Dr. Creepen's Dungeon - S3 Ep140: Episode 141: Wendigo Horror Stories

Episode Date: September 27, 2023

We start tonight with all three parts of the epic ‘Exile Tales: The Wendigo Interview’, an original story by Exile Saint 180, kindly shared with me for the express purpose of having me narrate it here for you all.  https://www.reddit.com/user/exilesaint180/ Our final phenomenal tale of terror in the old West is ‘The Challenge of the Wendigo’, an epic work by Cameron Waggoner, kindly shared directly with me originally via my sub-reddit (complete version sent via email) and narrated here for you all with the author’s express permission.

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please contact Connix Ontario at 1866-531-2600 to speak to an advisor free of charge. BetMGM operates pursuant to an operating agreement with Eye Gaming Ontario. To Dr. Creepin's Dungeon, a creature from Alconquian folklore, primarily found in the legends and stories of the Native American and First Nations peoples, particularly those in the northern forests of the United States and Canada. The Wendigo is often described as a malevolent, supernatural, and cannibalistic being, as we shall see in tonight's two feature-length stories. Now, as ever before we begin, a word of caution.

As nice tales may contain strong language, as well as descriptions of violence and horrific imagery. That sounds like your kind of thing. And let's begin. Interview with a Wendigo. Let's get going. We have a schedule to keep. The southern drawl of Joel Singer called out from the bed of the old van in the driver. The cold foggy morning was damp from the rain that had fallen the night before,

making the ground covered in frost as the rest of his team joined him. The weather was cold and was only going to get worse, making it very hard to argue with the man. The southern giant was loading heavy equipment boxes into the truck bed. Like his companions, Joel would dress for the weather, flannel shirt with sleeves rolled up to his elbow, tan cargo pants and hiking boots. The man had the equipment to handle where they were going. He was the expert. Let's get the lead out, we have a job to do.

Joel called out now with more bass in his voice, finishing loading the van. The idea of spending three weeks with these four wasn't Joel's idea of a good time. By then an attractive albeit authoritarian-looking woman, her mid-twenties, had strolled to the larger man. The morning sun kissed her skin, and the lightly tan tone made the shock of the outer part of her blonde hair stand out like honey-gold. Her eyes were deep blue and her eyeliner was pink with three beauty marks below her right eye. She stood out, being the only one not dressed for the wilderness.

with a voluptuous body, with a noticeably covacious figure, a figure one would see in one of those adult movies or fashion magazines. It was more to her, though, than a pretty smoking body, tall, lithe, and athletic. She had a far more muscular physique than her valley girl appearance would admit. Her outfit was a ruffled pink, long-sleeved crop top, and a ruffled pink skirt with a slid at the hem, or a light pink slash as a belt with a heart design. "'Cassie, we're going to the woods. We're going to be in the mud and dirt, so why. "'You think maybe you're a little underdress for the job?' "'Quincey Woods asked in his Boston accent, like gravel, tossing his bag into the pickup.

"'His build was unique, so it made him seem small compared to the other males at only 5-11, "'the likes of Joel who sported a towering height and heavily muscle built. "'Well, Quincy was of average height and extremely lean. and this man's hard physique and accent gave off the impression of a hard-as-nail street-thar. His most striking features were his eyes, distinctly icy blue, and his haggard features with an unkept brownish beard and a Viking undercut, paired with a messy top-knot holding up his long, slick-back brown hair. The blue jeans, a light blue short-sleeved button-up shirt,

and a brown t-shirt underneath, wearing a blue shirt up a denim jacket for the cold and dark hiking boots for the trail ahead of them. "'Shut it, Quincy. You only wished you looked as good as me.' Cassie Bridges snapped in her valley girl accent, clawing at the two men's brains with how annoying it was. "'You know she's right. We're heading to the Yukon, not really going to be there for a photo shoot.' Frank called out to Cassie, his hands full with their equipment and a bag on his back. Tossing the rucksack into the truck, Frank turned to his team. Frank Doyle walked toward his three companions, a tall, tan Caucasian male in his mid-thirties.

He looked like a movie star, ruggedly handsome good looks, complete with a sharp jawline, a cleft chin, a few beauty marks, and sporting a five o'clock shadow, which gave Frank all the makings of a heartthrob in a roncombe, short and spiky open hair and squinty hazel eyes. In a muscular physique, standing at six-two and weighing in around two, 220 pounds of pure muscle. Frank looked as capable of beating someone's ass as he was of getting a girl for the night. Wearing an army green, four-buttoned Henley shirt and tan cargo pants and army boots

with black leather tactical gloves on. He was holding his rucks at me. Gassie smiled at Frank, giving him bedroom eyes as he parked. Behind Frank, looking at a camera and some sound equipment was Nolan, setting his gear into the van. He grumbled something under his breath. passing Frank and Cassie were a look toward the pair that was a mix of longing but also disgust. Nolan Harker was taller, at least six feet and wiry,

with cherry red hair and a mud cut with sideburns that made the others think Nolan looked like a ginger-a-ast-in-powers, and black eyes behind half-moon glasses, which gave off a cold vibe that was hard to shake. Being the leanest of the five, Nolan still had a bit of muscle on him. The young man looked skinny compared to his peers, though. Army Parker, Cuban-style carkeys, linen-we-a-bearer-style shirt, and hiking shoes were his preferred footwear. Bloody equipment, Lord is. Let's get the hell on with this before we all die of old age. Nolan barked, annoyed, his thick Welsh accent, having an edge to his tone. Cassie, you want to drive with me? Nolan asked. His eyes hopeful.

Yeah, I'm sorry, but no, I'm going with Frank. You can go with Joel and Quincy. Gassie said, her face showing her disgust at the gall of Nolan, ruining her alone time with Frank. Nolan looked hurt and angry at the couple as they made their way to the Jeep. After another twenty minutes of prep work and packing, the five loaded out and started heading to Whitehorse. A long drive of the crew from Prince George, British Columbia. The sun was going down by the time they reached a motel in a small town halfway towards Whitehorse. With the sun on the horizon, the crew thought it best to rest there for the night. Tell me why we couldn't at least fly to Whitehorse.

Cassie Wyand as she was stiff and cranky from the long drive, and when she stepped out of the jeep she heard popping from her body. She stretched while Nolan went to get their room keys. By the time she'd finished with her stretches, Nolan had returned. She joined the guys, taking her room keys while the guys took the other rooms. There's no budget for it. With all the equipment we have, we were lucky to get over the board. border. Last most of our equipment was shipped to Whitehorse a few days ago. Joel told Cassie,

grabbing his back and heading to his room to get some sleep. His crew followed suit. The night was chilly for spring, and for Joel and the rest of the crew it was still too cold for them. It was later when Frank walked outside, a cigarette in his mouth. The moonshine illuminated the parking lot and the forest in front of the motel. He looked back, seeing Cassie in a blanket covering her naked, alluring figure. Cassie had invited herself into his room after she figured the others had passed out. Her night clothes were on the floor, next to Frank's. Even now, with work and staying in a crappy motel, Cassie and Frank weren't able to miss out on a perfect opportunity for their favorite pastime. Frank turned back around, looking out of her. Frank turned back around,

looking out along the woodlight. Frank, baby, come back to bed, Cassie called out to him, her eyes burning into his soul. He felt her looking at him, a frosty cloud of his breath visible from the moonlight. The evidence of their love-making still hung in the air. Yeah, babe, I'll be there, Frank said.

His eyes still fixed on seeing several sets of eyes looking back at him. Sweetheart, let's get some rest. Tomorrow is going to be a long day. As he said that, three gunshots broke the silence, accompanied by an ungodly scream that he heard coming from the woods. Frank casually walked back into the motel like nothing had happened. Neither Cassie nor Frank had much of a reaction toward what had happened outside. We'd better head to bed.

Before joining Cassie in bed and before long, the moonlight was shining on them. Sleep took them away until morning came. In the forest, the icy cold of night consumed all, hiding in the dangers of this subartite landscape. The ancient forest was silent. No owls, wolves or any other animal. The forest was as dead as the grey. In the shadows, four figures were standing around each other,

watching the motel and the dead figures at the woodline. The morning was colder than before, almost like the weather didn't want them to go any further. Frank and Cassie emerged from their hotel room. Cassie now dressed more for the weather. A Russian Cossack hat, red and black Parker, grey scarf, beige combat pants, a black sleeveless top and a pair of black snow boots. Frank and the others were also ready for the weather.

