Eric shivered, not from the cold, but from the weight of that warning. He had fought it off, but would the Wendigo really be gone forever? Or was it just waiting, healing, ready to hunt again?
The thought was too horrifying to dwell on, so he pushed it out of his mind and focused on survival.
After what felt like hours, the vague outline of his cabin appeared through the snow, barely visible in the storm. Relief flooded Eric's body, but it was short-lived. He stumbled forward, slipping on the ice beneath the snow, his exhausted body barely able to keep him upright.
His truck was parked out front, covered in a thick layer of snow, but it was still there. Salvation.
Eric dragged himself to the vehicle, his hands shaking as he fumbled with the keys in his pocket. His fingers were numb, and the simple task of unlocking the door felt like a herculean effort. Finally, the lock clicked open, and he collapsed into the driver's seat, slamming the door shut behind him.
For a moment, he just sat there, trembling in the frigid silence of the truck. His hands were shaking so badly that he could barely fit the key into the ignition. When the engine finally roared to life, the heater kicked in with a soft hum, sending a blast of warm air through the vents.
But the warmth did little to ease the chill that had settled deep into his bones.
Eric glanced out the windshield, half-expecting to see the Wendigo standing at the edge of the trees, watching him, but there was nothing. Just the swirling snow and the dark outline of the forest. Still, the uneasy feeling lingered, gnawing at him, as if the creature's presence was imprinted on the land itself. Eric slammed the truck into gear, his foot heavy on the gas, eager to leave this place behind.
The tires spun for a moment in the snow, but the truck lurched forward, cutting a slow path through the thick drifts. The cabin, the shack, the Wendigo - it all began to blur in the rearview mirror as he pushed onward. He didn't dare look back for too long. He couldn't afford to. Not now.
The road back to town was treacherous. Ice coated the narrow path, and the snowstorm had only grown worse, obscuring everything in a thick, white haze. Eric had to grip the wheel tightly, focusing on the barely visible trail ahead, his knuckles white from the tension. The headlights did little to cut through the storm, casting eerie shadows on the trees that lined the road. Every so often, a branch would sway violently in the wind, looking disturbingly like a crooked arm reaching out to snatch him.
His mind raced. He couldn't stop replaying the events of the night—the Wendigo bursting through the cabin door, its twisted limbs, its hollow eyes, and the sheer terror of its presence. He had been so close to death, and even now, miles away, he couldn't shake the feeling that he was still being hunted.
The Wendigo never stops.
That thought clawed at him, no matter how far he drove. His father's voice echoed in his mind, recounting the stories, the warnings. "The Wendigo is not just a monster—it's hunger itself. It takes on the form of greed, of insatiable craving. It doesn't stop, Eric. Not until it's fed."
His foot pressed harder on the gas.
For what felt like an eternity, the world around him was nothing but the storm, the woods, and the distant memories of his father's words. But after nearly an hour of driving, something shifted. The trees began to thin, and in the distance, through the swirling snow, he saw the dim glow of streetlights. Red Pines.
Relief washed over him like a wave. The small town was just ahead. Safety. Civilization. People. He could make it. He'd survived.
Eric's hands relaxed slightly on the wheel as the truck rolled into the quiet, snow-covered streets of Red Pines. The town was asleep, the houses dark, their windows frosted over. Even the diner, which was usually open late for truckers passing through, was closed, its neon sign flickering weakly in the storm.
He pulled into the small parking lot beside the local inn, the only place with any light. The warm glow from the lobby's windows was a stark contrast to the cold, lifeless night outside. Eric killed the engine and just sat there for a moment, letting the silence settle in. His heart was still pounding, but the weight of the night was beginning to catch up to him. He needed to rest. To gather his thoughts.
Gathering his belongings—what little he had left—Eric stepped out of the truck, the cold air biting at his face once more. He moved quickly, eager to get inside where it was warm. The bell above the inn's door jingled softly as he entered, and the small lobby greeted him with the smell of old wood and the faint scent of coffee.
Behind the counter, an older man with a thick grey beard and a knit cap looked up from his newspaper. He raised an eyebrow as Eric approached, his eyes scanning the snow-covered, disheveled man standing before him.
"Rough night out there?" the man asked, his voice gruff but not unkind.
"You could say that," Eric muttered, rubbing his hands together to warm them. "I need a room."
The innkeeper nodded and reached for the register, pulling out a set of keys. "Not many folks up here this time of year," he said, handing Eric the keys. "But I've got a room for you. Second floor, first door on the right."
Eric nodded his thanks and turned to head upstairs, but the man's voice stopped him.
"You came from the lake, didn't you?"
Eric froze, his hand hovering just above the stair rail. Slowly, he turned back to the innkeeper, who was now staring at him with a curious, almost knowing look.
"Yeah," Eric replied cautiously. "I was up near Bukwus Lake, at my family's cabin."
The innkeeper's expression darkened, his eyes narrowing slightly. "You shouldn't be up there this time of year. Not during the winter."
"Why?" Eric asked, though he already knew the answer. He didn't want to hear it confirmed, but something in him needed to know. Needed to understand what had really happened.
The man leaned forward on the counter, lowering his voice as though sharing a secret. "The Wendigo. It hunts when the snow comes. It calls out in the wind, and if you hear it, you're already marked. It'll stalk you, wear you down, feed on your fear until you're too weak to fight."
Eric felt a cold sweat break out across his forehead. He'd already seen the Wendigo. Felt its claws, its breath on his skin. The creature was real—more real than he'd ever imagined.
"I—I think I killed it," Eric stammered, the words sounding hollow as he spoke them. "It burned in the fire. I watched it die."
The innkeeper's eyes never left his. For a long moment, he didn't say anything, but the look on his face told Eric everything he needed to know.
"You don't kill the Wendigo," the man finally said, his voice grim. "You might slow it down. You might make it retreat. But it never dies. It's hunger. It's eternal."
Eric swallowed hard, his throat dry. The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
"You should rest," the innkeeper added, his tone softening slightly. "But if I were you, I'd leave first thing in the morning. Don't go back to the lake. Don't give it another chance."
Eric nodded numbly and turned toward the stairs. His legs felt heavy as he climbed, his mind racing with thoughts of the creature, of the chase, of the burning embers and its shrieking wail.
When he reached his room, Eric locked the door behind him and collapsed onto the bed, still fully clothed. The exhaustion hit him all at once, dragging him into a restless, uneasy sleep. His dreams were filled with shadowy forests, twisted antlers, and the endless wail of the Wendigo's call.
When Eric woke, the room was cold. The weak morning light filtered through the frosted window, casting long shadows on the floor. He sat up slowly, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.
It took a moment for him to register the sound.
A faint, distant wail. Low and mournful, carried on the wind.
Eric's heart stopped. He moved to the window, dread coiling in his stomach. Outside, the snow had stopped falling, but the air was thick with fog, and through it, he saw something move at the edge of the woods.
A tall, gaunt figure, with twisted antlers and hollow, black eyes.
The Wendigo had found him.
And it was still hungry.