Eric McLeod had lived through nightmares no one else could fathom. The Wendigo had nearly claimed him in the desolate wilds of Northern Ontario, and though he had escaped, its presence haunted him for years after. The innkeeper's warning—"It never dies. It's eternal."—stayed with him, no matter how far he ran or how much time passed.
It had been decades since he fled Canada. After that winter night, Eric didn't return to the cabin or the lake. In fact, he never ventured north again. Instead, he sold his family's land, left everything behind, and boarded a plane to Southeast Asia, determined to outrun the curse that had latched onto him in the frozen wilderness.
Thailand became his refuge. Its warm, tropical climate and bustling streets were as far from the cold, lonely forests of Canada as he could get. Eric settled in a small, quiet village just outside Chiang Mai, a world away from the biting cold of the north. He had no family left in Canada, no ties to keep him tethered to the past. It was a fresh start, a chance to rebuild a life he had lost.
He found peace, or so it seemed. The years rolled by, and the memories of the Wendigo, while never forgotten, began to fade like a bad dream. Eric married a local woman named Mali, raised two children, and eventually became a grandfather. His days were spent surrounded by the laughter of his grandchildren and the warmth of his new family. He had grown old, his hair turning silver, his skin wrinkling with the passage of time. But he was happy. He had built a life far from the darkness that had once stalked him.
And yet, in the back of his mind, he always knew that the Wendigo hadn't truly let him go.
On the morning of his 80th birthday, Eric woke to the smell of incense and freshly prepared food. His family had planned a celebration for him, filled with the traditional Thai customs he had come to love. His grandchildren ran around the yard, laughing and playing, while Mali prepared a special meal in the kitchen.
Eric sat on the porch, watching the sun set behind the mountains, the sky turning shades of pink and gold. He smiled to himself, feeling contentment wash over him. Life had been kind, despite the terror he had once faced. He had lived longer than he had ever expected, finding happiness where he least thought possible.
As the evening wore on, the party came to life. Friends and family gathered around a long table, sharing stories, food, and laughter. Eric's children, now grown with families of their own, gave speeches, thanking him for his guidance and love over the years. It was a perfect evening, the kind of moment Eric had come to treasure.
Later, as the night deepened and the stars came out, Eric's grandchildren, tired from the excitement of the day, began to yawn and rub their eyes. One by one, they climbed into Eric's lap, giving him hugs and kisses before heading off to bed. Eric chuckled as the youngest, a girl of six, wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed his cheek.
"Goodnight, Grandpa," she whispered.
"Goodnight, my love," he replied softly, kissing her forehead.
He watched as Mali took the children to their rooms, her voice gently lulling them to sleep with a soft lullaby. The house grew quieter, the buzz of the day's festivities winding down. Eric stood from his chair, feeling the familiar ache in his bones, a reminder of his old age. He made his way slowly toward the bedroom, pausing briefly at the window to look out at the moonlit landscape.
The village was peaceful, the only sounds the chirping of crickets and the distant murmur of a river flowing nearby. Eric took a deep breath, savoring the tranquility of the night.
And then, it came.
At first, it was so faint that he thought it might be his imagination. A soft, distant wail, like the wind catching in the trees. But as it grew louder, more distinct, the blood drained from Eric's face. His heart pounded in his chest, and his legs suddenly felt weak beneath him.
It was the sound he had feared for the last fifty years.
The Wendigo's call.
"No…" Eric whispered, his voice trembling. He stumbled back from the window, his heart racing in panic. It couldn't be. Not here. Not now. He was thousands of miles from that cursed forest, a lifetime away from the snow and cold. How could it have followed him?
But deep down, Eric had always known this day would come.
The wail grew louder, more insistent, as if the creature had finally found him after all these years. It echoed through the night, a haunting cry that sent shivers down his spine, freezing him in place. Eric's breaths came fast and shallow, the weight of the inevitable crashing down on him.
It was here.
The Wendigo had come to claim him, just as the innkeeper had warned all those years ago.
Slowly, Eric made his way to the door of the bedroom where his grandchildren slept. He opened it just a crack, peeking inside. They were fast asleep, their small bodies curled up under warm blankets. They were safe. For now.
He closed the door softly, resting his hand on the wood, his heart heavy. He couldn't let it get them. He wouldn't. Whatever the Wendigo wanted, it was after him—not his family. Eric swallowed the lump in his throat and steeled himself.
He turned and walked back toward the front door of the house, his movements slow and deliberate. His body ached with every step, his age catching up to him, but he had made up his mind. The Wendigo had been waiting long enough. It was time.
As he stepped outside, the cold night air hit him like a memory from another life. He stood on the porch, staring out at the dark jungle beyond, the warmth of the house behind him feeling miles away. The wail echoed once more, closer now, as if the creature was just beyond the trees, waiting for him.
Eric took a deep breath. His time had come.
He had outrun the Wendigo for fifty years, but no more. He had lived a full life, built a family, and found peace. And now, the creature had finally found him.
"I'm not afraid anymore," Eric whispered into the night, his voice carried away by the wind.
He took one last look at the house behind him, at the warm glow of the lights and the soft hum of his family sleeping inside. Then, he stepped off the porch and into the night, walking toward the jungle, toward the source of the wail.
The Wendigo's call grew louder as Eric disappeared into the darkness, the jungle swallowing him whole.
And then, the night was silent.
When the sun rose the next morning, Mali found the front door wide open. Eric's footprints were the only ones in the dew-covered grass, leading into the jungle, where they eventually vanished.
He was never seen again.