Barkers, beanie, gloves, along with the rest of the gear, were now in the vehicle. Frank took a moment, looking out over to the mountain. intons, praying they didn't have to go there. Mount Logan was on the horizon. Its snow-capped peak was shining with the rays of the morning sun. The shadows of the forest in front of them were revealing their secrets slowly as the morning chill came with a fresh scent of pine, white spruce, balsam poplar, and trembling aspir. Let's get going. We're burning daylight, Quincy yelled from across the parking lot. on to white horse then frank asked with a yawn joel shook his head though oh change your plans white horse is off pale valley is off

isaac and his team are heading to white horse and meet us there once their business is done joel explained finishing loading the car after breakfast at a local diner the crew was off back on the road heading to an airfield heading to pale valley a small village several miles from old probe. After several hours and a ton of fast food, high tension and the constant feeling of being followed, they finally arrived. It was late, around one in the morning, and a welcoming party was waiting for them, which was strange, seeing as this trip was so last minute. After exiting the plane, their gear was unloaded and sent to the inn that they would stay at, and the car was provided on arrival. Joel was the first out of the plane, meeting with a group with First Nation members. The first was a young woman, her skin paler than the others in her group, long raven black hair,

braided down the back and twinkling dark brown eyes. She was a tall, slender yet statuesqueous figure with broad shoulders and modest hips and modest bust, wearing a turquoise necklace, the lights of the airfield building, and made it give off a dull glow. Her outfit comprised of black snow boots, light blue ski pants, a black shirt and a red leather jacket. The other was a tall, muscular Native American man in his late 20s or early 30s. He towered over those surrounding him. Even Joel, a mountain of a man in his own right, was almost a foot shorter. Much of his hair was in a mohawk with a long braid in the back, and he wore an old grey jacket, worn jeans and leather boots. The other was the older of the three, a man with a weathered

skull, clean-shaven with a steely gaze. His large build made him intimidating in a deerskin jacket and flannel shirt, a pair of cargo pants, hiking boots, and gray gloves. He had long iron grey hair that was dancing lightly in the wind. He was carrying a handmade tomahawk and a rifle in the other hand. Welcome to the Pale Valley. Rarely we get visitors around this part, the older man said, greeting the group that had arrived. His voice was slow and he was slow and smoky from years of tobacco use. Joel offered his hand to the older man. Thank you. Great to be here. Joel took the older man's hand, shaking it, and the old man was stronger than he looked. He introduced himself as dark long shadow to each of the newcomers. Yes, I understand you're looking for someone

or something. He asked before introducing the two with him. The woman was named Liz, and the bigger man was Jacob. Wendy Benoit. She here? Joel asked, to which Doc shook his head, but told him she was out of town and we'll be back later, about a week. The three then led Joel and the rest of the crew

to the old Buckeye Lodge, a small but cozy cabin on the edge of the village. The cabin was big enough to hold all the equipment, and the crew were comfortable with chairs, a couch, and a fireplace that had a roaring fire already started. They unpack their gear and equipment before going to bed. Well, as the weeks passed, Nolan and Quincy had gone to conduct recon for filming locations, while Frank and Cassie got the living room for the interview and got some supplies.

The crew also got to meet more of the townspeople. The dog was the elder in the town, and Liz was his aide while Jacob was the sheriff. All of them got a tour of the town, got its history, its popular locations, and learned the local traditions. Doc even told them at the festival that we'll be starting in the coming days but with the good was the bad strange noises the feeling of being watched and the way the locals have been acting well the longer the crew is in town the stranger the town became

they were friendly but the townspeople here were maybe too friendly and the way they looked at the five of them like each one was a cut of meat the whole thing had all the crew on edge. What was worst was that all of them had the same feeling at night. That was until the last week of their staying. Doc arrived at the cabin. Is everyone ready for a drink?

Doc asked, taking them to the local tavern. Well, Ten Elks Tavern was at the centre of the town, and while it was small, it was a welcoming aura to it. It looked very local, with pool table. in the corner, dartboards and a pinball machine at the far end. The owners had scattered the tables about the bar, with patrons all deep in conversation, but they turn their attention to the party when they walked in. "'Looks, uh, cozy here,' Quincy said, with sarcasm and his voice, getting an uneasy feeling from all of the staring faces. So we opted to go to the bar, telling the bartender to give

him a jack and coke and keep them coming. Nolan joined Quincy, getting himself a beer, and this also for Joel, Cassie and Frank. All of them felt the crowd's eyes on them. Cassie was getting a chilling feeling when she sat down. Joel and Frank were also clearly on edge. Even when they were ordering food, they felt out of place here. These people didn't look at them like they were outside. It's more like, well, like they were items on the menu.

"'Rabbit meat, horse meat, deer meat. "'It's like any type you like they have.' "'What kind of place is this?' Cassie asked, "'speaking in a hush tone to the rest of the group. "'This made Joel and the others take quick glances around, "'assessing the crowd. "'All five of them tried to hide how on edge they were. "'Doc was nowhere to be seen,

"'and it was more than a little odd "'that their host had disappeared on them so suddenly. "' Luckily enough, John's... Joel had packed for anything and had given each of them a weapon back at the cabin to carry while in town. After the weeks that they'd stayed, all of them were now thankful for Joel for these weapons. It didn't take long for one of the locals to walk up to their table. It was a boarding man with a high widow's peak and thin, wispy beard, a lanky man with a massive beer guns. His eyes were small, beady and dark.

Dressed like a hick at a trailer park with his denim jacking. it, jeans and trucker hat. He was stumbling across the tavern, making his way towards the table, looking right at Cassie. A putrid smile came off him, making Cassie have to fight the vomit coming up from the stench. Hey, baby, how about you and me have a drink? Maybe have a little fun, the man asked. His word slurred and his breath as foul as the rest of him. John and Frank got to their feet, ready to step in.

when the door opened and the crowd in the tavern cheered at the person walking in who came in was a striking beauty wendy benwale an attractive young native american woman with bronze eyes and inky silky black hair and she had an aura of professionalism about her wendy was dressed like she was going camping wearing an army green woman's saddle country shirt jacket and worn as rose-red flannel shirt tight blue jeans tan hiking boots and had a cute orange beanie in her hand. Under her clothes, Wendy had a fairly broad-shouldered, toned torso. It maintained and voluptuous and bucks and figure, which was further stress because she was considerably shorter than the man that was in front of her. The Hicks smiled, his teeth yellow and rotting,

and upon seeing Wendy, he strolled towards the woman. "'Cold, can I get a darkened stormy?' Wendy asked the bearded tattooed bartender. She was leaning on the bar counter, her back arched, her ass swaying back and forth, waiting for a drink. You heard Wendy. What's your usual from the kitchen? He asked, making her the drink and earning a nod from Wendy. She was talking with the bartender, when she let out a yelp and shot to her feet with a hand over her butt and a pissed off look on her face.

Yes, the hick had made his move. Being bolder this time, the hick could have made his move. the hick had walked past Wendy and swiftly smacked her ass, the biggest she did ingrin on his face. Damn girl, let me really tear that ass. He growled, holding his hand up and flexing his finger in a lewd way. Wendy straightened up, brushed off her butt before turning to face the hick, and cranked her neck before her knee made contact with his crotch, making him drop to his knees. The hick was groaning in pain and looked up at what. Wendy, only to find the business end of her knee,

knocking him to the floor, his nose now gushing blood. Bobby, touch me again with those greasy hands. I'll break it off and feed it to you. Wendy told the hick, her boot was on his chest, pinning him down. All took notice, checking Wendy out, even Frank was, making Cassie huff in jealousy. Hey, you boys need a napkin. You'll leave in a puddle on a.

floor she hissed her eyes staring daggers at frank cassie you jealous nolan asked teasing her earning him the same glare she was giving frank i just don't see why you fall panting like dogs she's not all that hot she said huffing again cassie look at her she looks like she should be a model for sports illustrators you look like a model for playboy nolan said pointing from wendy to cassie you would say that you freaking pervert Cassie spit out in a low tone making Nolan go silent well you want to try your luck go talk to her get your teeth kicked in she grumbled that too went on like this for a while until Joel stood up heading to the bronzied beauty excuse me miss but are you Wendy binois yeah who are you and why do you

want to know Wendy asked Wendy asked as one of the wait staff set her drink in front of her she looked at the older man with a drink in her hand she still looked annoyed after dealing with that pervert early I'm a guide to that film crew over there Joel began pointing to Cassie in the other three men we're here to do interviews the locals and tourists on sightings of local legends we've been told you know quite a bit about it Joel explained getting a bored and annoyed look from Wendy visibly annoyed that someone was interrupting her when she was trying to relax and here this guy was bothering her.

We'll take a seat in your frank and join, but any funny business and I walk, she warned him, her voice luscious, very tasteful and attractive, appealing to Joel at the call of the wild. With that, Joel gestured for the others to join, and they brought their drinks and food, having a good time getting to know Wendy,

and she got to know them, but, well, like all things, it had to end as the tavern was closing. Nolan and Quincy were checking Wendy, out the entire time and as the night drew to an end wendy stood up about to head out well wendy if you've got nowhere to go we've got an extra room plus we haven't done the interview yet quincy was hiding his lustful intentions with a toothy smile well Wendy's eyes narrowed at the bearded man she was no fool and knew quincy was looking for more than a simple interview but she took the offer all the same

fine i can take you in my jeep i can take most of you but the rest will have to wait here it for me to come back, Wendy said, leading Joel, Frank and Cassie, while Nolan and Quincy were left waiting. Part two. It was late by the time everyone made it to the cabin. The sun had long since drifted past the horizon,

and the night had taken over the landscape, as everyone agreed to get comfortable. Wendy and Cassie headed to the shower with Frank and Joel standing guard. Nolan and Quincy were outside checking the generator. The bit of coal would not stop the two men from their goal. While outside, Quincy and Nolan were heading back when they passed the girls' room.

