CHEESE TAX!” Cleary agitated. I didn’t know what it was, and I didn’t want it eating me. I got up and headed for the door to open it. The doors open in such a way it makes a clear corridor while blocking the office from the transportation area like a divider. I figure, I do this. It goes in and grabs what it wants, and leaves.
The second the doors are connected, the sound of its claws dashing on hard tiles is so fast I didn’t have time to blink. I swallow my fear. Something tells me to not display myself as prey to this being. “THE CHEESE TAX!” It sounds anxious in the room. “COME HUMAN OPEN CHEESE TAX!” It says in a raspy voice of a mouth with too many teeth. I swiftly enter the room and ask, “which ones? Trying to be non chalant at this massively tall creature that looks like a nightmare. I know what it is. A damned WENDIGO. “Which ones?”
I ask politely again, now knowing the full extent of the danger I am in if I do not comply with it’s demands. It looks at me as well, as if to consider me. For what, I can only hope it’s not food. It’s elongated claws pick 4 drawers.
I open each one, and pull out the cadavers so it doesn’t damage the equipment. We can always blame missing bodies on thieves. You try explaining how steel got bent like an aluminum can to the higher ups. We also live in a small town of otherwise weirdos. Nobody asks too many questions here. “Can I get you anything else?” I ask as nicely as I can. “Thaank you human, you are not food.” I took that as my cue to leave the room. I left the doors open so it could leave when it wanted. I sat down, popped in my earpods, and texted Rodger.
“I never want to hear the song ‘the cheese tax’ ever again in my fucking life.” These earpods suck, I hear it slurping, gnawing, gnashing. For hours. It leaves just before dawn. I go to check the damage. Spotless. Like it was never there, never pegged Wendigos for being clean guests.