Chaos. Bodies litter the ground like coins at the bottom of a fountain. A dark beast slinks through the shadows and strikes when it pleases, it takes pleasure in the slaughter. Randomly striking down tribesman after tribesman, there will be no end until everyone is dead. Thats the nature of a Wendigo, they are evil creatures. Tall, jet black and grey fur. Tendrils of death and destruction coming off in every direction. Completely exposed rib cage topped off by the skull of a buck. They thrive off death.
She cowers in a hut not too far away from where the slaughter is taking place. She will die soon, she knows it. This masquerade of death will be unceasing until everyone in the tribe is laying slain on the grass. She was scared, she didn’t want to die. Was this a nightmare?
No one in the tribe believed the Wendigo to be a real creature. Everyone thought it was a tale passed down for generations so children would behave. There surely couldn’t have been a purely evil creature wandering these beautiful woods waiting to strike out and kill anything and everything it came across. Now it would seem that those stories were true, and there was nothing she or anyone could do to stop it.
The Wendigo was devastating its way towards her hut. She had to run, she had to move. Head and eyes moving back an forth in a torrent of panic she searched for somewhere to run, somewhere she might have a slight chance of survival. Her panicked gaze lands on a hollowed tree just outside the boundary of the village. The monster disappeared behind one of the larger huts on the opposite end of the village. She takes her opportunity and runs, she runs faster than she ever has before.
She trips over the body of a tribesman. She knows everyone in the village, but his body is so mangled and bloody that she cant seem to recognize him. Its terrifying. There are bodies everywhere, and the beautifully green grass is stained crimson. She can hear the screeching howl of the Wendigo as it continues its devastating hunt, it sends shivers down every bone in her body. She continues running to the tree, the moonlight illuminating her path. A ray of silver light shines directly into the hollowed section of the tree and she dives in.
The inside is damp and dark, and a mix of grass and pine nettles lines the floor. An old earthy scent fills her nostrils as she breathes in. This is what relative safety felt like. Tears fill her eyes and she pours over the events that had occurred that night. Why her tribe, why now, why did everyone she knew and loved have to die. Death was in the air all around her, its stench slowly filtering in to the tree. She can hear footsteps outside, the Wendigo was moving away from the village and towards the tree. She was terrified, so much so that she couldn’t bring herself to move, she was paralyzed. She could hear it breathing now, it must have seen her run to the tree.
The buck skull makes its way into her vision, and the ghostly white eyes look directly at her. The Wendigo lets out a deafening screech. It grabs her with it’s long arms, crushing her. She gasps for air, but there is none to be found. Her ribs shatter, she tries to scream out in pain but she is unable. Her ribs like sharp daggers slice open the inside of her body. Then she falls limp, she is dead.
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