Hearing the ladies, Quincy's head cocked towards the window. Well, the boys decided to go into the bushes, mindful of the snow so as not to alarm the women, seeing if they could hide there. Both men looked through the window and saw Cassie and Wendy taking off their towels to change clothes. Wendy was taller and had more muscle tone, and still shone with the water of the shower. And she had those buxom curves and ample bust. Well, Cassie was a gorgeous subject in her own right, with her athletic yet far more voluptuous figure,

with her larger bust and wide hips. Both men were drooling over the ladies. Quincy had his eyes on Wendy like a panting dog. You noticed all the tattoos then on Wendy's body? She had her back to the window, talking to Cassie about how the interviews would go. Wendy's back had a massive skeleton with a Native American headdress

with a tomahawk in its hand with a tomahawk in its hand and two other skulls on either side of the Indian figure the tattoo started at the middle of her back up to just the top of her butt with the word exile written below the Indian

across her shoulders with the word smile at fear in elegant cursive Wendy turned around to grab her duffel bag revealing two more tattoos a skull with roses around it on her stomach going around her belly button

and a bone-handled bowie knife and a tomahawk crossed in an axe with writing on the bottom going from her right thigh to her right knee. Cassie didn't have any tattoos the size of Wendy's, only a butterfly on her lower back and an archer on her shoulder. Twenty minutes later, and everyone was in the living room. Wendy sat on the couch in a light blue tank top with a hem ending above her navel and low-rise black sport shorts. Cassie was in a chair across from her in simple underwear

and a long-sleeved shirt was her pajamas, and a blanket over her. Joel was at the window, watching as a safety protocol. Nolan was holding a camera while Quincy was operating the sound boom. Frank was by the fireplace, tending to the creaking fire. You're looking comfortable, Wendy. Should we begin the interview? Cassie asked, grabbing a pen and notebook from the coffee table. Well, maybe we can start with you or your expertise on the local legends.

She added as the camera. it rocked. Sure, I can start with me. That's not a problem. Wendy began, her chin resting on her hand. Great, so, um, tell us about yourself. Cassie asked, setting her notebook on her lap. Well, I was born in a small village near what would be Toronto. I was so happy then. My papa was a hunter and the chief of my tribe. My mother was the medicine woman for the tribe. Those were good times, but like all Good things, it must end. Wendy said, a sadness to her voice. Shoot it away from the group, drawing her gaze to the window for a moment to collect herself. The shine of a single tear was visible on her cheek.

Oh, my family hell. They slaughtered my entire tribe. Who slaughtered them? Cassie asked, trying to hide her eagerness, masking it with a sympathetic look and tone that made her appear disingenuous. Wendy clicked her tongue out of annoyance, but gave Cassie what she wanted. All the same before, straightening up in her chair, Wendy's eyes flashed a pale white. Laughing Bear, he and two others wanted to eliminate the competition. He had a hunting party of monsters attacked my tribe and killed them. Not only killed, worse than that.

She started, her hands shaking, as this reopened a wound that Wendy thought was nothing more a scar, well, no longer. That sounds horrible, but how are you alive after that? Cassie's words spilled out of her mouth without thinking. Wendy's expression remained neutral, but Cassie could tell there was a slight twitch in the corner of her eye. Wendy looked astonished by Cassie's forwardness. A man saved me. I think of him now as a father. I grew up with him and his other children, all often is like myself. I remained with my new father for a long time. We had some grand adventures,

and I love my new family and still have contact with them. I live with them until I met my husband. She reminisced at the memory. You're married. You don't have a ring, Cassie asked. Her eyes on Wendy's right ring finger. Yes, I am. I have been for many years.

I just kept my ring in a safe place when I'm working. My husband's name is Harry, met while my family and I were in Quebec. Harry was on a hunting trip after that and we ran into each other. It was after a run in with a tribe of Dahina. Imagine savage human like cannibals. They may be child-sized but they're incredibly strong and often attack in large numbers. Evil little bastards. They're much like Wendigo but what's worse is they don't eat women right away. These fuckers have other plans. Wendy hinted at the vile act before continuing. Well, Harry was my hero, getting my ass out of the fire.

Well, I was an adult at this point, and, well, no push-over. I was overconfidence, way over my head, and Mr. Hayan had me dead to rights, ready to do the unspeakable. Here comes Harry like some mad animal. Oh, the look in his eyes at those dwarfs. Let's just say I'm glad it wasn't for me. While Wendy was trying to make the drama and fear real, her expression was odd, was her tone, like this was arousing her. You need a moment.

Sounds like your husband's a real man, Cassie asked, her pen in her mouth, listening to every word. I'll be fine. He's the best man in the world. I'm his. Now, I've saved him here and there, too. He and I became partners after a while. He's a hinder, after all.

I wanted to join him and do what he does. Oh, he had some marvelous adventures, too. We had a run-in with Lecusa and her Tata-Takwa. Oh, and a really nasty Skudamuch. Good times in those days when it was the two of us, Wendy said. Her eyes filled with nostalgia. What are those? Dwarves or other masters?

Cassie continued to ask her series of questions, not sure of what to make of Wendy's story. Ah, Shudakamuch, the ghost witch. It's one of the scariest and most dangerous, the most dangerous, dangerous figures in Pasamaquoddy and Mickmac mythology and in America. The ghost witch is often said to be born from the dead body of a shaman who practice black magic. The demonic entity then emerges each night to murder anyone they find. You can kill them with fire, but beware of approaching one,

simply making eye contact or hearing the witch's voice can bring a diabolical curse down on the unwary. So best to get them when they're sleeping or distracted. it. Ah, look whoza and her Tartakla. The big owl and the owl women from the Yakama tribe. Well, come tales of five

supernatural women who resemble giant owls. Plus a big mother, dwelling in caves by day and flying out at night to prey on many creatures, including humans. Well, in fact,

they prefer the taste of children. Legend has it, they can hunt humans by mimic in their language. They're easy enough to kill. Move the head, but they've far. fly in there fast as hell, she explained, getting a look from not only Cassie but the whole team.

This made Wendy happy. She was leaning back in her seat. They are very knowledgeable. I'm impressed. Now, speaking of monsters, tell us more about what you know. Cassie requested the professional journalist in her coming out. Well, Wendigo is the commonly asked one. You must not realize how many types are. Wendy's comment was nonchalons. Well, there are other creatures like Wendigo. Explain, Cassie asked. To begin with, well, most people think Wendigo,

it's like deer like man-eaters that stalked the forest in the northeast, but that's not the case. Wendigo's a humanoid, standing at over six feet. They appear emaciated with bones visible under their pallid skin as a symbol of their unquenchable hunger. Wendigo's eyes usually push back deep in their sockets with milky white eyes and have many layers of crooked and sharp teeth. They have razor-like claws that are used to rip prey to shreds. The idea of the antlers and the deer skull is not new, but a more modern than traditional one to some tribes here in the north.

The tradition of the deer antlers and skull is still a practice, but for as a hunting ritual, well, most of deer-related animals. there are some who do use other animals like bears, wolves and mountain lions. Wendy explained, and then Cassie write her notes so she'd understand what she was talking about. So, well, there are more. How is that possible that others are out there? Cassie inquired, her pen tapping at her bottom lip. Her attention was totally on the woman on the couch in front of her.

Wendy crossed and then uncrossed her legs, thinking about how best to word her answer. creatures like the Wendigo are Wachugee Kiwok Genu Junquois Achina

Atshia Chinu Um Lijarak Taruxuk Most are here in northern Canada And Alaskeran Most of the northern part of the United States

That many What makes them so similar Or so different What makes these masters You listed like Wendigo Cassie continued her questions to hear that there were so many variations of one type of monster was amazing. Well, this is a long explanation.

For starters, most, if not all of them, are cannibalistic and spirit-like, so if they die, they can possess those that engage in cannibalism. This is only possible if they're pure blood, but let's start with the Kiwok. They have a culture. It's like the Abunaki tribe of the northeastern United States. A Kiwok or Gihuacua. It was a giant, cannibalistic, half-animal, half-human creature that inhabited the forests and woodlands of the area of present-day New England and Quebec,

or during Asian times. Now they've spread across the northeast, and some are here in the Yukon. Most legends describe them as former humans, whose hearts turn to ice because of either possession by an evil spirit or commission of some dreadful crime, such as cannibalism or allowing a person to starve. But, well, he doesn't feel regret for his crimes. He only feels hunger.

That's all he can feel. They look more like giant humans with animal features. Some have antlers or some have horns or even wings. Wendy felt her explanation was a little long-winded, but she had some venom in her tongue. Next we have the Chenu, another evil cannibalistic spirit. Well, seen as cannibalistic ice giants or yiddly, but the two were not related.

Chinu is larger than the average man. getting bigger the hungry they are. Now they have sharp fangs which stand out because they chew off their lips. They're hairy too, with thick, ashy hair with horns. Chinu used to be human, being corrupted by dark magic and cursed to eat people's flesh. My body has become excruciatingly warm and hair grows, thus they look like a Yeti, forcing them to live out in the snow. There are a few ways to kill her, Chinu. usually require you to do so more than once.

Now some versions say the only way to make sure they're truly dead is to chop up their bodies into multiple pieces. There's no way of destroying that Chinu except by destroying their icy heart, either by tricking them into eating salt or forcing them into eating so much that they throw up. Wendy continued, seeing that no one was interrupting her. Now, Genu is a wild and cannibalistic hairy giant, normally in Maine, of a culture like the Mi'iq in the same region. Genu is comparable to the Wendigo,

and to a lesser extent, Sasquatch. There are more mysteries, more rumors. Wendy was reviling at the expressions of her audience. And now we have the Huachuke, a man-eating creature or evil spirit that acts like members of the Atta-Bashkan people.

Some were people possessed or overwhelmed by the power of one of the ancient giant spirit animals, They start out as savagely animalistic. These giant creatures become a crafty, more intelligent, powerful, and yet somehow keep their power despite being transformed into humans or icy, massive animals. Unlike the Wendigo, the Wichugee seek to eat people, attempting to lure them away from their fellows by cunning. But it's made of ice and very strong, and the only way it's killed is by being thrown on a campfire and kept there overnight until it's melted. Wendy said, and the crew was now noticing the underlining venom in her tone. The Tarak-sook is a humanoid creature associated with shadows, invisibility and obscurity.

They are the same as any other human being. They have houses, families, weapons, tools, and more. Their culture is similar to Inuits in the same region. Where they deviate from normal people, however, is that they're not visible to the naked eye by looking straight at them. In looking directly at them they are to disappear into the separate world which they occupy, apart from our own, and only reappear when they go in for the kill. They only become visible when they're killed. If they choose to, their true appearance is that of a half-man, half-caribou creature. Aside from the strange condition of their visibility, they can only catch prey while hunting on foot.

Thanks to that, they're often mistaken for Wendigo, which is one reason why people think of the Wendigua. to go the way they do today. Wendy then stood up, going to the door, opening it, and letting the cold air kiss her skin, making her sigh. A sizable population here in the Yukon are the Aachen, cannibalistic spirits that hunt through the permafrost.

They're rare to find unless they're looking for you themselves. They share the tradition of using the skulls of animals during their hunts. Some mouse, ox, elk, mountain goats, And as such, you expect the Atchen would look like a wind-go, but at least that's not the case. They're more robust and hunchback. Their arms are long, making their fingers drag on the ground, and their feet are more hooved. Wendy leaned against the frame of the door. The room was getting unnaturally cold now.

Each member of the film crew felt their hair stand on end as the cold nipped at their exposed skin. The moonlight spilled into the cabin, illuminating the room. bathing Wendy in a pale glow, creating both an alluring but also an ominous atmosphere. How do you know all of this? Cassie asked, standing up, exposing her bare legs to the cold. Cassie felt goosebumps forming as she backed away behind the boys. Ah, that's easy. I am a Wendigo, Wendy said, looking at the five. Her once bronze eyes now a milky white.

"'You're... you're Wendigo? "'How, aren't you supposed to be thin and wraith-looking?' Cassie asked. "'A slight trembling her voice. "'Jole now had his hand on the pistol at his hip, "'while Frank was putting distance between himself and Wendy. "'Nolan and Quincy were frozen with their equipment in hand, "'not sure what to do. "'Because I know how to control myself.

"'Well, sort of. "'I mean, I have to eat a lot. "'Wendie's head, smiling at them, and their smile made their blood rung cold. "'Ah, sit down. If I was going to eat you, I would have done so by now.' Wendy was nonchalantly brushing her hair away from her face as she enjoyed the cold air on her skin. Joel stood up, making a bee-line towards Wendy. "'Oh, don't give me that bullshit. You mean to tell me you're a Wendigo and you're not hungry?' He was perplexed, not believing a word from this woman.

"'Ah, believe me, it doesn't matter. "'You'll soon realize I'm the least of your worries,' Wendy told Joel, "'looking outside as a pair of glowing, pale eyes, "'peered in from the woodland. "'Yeah, looks like we have company.' "'Wendy looked outside, then back to the crew, "'her eyes back to normal until I could hear the sounds of trees knocking. "'What?

What's out there now? Joel was asking the questions now, gesturing to the others, that this thing was getting hairy. Frank quickly passed Cassie some pants and shoes. Nolan and Quincy were recording the whole thing. From the trees, a blood-curdling wail erupted from the forest, making all but Wendy feel their hair stand on end.

The wailing made the entire rest of the forest deadly silent. The eerie quiet had everyone in the cabin on high alert. Only Wendy was calmly picking at her nails, while the fear of the situation washed over the rest of the group. What the fuck was that? Nolan spat out in fear, as the man looked close to pissing himself from where Wendy was standing. Argapelda, wood devils, nook-look, or hell, maybe Matlocks.

There are a lot of what you could call Bigfoot tribes here in the Yukon. on. Nookluck is the largest, then the Uralia, and Madlocks, but they preferred the term Mangan. Wendy explained this before a second wail, now closer to the cabin, bellowed from the woodland. U-five picked the worst time to come to this place. But Wendy's voice was almost drowned out by a cold gust entering the cabin, and with the gust came the sounds of chanting and voices. Nolan turned the camera to the window, as movement. coming from the trees and snow falling as a massive creature appeared from the tree line. The creature had to be thirty feet tall, with white fur covering most of its thin hunched body.

Its head had the skull of a moose covering its face, and his mouth was full of black rotting fangs. As its massive antlers were approaching, it broke branches and snow was falling to the ground. And Wendy waved at this massive bansett. beast, part three. Why, Dad, I'll be there in a bit. Wendy called out as other monsters appeared. Wendy shut the door and returned to the couch and gestured to Cassie to sit. Now, let's get back to the interview.

Wendy was acting casually about a band of monsters hanging out just outside the door. Oh, well, why are those things outside? Is it because of you? Cassie asked. she had the feeling that Wendy was playing games with her and all of them. Yeah, it's as long as I'm in this cabin, that you're safe, but you two have been busy, haven't you? Wendy looked at Nolan and Quincy, grinning at both of them. I know you two were spying on me and Cassie. Noddy boys, but you two were set in traps as well. Wendy was jovial, or was gleeful.

How would we have done that? he was as nervous as Quincy both men now looking frightened well it shocked Cassie that they would spy on her but that shock became anger both the men were terrified of the Wendigo sitting on the couch with that shit-eating grin on her face the two looked to their fellow crew members seeing that Frank was as furious as Cassie the realization now that they were in deeper shit than they thirst fought the shadows of the woods hid several creatures that had joined the massive Wendigo. There was a group now standing in the woodline.

They all had thick black hair on their upper body, leg and the head was slightly pointed at the back. A horse had a long beard that reached its waist and wore moose skin ankle-high boots, a moose-skin loincloth with bone or flint knives on their belts, which made the creatures look more like cavemen than Bigfoot. There had to be more than a dozen of them. Primitive weapons, simple clouds,

as large stones fixed to the end of a thick wooden shaft, and branches torn off trees heavy enough to kill a full-grown man with a little effort. Or they had ancient spears, thick as a man's forearm, with points of wood and stones sharpened to a razor point. These were what were in the hands of these cave dwelling beasts. The last to appear was a windigo was gaunt and horribly emaciated, with its ashy-gray skin, making it look pale in the moonlight. more pale long bony arms with hands that were enormous the fingers tipped by sharp claws dragging on the ground in a large distended abdomen

while their arms and legs were long and slender and they all stood hunchbacked their skull-like faces had short strands of long stringy hair and sunken black eye sockets and mouths filled with long jagged teeth they emitted audible raspy exhalations breath the cloud of frost missed before letting out a piercing scream to intimidate those around them wendy was messing with her nails waiting to see what the humans were about to do joel headed to a massive trunk that they had with them it's go time people get your gear we have masters to kill joel's words cut past the tension snapping his crew out of their shock and fear joel popped open trunk, grabbing and tossing a bag at the rest of his crew. Or Frank's pack armed him to the teeth. The hunting sword in his hand, going into the leather sheath on his side. The 36-inch long, straight, single-edge, pointed blade sported a serrated saw edge on the back of the blade. The hilt featured a thin knuckle bow to protect the fingers with a trigger to a small matchlocked pistol built into the hilt, with deep firing grooves cut into the fuller of the blade.

Hanging on a ring on his belt was a single-handed hatchet striking tool with a sharp blade on one side and a hammerhead on the other. The axe was simple on the surface, but Wendy had to guess several secrets were hidden within it. The shoulder-holster-Frank War had a pure combat knife attached. A broad leaf-shaped blade sharpened the full length on one side and from the tip to half on the other side. coded with a dull matte finish to prevent detection at night from stray reflections the blade would be near invisible in the dark a pistol was in a holster

and a double-barreled shotgun was in his hand Cassie and myself will take the windows covering any blind spots drank told Joel as he loaded around into the shotgun Cassie had a sword on her too a cutlass was on her hip short thick slightly curved blade and a hilt that had a solid cup to protect the hand. On her ankle was an FS fighting knife with a slender blade almost stiletto-like, a weapon

optimized for thrusting. But Wendy was aware of the FS knife's capability to inflict slash cuts to an opponent with its cutting edges. The brass oval crossguard, knurled pattern grip, and rounded ball pommel glinted dolly in the lights. The Torres Pt. 92 on a hip, ready to be drawn, and next to her was a riot model Ithaca 37 shotgun with pistol grip and tactical sling. But the umbrella beside her shotgun stood out as odd for something to protect a person. Look, we can handle them if Quincy's shooting hasn't got rusty and Nolan's traps actually work. Cassie hissed, still angry at the two men. Quincy sheathed the 25-inch short sword and a pair of brass knuckles in a holster on his belt, beside his pistol.

on his hip. Two rifles were beside him. An Enfield L1A1 SLR rifle was by the window, while a high-powered blazer sniper rifle was being mounted on a stand in front of the window facing where the Wendigo was. Almost said, Nolan. You have those traps set you? Quincy asked, loading around into the chamber of the rifle. They aren't close to them yet, but I have triggers ready for any that miss the traps I have said, Nolan explained, with a trigger in his hand. Nolan was holding a short-bore spear in his hand, with two lugs on the spear socket behind the blade,

with each lug a catch to hook an opponent's weapon, additionally acting as a barrier to prevent the spear from penetrating too deeply into the quarry, where it might get stuck or break, and to stop an injured and furious target from working its way up the shaft of the spear to attack Nolan. The shaft itself was short, but there was a trigger by his hand, so Wendy was wary of that weapon. Nolan's Mark I trench knife rested comfortably in the sheath, his six and three-quarter-inch double-edged dagger blade with a black oxide finish,

and the bronze handle had a chemically blackened finish too, with cast spikes on the bow of each knuckle. The spikes were intended to prevent an opponent from grabbing the knife hand as well as to provide a more concentrated striking surface when employed in hand-to-hand combat. This was a weapon not just for hand-to-hand combat, but stealth as well. Close to Nolan was a crude club made out of wood. Spikes nailed into the wood near the top and extended a couple of inches from the body.

Six spikes all evenly spaced around the circumference with one size of all spike at the end of the club, made to be lightweight and to kill the brain of whatever Nolan swung it at without getting stuck in the skull. The rest of the club was wrapped in barbed wire, adding to its lethality. He had a cord leather strap at the end of the club, and a pistol on his belt and the M16A1.

one was hanging in front of him isn't that a little much i mean a spear and a club can you even handle all that cassie asked like the others she knew that they were in for a long night i can we have god knows how many of those things out there noland sounded like he was whining like this was more of an annoyance than a lie-threatening situation yeah man up nolan this is not your first rodeo joel growled marching toward nolan and slapping him to get his head in the game All Joel's equipment looked more old-fashioned than the rest of the crew. His barry knife looked right out of the old west, its coffin style, simple riveted wood handle, and brass guard and clip point hanging freely on his right side.

The tomahawk was hanging on his left, a less than two-foot hickory shaft was simple, with three feathers tied to a paracord lanyard just below the eye of the tomahawk head. The blade of the tomahawk was around nine inches, had a spike on the back end. end. A bull whip wrapped around his shoulder. The whip was latched comfortably, holding the nine-foot throng of the whip. Frank noticed the whip didn't look like cowhide. There was an M3 trench life on his leg, and the relatively narrow 6.75-inch bayonet-style spear-point blade, with a three-and-a-half-inch secondary edge sat comfortably in its leather sheath. The simplified, grooved leather handle and the steel crossguard bent angular at one end to facilitate.

as a thumb rest, a pair of revolvers on either side of him, adding to the pistol he was already carrying. A Winchester Model 70 was leaning on the chair as they were gearing up. Hmm. Is that a new whip? Frank asked. Yep, made of kangaroo hide. I thought it's better than the ox-eyed one I had before. Joel confirmed, grabbing his Winchester. Joel looked outside. There had to be a good 20 to 30 yards between the cabin and the monsters at the woodline. Quincy set up his sniper rifle, his scope aimed at one of the creatures. We have about twenty of those fucking Bigford assholes out there, Quincy said, cocking his rifle. The Wendigo walked forward a few steps and pointed at the cabin and roared.

What they expected was a charging mass of black fur, but what happened next was pure silence. It was an unnatural silence that had all of them apart from Wendy on high alert and on edge. I didn't matter if this was your first time facing creatures of the forest, or the hundredth time. This was the hardest part of the job. Anything could happen, but the five of them knew if they left the cabin, they were all dead, no question. Quincy was looking through his rifle scope. He could see two of the nook look, both robust creatures armed to the teeth, like the crew. One was dragging a vicious-looking club, and had a primitive stone knife.

The other had a simple bow with a quiver of arrows, which Quincy could clearly see. He never even saw the third ape-man tossed the spear that was coming at him, the stone blade of the spear missing the hunter, just grazing his cheek, leaving a nasty gash and knocking Quincy to the ground. He clutched the wound as blood pulled onto the floor, the red liquid already staining it, while Nolan and Cassie rushed to their partner, seeing him still moving and cursing at the pain and at the beast that had attacked him. Quincey, can you fight? Cassie asked. Her hand on his shoulder, her eyes focused on the spot where the spear had hit him. Quincy nodded gingerly,

got to his feet, grabbing the chair, holding onto it to gain his balance back. The wound on his face was still bleeding badly, drops of blood were hitting the floor. He staggered towards his rifle, only to see a furry arm grabbing the weapon, dragging the weapon, dragging. out of the window the sound of bending metal shattered the silence as the nook looked twisted and bent Quincy's rifle into a twisted useless mess Quincy was swearing in utter pain seeing what was left of his weapon thankfully he had a second rifle and in the echoes of his old master's words the backup's never a bad thing to have this thought ran through his head while Quincy got into position grabbing his other rifle, just as the sky reigned spears and long primitive darts,

piercing the windows and sticking to the side of the wall. In revenge, Quincy fired off three shots, killing two of the nook-look, including the one that had maimed him. This got the response the hunters were looking for. The nook-lok stopped wasting time and charged at the cabin, swinging their clubs and axes, roaring and bellowing in rage at their fallen tribesmen. They were going to destroy that cabin, and they would feast on the men and use the women before eating them, too. Nolan, Quincy and Joel provided long-range cover with their rifles,

with Frank and Cassie handling the one that had gotten too close to the cabin. The plan was to rein a holy hell of bullets at the beasts. But when the five hunters pulled the trigger, what the fuck? Frank cursed, checking his shotgun, discovering the firing pin was missing. The others checked their guns, noticing they'd also lost their firing pins. What the hell happened to the firing pins? Frank yelled, checking his pistol, seeing that that firing pin was also missing. They tossed his pistol aside and drew his hatchet, preparing himself for a more close and personal fight than he or his crew had been banking on. The charging nook-look

approaching the cabin was about halfway there now, when the front line stopped and wailed in pain, fall into the ground, seeing one of their feet mangled and bloody. The foothold traps and snares are cut into their flesh, making the leg useless, while others were disappearing, falling into trapping pits filled with spikes, killing those that fell in, or pinning them to a spot, to be picked off by the hunters. But the traps could only take out so many of these ape-men. Those that didn't trigger the traps had made their way to the cabin now. The first of the nook-look-bashing through the wall, winding up to swing at the first person they saw. But they were met with the business end of Cassie's cutments, the unmistakable twang of steel

hitting bone and the wet squelching sound as Cassie cut into the beast man's collar-bone with ease. This was repeated by each one of the crew, followed by the whales and yelps of the nook-look who entered the cabin. This action of picking off a few at a time. only without firearms wouldn't last much longer and going outside would be a death sentence Frank looked at the last spot he'd seen Wendy in and noticed she had disappeared the realization had dawned on all of them they got played for fools and were now in the middle of a goddamn feeding frenzy there was no way of telling how many were still out there but they would soon have to face that unavoidable fact. Quincey charged towards a window his sword aimed at cutting

down the oncoming nooklum. When a massive hand splintered the wood, the black fur covered arms reached in for whatever they could find. And the one that got caught was Quincy. His short saw glistened with the blood of the nookluck, with the intense rush of flying through the air, followed by the pain of his body striking a tree. The impact shook Quincy to the core. Hitting the tree made the sword in his hand drop to the snow, sticking to the ground next to the crumpled heap that was his body. The Noogluck started closing the distance between it and Quincy.

Quincy stirred, gingerly getting to his feet, his shaky hand grasping for his sword. The Nookluck charged Quincy, with its massive bulk, and the ape-man rammed him into the tree with the back of his hand. The anguish Quincy felt was unbearable. Oh, he would not lay down and die in front of this monster. So Quincy stood his ground, his leg shaking for the damage he'd sustained. Sword held out at the ready, his other hand filled with the bayonet that was previously on his side,

with the sharp point of the bayonet facing the ground in a reverse grip. The nook-look was dragging a massive club, taking a huge swing but hitting nothing but air and the tree that was behind Quincy. While the nookluck had swung and mist, Quincy made a few slashes on the belly and torso of the ape-man. Blood and viscera spilled to the ground, painting the snow in a dark crimson as the nook-look fell to the ground in front of Quincy. But the hunter had no time to reflect on what he'd done, as before long a band of the beasts charred from the woodline. weapons brandished, their faces twisted into terrifying visages of murderous intent. Quincy knew he was facing certain death, but he would not die without taking some of these monsters with him. In the end, Quincy now battered and broken, his bayonet stuck in the skull of one of

the nook-looks, and his sword never leaving his hand. He sat now in the snow. The smell of blood filled the chilled air. But it didn't take long. for the cold, rusty smell of blood to be replaced by the pungent smell of something else, something that told Quincy that he didn't have to look up to know that the windigo was standing there and that hot, rotten breath was on him, and here he was facing death. He couldn't fight back, so he spat at the Wendigo in an irrevocable act of defiance before the Wendigo rushed him and began tearing him apart. while the blood-curdling scream coming from Quincy

and hearing the wet squelching sound of feeding made the level of danger outside clear outside was the kiss of death but it was also becoming clear that the cabin was not safe for much longer the nookler were only here to weaken them to chip away at their defences and their sanity gassy was losing her nerve

her hands shaking making the cutless rattle. Joe was hiding the fear that was bubbling in his guts. His expression remained like stone. How were they going to do this, he thought, as he looked towards Frank. Frank looked terrified, and his eyes were shifting to the window. The nook-look had surrounded the cabin. Their screams were bone-chilling,

the rattling of their weapons and act of intimidation in the chilly night air. every nook-look was silent now standing like a soldier awaiting the orders of their master joel nolan frack and cassie quickly moved to the centre of the cabin pressing their backs against each other what the fuck are they waiting for cassie whispered nervously i think they're waiting for something frank said his hand gripping his axe now his knuckles wiped with how hard he was handling this weapon Nolan and Joel remained quiet, neither of them knowing what would happen, but that this could be the end of them. Both men suddenly felt white-hot pain hid them. Nolan was bleeding from his leg while for Joel it was his arm, making him drop his bowie knife. The blood was dripping off a crudely made knife, a sharpened piece of metal attached to a part of a human jawbone, put together via a piece of string from an animal gut. The hand that held this knife was thin.

The skin was pale as if the one holding the knife hadn't seen the sun in years. The hand was more frightening with its razor-sharp claws than the knife ever could be. When the four looked at the figure that was in front of them, they saw it was Wendy, and she was smiling. Now, more like her true nature, Wendy was looking thinner than before, and her smile was even more terrifying, now with her teeth becoming sharper and disfying. now with her teeth becoming sharper and disfigured. But she hadn't fully transformed. But it had changed her enough to make the image burn into the hunter's mind. She'd be more dangerous now than she was before.

Her hair looked dead and her skin was even paler than before. A long claw-like finger wiped the blood off the knife and she licked that same finger. Her eyes were rolling in the back of her head with how nice the blood tasted. "'Ah, not bad, but not the best,' Wendy said. "'The voice was now more animalistic than it had been before. "'She was utterly terrifying,

"'and each one of them knew that they would have to kill her "'to have any chance of survival tonight. "'Two other Wendigoes waited outside. "'Well, the four of them weren't fools. "'They were trapped, and they knew there was only one way out. "'Jole picked up his bowie-knife. for milk to Wendy. You knew we were hunters that planned this, he inquired.

Wendy shook her head. You're right on one thing. I knew you five were hunters, opposing as a documentary crew was a nice touch. I'll give you that, she said, impressed by what the band of hunters had done. But you had to be nosy here, kill some of my friends.

I made it easy to figure out what you were. So it was you who said, sabotaged our guns. Nolan accused her, quilling his fear for a moment. But the fire was snuffed out of his anger, with Wendy merely smiling a sick, twisted smile at him. But Quincy's rifle? Well, I didn't do that directly, but the townspeople here aren't their most trust in of sorts. All they had to do was wait. You thought it was smite to heart them in that trunk. Foo. Wendy said, shrugging. We had to leave one alone for beneficial effects

that you all didn't check your own guns. Wendy said, You've dug your grave, now lay in it. Her tone was now sober. She grabbed the air and made a pulling motion summoning a large Viking axe. So, who's first?

She asked, that sinister smile back on her face. "'First.' "'Nolan was the first to speak. "'He stepped up while the others watched their lines of sight. "'Nolan, you sure about this? "'I look in her eyes as she isn't playing. "'She's serious.' "'Cassie asked.

"'Her voice low, glancing looks to her friend, "'her anger from earlier gone. "'Yeah, I'm sure you three can get out of her well. "'I keep her busy,' Nolan whispered back, a hand gesturing for the other three to run. Yeah, fat chance of escape. The nook-look have been ordered to kill anyone that's not myself or the other three that will join us.

Wendy said, her form human once more, her frame leaning against her axe, making her body curved deliciously. The four hunters said nothing, but their dread was washing over them once more. Three people then walked in. Dark, long shadow, holding the moose gone.

Bobby the perverted hicc from the bar and Liz, dog's assistant. Now pick your poison, Wendy said, gesturing her hand, one of the three who'd walked in. Nolan sized up the three, rolled his shoulders and lifted his spear, pointed at Liz's smile, which was wide, wider than a normal person

should have, with a mouth full of razor-sharp teeth. Nolan fought hard, but Liz was too much for the man even with his spear. The spear lay broken with his... The spear lay broken next to his now half-devoured body. Well, Joel fair

better, but against Doc, the hunter ended up with the gun-stog club to the gut. And Doc being a mean bastard, was letting him bleed out. Well, Cassie could have had a far worse fate if Wendy hadn't shown mercy, killing her, and Bobby too, that man trying to satisfy his lust not hunger

Bobby took the trench club belonging to Nolan and used the club brutally relishing his time with Cassie much to Wendy's disgust before the last straw was seeing a beaten Cassie helpless almost being raped by Bonnie now Wendy wouldn't stand for that Bobby was soon a dead corpse in the corner with the marks of a bullet wound on his forehead

Cassie had died from her injuries, but she wasn't being eaten. That's because Frank was the last man standing. He stood between Cassie's body and the monsters before him. But if his axe were smoking, but he pushed the head off of his axe, hiding the firing mechanism. He was looking now at Wendy. Why? he asked, unsheathing the hunting sword and a cocking of the gun attached to him. He wanted to see every single. single one of them dead and their heads on a spike. You hunters, you and your people have

hunted and destroyed my people. Well, that's what I'd like to say, but honestly, you just had the worst timing to come after a village of man-eaters. Wendy's answer was a little disappointing, mainly for the hunters and their lack of preparation. Their traps around the cabin had been lackluster, and the security in the cabin was laughable, with only Frank having a working fire up. Joel was spitting out blood, his body feeling every agonizing movement as he got up into a sitting position. Frank, kill them. Do you? Joel started growling at Frank but got cut short. There's a fresh wave of hot pain overtook him, the handle of a knife in his shoulder. That's enough out of you, Hunt. Wendy said coldly and then turned her attention back towards Frank.

"'You think you can escape from here, hunter?' she asked. Every step she did, avoiding Frank's swings of his axe and swords. Frank took the last swing of his axe to meet Wendy's claw to his neck, killing him, the wet, warm feeling of his blood, pouring over Wendy's hand, making her heart race from hunger and her mouth water. Without a second thought, Wendy sank her jagged fangs into Frank's cheek with a loud, sickening crunch. The five hunters were now dead and gone.

And after Wendy finished feeding on Frank, she took the time to go over a shower, passing Doc and hugging him. It was good to see you, Dad. This was fun, she said, giving Doc a hug. It was good to see you too, child. How is Harry? That boy hasn't been here in a while,

Doc asked, letting Wendy go. He'll be here tonight. he had business to tent it Wendy said before heading to the shower It didn't take a long to wash the blood off the body After a good shower She got a change of clothes When her phone rang

Exile Repair We fix everything from wrecks to relationships How can I help you? Challenge of the Wendigo Friday September 6th 1878 I was intercepted by a rather dedicated courier When I visited the town of

I was a lagged springs in Colorado about a day ago. I wasn't too surprised, given the man had all the trappings of a former pony express rider, but still his insistence, though I accept the letter, annoyed me to no end. When I finally relented, the man took off as if he'd handed me a primed explosive, disappearing on the horizon before I could count to ten. The letter was brief, written as if it was for a telegram. Come to prominence. Need hell fast.

Money, no issue. L.J. The initials were familiar, but the choppy, jagged handwriting of a man who only signed his name when the army needed him to confirmed his identity. Langley Jefferson, a talented scout and surveyor for the Union, a soldier I served with under General Banks during the Red River campaign. We were both Greenhorns at the time, barely out of our youth and unprepared for the horrors that awaited us. With my being the son of a professor and him one of a mapmaker, we bonded well, being among the few in our youth. with a degree of formal education. Under normal circumstances,

I'd ignore a letter with no details as to what I'm being asked for, all that gives me the chance to name my own price. These sorts of messages are the bread and butter of thieves and backstabbers who kill to take the last penny of a vagabond if they thought they could get away with it. But knowing Langley, a serious man that he is, I know he would never lie. And if he sent some codger trying to relive the glory days of the pony express,

the desperation within must be the genuine article. I'll set out for prominence first thing in the morning. It's less than half a day's ride from here. I should be able to arrive by noon. Saturday, September 7th, 1878. Prominence offered a chilly welcome, provided in part by the cold Colorado air and the dismissive countenance of his residence.

There wasn't a single warm face amongst them, all bitter and resentful, like they'd never had a happy moment from the time they were born. It wasn't exactly unusual for this state, but for a growing city with a train station and all the signs of prosperity, it certainly was. Ignoring the townsfolk, I made my way to the biggest building I could see, a three-story bar and inn.

I tied my horse to the post and went in. The patrons within were as cheerful as their outside neighbours. For all the tables and chairs in the establishment, none of them were truly full. By my count there are eight men inside, including the bartender, yet all of the customers set at the big round tables by themselves. Some were drinking, staring deep into their glasses between lengthy sips,

others reading, three sat watching one spin a coin over and over. One seemed to be carving something into the table with a small penknife, which the bartender seemed to ignore. Usually entering a town as a stranger at least got the, attention of the bar regulars when you went in unannounced, but here not even the bartender paid me anything more than a fast glance. I walked up to the bar and introduced myself, friendly as I could. I asked the bartender where I could find my old friend. The bartender informed me that Jefferson

was likely in the sheriff's office, then asked if I was the Pinkerton the sheriff had sent for. It had been a while since I'd heard the name of my former employers, and hearing them put a very bitter taste in my mouth. Biding back the callous remark I wanted to throw his way, I forced a small smile and shook my head, calmly explaining that I was probably the man he'd sent for, but that I no longer worked for Pinkerton. The bartender was indifferent to my response

and poured me a glass of water, telling me it wasn't his business who I worked for as long as I was going to help the town. I wasn't aware of how parched I was until I laid eyes on the water, and thanked the bartender for it, leaving him a dime as I departed for the sheriff's office. The place seemed to be the only one in town teeming with any semblance of life.

Many horses were tied to the posts in front of the building, and it seemed like nearly a dozen men stood outside the place. Some of them were dressed in military uniforms, others the rugged clothes of hunters. Unlike the townsfolk, they were quite jovial, laughing and sharing stories amongst themselves, as men often do in their downtime. I tip my hat to them as I moved past them to get into the building.

The door hadn't even shut behind me before Langley greeted me with the excitement of a child being given sweets. I returned the gesture, somewhat imposed by his behaviour. I'd always known him to be a bit eccentric, but never this excitable. It took me a moment to realise his odd behaviour wasn't excitement, but fear. I felt it when I shook his hand. His fingers trembling like a frightened animal, cornered by predator. with no way out.

Emotion for me to sit down, trying to hide his worry behind pleasantries. I spoke briefly on my recent travels, but cut him short when he tried to keep the talk small. I made it clear I understood he was troubled by something, and time spent focus on formalities would only deepen them. His face dropped for a second, then he smiled, chuckling his odd laugh. He seemed to brighten a bit of my frankness, something he probably hadn't endured since we last saw each other. reaching under his desk he grabbed and placed upon it a massive deer skull and what could be described as a fit of delirium langley told me a tale of a group of legendary beasts tearing through the town in the middle of the night two days prior these creatures were unlike anything he or anyone else in town even the band of hunters and trappers that happened to be passing through had ever seen before he spoke of a man being torn clean in half trying to protect his family of a woman who'd been beaten to an unrecognisable mess in the middle of the streets, of two men whose heads had been slammed together with such force that they were reduced to nothing.

His countenance grew more and more worried as he spoke of how they wouldn't so much as flinch at the power of firearms, of how he himself had landed at least ten shots into the flesh of one of these things, for it to keep moving as if he'd been throwing gravel at it. Well, I tried my best to console him, and to my relief Langley seemed to bring himself. down, exhausted from his retelling of the events that had transpired. For the second time in less than a day, I found myself aghast at what I was believing, and how quickly I was believing it. Now I firmly asserted that. Had it been any other man on the planet, I would have laughed in their face and turned tail. But I know, Langley, and I'd never seen him this mentally broken,

not even when a twelve-pound cannonball had nearly taken his testicles when it passed between his legs he was a man who had the coldest of ice flowing through his veins who had faced the deadliest things this world had to offer time and again with the visage of a warrior

never faltering whatever he had seen had shaken him up and that terrified me once he'd settled down asked him if they could be killed at all he nodded slowly telling me that they'd been both blessed and curate when one of the creatures happened to charge into an outhouse that had temporarily been

repurposed for explosive storage on behalf of a local mining operation. The thing didn't stand a chance as whoever had stored the explosives had kept the blasting caps too close to the rolls of dynamites, and when it tore the doors of the outhouse off its hinges, it blew the entire stockpile. While it wasn't reassuring that the things apparently could only be done in by explosives, Langley felt the tiniest bit relieved that the beasts could be killed. I asked him why he'd picked me for the job. I didn't know but the most cursory facts about explosives

and I certainly wasn't armed heavily enough to take on the monsters. He told me that he'd contacted me because he'd bumped into Cannonball Ford, our old friend from the army, and he told Langley about seeing me a few towns over a couple of days ago. Langley told me he desperately needed this as a favour. The monsters had taken five children, and the town was looking to him for a solution, but he couldn't go himself. Not now, not when he was needed elsewhere.

And he started sweet-talking me, telling me how he really needed someone who could shoot the cherry off a distant cigarette, someone who could keep his cool when things went sour, and someone who could re-establish order amongst the troops when the morale was at its lowest. Well, I wish I could say I felt the fires of heroism set ablaze. within me in that moment, but I would make me a liar. The compliments, questionably accurate as they were, weren't enough to stir me to take this dangerous job. It was bad enough hearing the story of these creatures, but seeing how it disturbed Langley so deeply affirmed in me that I would not be coming back from this, if I were to accept. I was about to leave his office,

then and there, our friendship and history be damned, when someone else came in. I'd recognise those striking blonde locks anywhere. Elizabeth strode into the office, an air of authority the sheriff was sorely lacking, carrying her powerful strides. She briefly acknowledged my presence, true to her character, and began talking with her husband. I didn't catch much of what they were talking about, because I was too preoccupied with what was in her arms. The baby couldn't have been older than six months. He had a tuft of soft, ash-blond hair sticking out of. from the swaddling he was wrapped in, and a soft, fatty face.

His eyes were some light a shade of green, a God-given compromise between his mother's emerald hue and his father's deep blues. I couldn't help but stare at his extremely attentive gaze, and he kept his eyes locked on mine. In that moment, I understood why Langley had called upon me. He'd seen the damage these things could do, but as sheriff of prominence,

he was expected to lead the charge against them, and he couldn't fathom the thought of leaving his son without a father to raise him, yet he couldn't let those things think they could come back. He had a lot to lose no matter where he turned, and so called upon me, hoping I'd save him. I had foolishly thrown away my chance at such a life. I wasn't about to let him be forced into the same mistake. Elizabeth left with as much grace that she'd entered with,

giving me a brief goodbye on her way out. Her presence at ease some of the worry Langley had felt moments prior, but he was still uneasy. Before he could beg for my help, I assured him I would proudly take his place, and would accept whatever he felt appropriate as payment. He embraced me as soon as the words left my mouth, and assured me he would pay me handsomely for my help. I told him I wasn't really hurting for money at the time, and I think he would have picked up on had he not been so blinded by the break I gave him. but certainly needed a place to stay and would appreciate warm meals.

He promised me that he would personally see to it that I would be kept sheltered and full the entire time I stayed in prominence. Having secured me in his place, he took a moment to explain to me the plan that he'd thrown together. Outside the office was a small caravan of hunters as well as an artillery unit. The hunters were working standard rate, fully informed of the dangers to come, and it laid claim to the corpses of the creatures.

whatever price they may fetch. The artillery unit happened to be passing through the morning after the carnage and, upon approval from Washington, were assigned to help with a problem by President Hayes himself. The unit carried with them a gatling gun and a ten pound of parrot rifle, with limited ammunition for the latter. The townsfolk, including those who'd lost their children, were not fit for battle, so none of them will be joining the team to retrieve them, but they were all giving food, water and ammunition for the journey.

as well as two wagons and teams of horses to ensure our journey was a quick one. Two of the hunters were experienced teamsters, and the artillery unit had a wagon of their own for their arms, making for a total of three wagons and three teamsters to drive them. Langley had also contacted a local Pinkerton branch, but had not heard back from them yet, so couldn't guarantee we'd see additional forces. All current resources and people accounted for makes for 13 men, including myself.

The hunters carry with them the tools of their trade, including traps, sturdy ropes and shovels for digging. They're each armed with a variety of rifles, none of which I believe are powerful enough to phase these monsters, save for their leader, Barry Buffalo Reese, who wields the same model of Big 50 that I do. Barry is an experienced tracker too, so we'll be relying on him to help us find out where these monsters stay. The 21st Regiment light artillery colored unit is led by a Captain Ernest Ward, a man whose rank was clearly earned through paperwork and socializing at cocktail parties. Still, his unit of seven swears by him, speaking highly of his leadership and skirmishes against Indian tribes. They carry over 600 rounds of ammunition for the Gatling Gun, but only have three cannonballs

and two canister rounds for the Parrot Rifle. I fear the Gatling Gun will only slow down the beast. based on Langley's account, and the limited ammunition for the parrot rifle has me worries, but I have faith in the efficiency of war's unit. Hopefully their experience and talent will outperform these limited assets. After becoming acquainted with these men, Langley called upon the townsfolk to announce that we be leaving in search of the children and the monsters that took them in the morning and to give us whatever we asked for. There were hushed whispers of disapproval from the crowd, voicing disdain at Langley's absence in the group. I spoke up on the matter

immediately, telling the townsfolk that I had already taken Langley's place so the town wasn't completely defenceless. Seeing that they weren't wholly convinced, I recounted a slightly exaggerated tale of how Langley had saved me from certain death during the war. This seemed to appease the people enough, and Langley threw a very thankful glance my way. The townsfolk then disbanded, and Langley, finally directed us back to the bar where we'd stay the night. The hunters insisted on sleeping under the stars, so they set up camp just outside town. I reminded Barry that he and his man should be ready by sun-up, we should have a gruff reply from the mountain of a man as he left. I suppose if they're late, a bucket of water for one of the horse's troughs will serve as an

appropriate wake-up call. I spent the rest of the evening entertaining the stories of Ward's unit and reassurances of their abilities. Most of them drank excessively for a military unit, but I suppose it's just as well, since they may not be coming back from this expedition. I stuck to the water this town offered, thankful the drinks were on the house. They were noisily retired for the night,

about two hours after Sunday, after which I went to the room, prepared for me. As I write this, I wonder if this whole ordeal is meant as a test. I recall going to church as a child, and hearing our past, to speak at great length about how God would allow the devil to test God's most devout followers. The story I remember most is that of Job, a man who endured suffering unlike anything I can compare

for a long time as a test of his devotion to God. Although my pastor would often spend more time singing praise of Job's unending dedication to God and the rewards he reaped for surviving the devil's test, I found myself reading over the passages of Job's self-doub's self-doub's. Even though he never condemned God for what befell him, he explicitly expressed disbelief over the tragedies that he'd faced and wondered what foul sin he must have committed to end up where he did. I suppose the only difference between me and Job is that I know the sins I've committed. I'm hesitant to say this will answer for them, but it isn't going to stop me from completing this mission.

Out of fear that I may not come out of this alive, I'm going to write a letter for Esperanza once I finish this entry. Even now I find myself pining for her. I know what I did to her was beyond any measure of redemption, yet some part of me remains ignorant of that, clinging on to a tiny bit of hope that she might forgive me, and I could have a life like the one Langley had made with Elizabeth. Perhaps God will put her love for me back into her heart if I pass this test.

Sunday, September 8th, 1878. But they started plainly enough. When I came downstairs this morning, all members of Ward's artillery units were eating breakfast, fully dressed for the beginning of our journey. Outside I could see Barry and his men standing, loading up the wagons the townspeople have provided. One of them was feeding and soothing animals pulling the wagons. I sat down with the artilleryists and ate a hearty meal of fluffy biscuits and crispy bacon, served with another glass of that wonderful mountain water.

Some of the soldiers around me looked a little worse for wear, likely a result of the previous night's drinking. Despite his participation in the festivities, Captain Ward appeared as prim and proper as he'd presented himself yesterday. Perhaps all those cocktail parties had made his system better equipped for the liquor than his subordinates. I finished eating quickly before the rest of the men

and told them I'd be ready to depart in about ten minutes. I went to the sheriff's office to give my letter for Esperanza to Langley, figuring him to be the best candidate for its delivery. I noticed two shiny black stallions tied outside the office, horses I'd not seen the day before, and went inside, learning their riders immediately. Mila and Vera Volkov had responded to Langley's telegram to Pinkerton. They both wore suits, my first clue that they were likely field agents or union busters as opposed to detectives. Both were confirmed when Langley asked me if they could tag along, as the two had 67 native skis.

gaps between them and a number of suppressed workers' riots, including what at an oil refinery in Texas they handled single-handedly. It seemed as if Langley's concerns were that I'd be reluctant to work with them on account of them being women, but that couldn't be further from the truth. I had reservations on account of them being Pinkerton's, and felt my mind sickened with the memories of what I'd engaged in just over two years ago. I wanted to turn them down, but I knew I could use all the help I could get. I asked him if they carried any heavy arms, to which they directed me outside.

I handed my letter for Esperanza to Langley before I left, bidding him farewell and him bidding me good luck. The two sisters each pulled a weapon out of their saddles of their identical horses. Mila, the younger, was a sharpshooter like me, and carried a Winchester repeater rifle, with one of one thousand engraved on its stop. Vera, the older, presented a shotgun unlike any I'd seen before, one that was fed shells underneath

the barrel, reloaded shots with a small pump instead of a hammer. Vera was quite proud of the shotgun, and proclaimed that it was a prototype not available for public use, given to her as a gift of putting down a union that nearly formed for a building arms company near Connecticut. I was impressed with the weapons, but enraged at how carelessly they tossed out stories of killing workers, and I paid them nothing more than an affirming nod. When I returned to the rest of the group, I was expecting some resistance to having women involved with our team, but no one in the group objected to the Volkov's presence.

I attributed it to the hunters failing to see them as an obstacle to getting their animal skins, and the soldiers figuring them fodder for these creatures. I did one last supply check before we left. The artillery ordinance was unchanged from the previous day. With no one in town supplying cannonballs, this wasn't much of a surprise. The hunters had brought with them four bear traps, modified to close harder in acknowledgement of the strength of these beasts. They also brought nets and ropes intended for trapping

or less suing small game that could be used as bait. The bartender had given us two barrels of water, a few bowls of whiskey and leftover biscuits courtesy of the morning's breakfast. The town doctor was similarly generous, his offerings completely accounting for nearly every medical emergency that could come up. The General Store had provided hard tack, jerky, and summer sausage for food and meager ammunition stores to add to our account. One of the prospectors for the mining company that had stored their explosives in the outhouse gave six sticks of dynamite and blasting caps for each one, stored far more carefully than the ones that had decimated the beast.

Lastly, the local gunsmith provided more arms for us, including two more big 50s for me and Buffalo to use if a sniping situation were to present itself. A few 45-cali-cali-carried, stronger than the 38 Langley carried, giving me hope that they might break the skin of these creatures, and personally presented to me a 41 knuckler, a strange combination of a revolver and brass knuckles, saying that Langley's praises of my sharpshooting skills worried him that I was unprepared for closing counties. Upon completing my final count, I commanded my party to head out. Barry said that he saw the tracks of the beasts leading out of the northwest side of town. He added that the lack of snowfall since the incident probably kept the tracks

alive, but there was no guarantee they'd remain uncovered for long. But his urging, I told the group that we'd be moving at a grueling pace, and with that rolled out of town. The town's folk had gathered around us, watching us leave. I couldn't tell much about these people. Some were better dressed than others, but all of them wore the same dismal face. The only discerning feature I could find was that some of them were weeping. I reckon these people are the ones who lost their children. For their sake, and for the sake of my friend, I'll do my best not to return empty-handly. The first leg of the journey was fair. It wasn't until sundown that we encountered any issues. The hunters wished to set up camp in the open, or the soldiers insisted we'd take shelter closer to the base of a nearby mountain.

The two sides argue briefly over the benefits of where they wish to sleep, when I cut in, informing them that we were keeping moving forward as long as we could, and only set up camp when absolutely necessary. This decision earned me some ire from the group, but I'd rather them hate me than each other. We were able to travel for quite some time, thanks to the moon's current phase. I'm no astrologer, but I'm fairly certain the moon is close to, if not already at, full. Its light helped us through otherwise hindering darkness, until we arrived at the edge of a thick forest. I asked Barry to confirm if the tracks did indeed continue into those woods, and he said that they did as far as he could tell. I told the men to break to set camp, and that we'd resume travel in the morning.

With me and the sisters having only a bedroll to sleep on there, I had them helped me gather firewood, at the edge of the forest. The trees were sparse, suffering the effects of the ensuing winter far harder than any foliage we'd encountered along the way. I can't be certain, but I cannot help but to ascribe this to the monster's presence. I'd heard tales before of creatures whose ungodly ways affected the world around them, and figured these monsters were no different. As Vera and I gathered fallen logs and large branches, Mila gathered twigs and leaves for kindling.

I feel like they experienced the same sensation of being watched from deep within the woods, as none of us ventured too close to the tree life. The fire was set easily, and none in the group opposed to myself, and the sisters having our bedroles closest to the campfire. I bid all in the group a good rest as they went to their tents. The sisters went to bed not long after I began writing, barely any more talkative than they were on the train.

Well, I'm scared to sleep. sleep, even knowing that there's someone in my employ currently keeping watch. I find myself looking out to the woods often. Certain I'll see something staring back at me. Their eyes illuminated by the campfire. I haven't seen anything once in the many times I've looked up from my journal, yet I failed to convince myself there's nothing there. Alas, I'll be in no condition to fight these creatures if I don't catch any sleep,

so I'll leave my life in the hands of the vigilant soldier I see, keeping an eye on everything. The soldier, a private Jericho Thomas, seems to be around 19, maybe 20 years old, probably the youngest in Ward's Union. There's a shine to his face that tells me he hasn't seen the worst that war has to offer. I fear that these monsters may take that from him if he survived. Monday, September 9th, 1878. Relief is waking up from a restless slumber finding the same people around you that were

there the night before. The men had already disassembled their tents. The sisters were eating breakfast. I was the only one still in a bedroll. I was embarrassed, but it doesn't seem like I've lost my standing with anyone here. I packed my bedroll quickly and told everyone that we set out in ten minutes. I paid another glance to the edge of the woods as I packed, and to my surprise there was a clear, albeit somewhat rough path paved through,

where Barry had said the tracks led. Once again I found myself thinking, to the degenerative effects these monsters must have had on their surroundings, and thank God that these creatures had made it possible for us to travel through with relative ease. We set out, Barry, two of his hunters, and myself leading the charge. Using picks and axes, we cleared the occasional tree that was too close to the path for the wagons to pass through. In overcast daylight, the woods were serene, not at all the subject of my fears that they'd be in the previous evening. Most forests in the northern part of the country are like this,

and I can't help but to relish the peace these dying woods offer. Even so, they were eerily quiet, the sounds of hush whispers and horses' hooves is the only noise floating through the air. No animal called this place home, at least not anymore. About five hours into our expedition through the forest, we arrived at the other side. One of the soldiers requested we take the opportunity to have lunch, and, upon hearing the murmurs of agreement from all parties, I obliged. I checked the food supplies, finding that we'd consumed nearly one-half of the barrels of water. Given the length of our journey and the necessity of a return, I informed my compatriots that the water-rations would be reduced to ensure we all have plenty for the

entire excursion. This was met with mild protest, but both Barry and Captain Ward silenced their dissenters, understanding the necessity of the resource's longevity. One of the benefits of reducing the water ration is that the people in your party will usually eat less, especially if hardtack is a staple of their temporary diet. The sisters seem to be the only ones unaffected by the change, not only consuming twice as much as their male counterparts, but also having shots of whiskey with them in. I didn't raise my disapproval for their consuming of alcohol so early in the day, but I'll be sure to watch them and scold them if they drink too much. I can't risk anyone on this team making

things go wrong on account of impaired judgment. One of the members of Ward's crew shouted from the edge of our temporary encampment while the rest of us were finishing our meaning. He screamed that he'd spotted something crossing the ends of the plane towards the base of the mountain directly north of our position. He first handed his spyglass to his captain, who remarked that he couldn't see what he was talking about. I asked for the spyglass and for the artillery to point out where he'd seen the thing. I aimed the spyglass carefully where he pointed, extending it to his fullest reach in hopes of seeing what he did.

For the time I wasn't sure what I saw, but I knew that it wasn't human nor an animal. The beast was bipedal, whose skin as grey as the clouds that were above me, and was at least as tall as the lowest branches on some of the surviving pines it's manoeuvred around. If I'd to assign a number to its height, I'd say he stood around seven, maybe eight feet tall.

His upper back was malformed, giving it a hunch that probably stunted its already impressive stature. The creature appeared to be male, on account of its lacking breasts, but I did not catch a glimpse of the groin, so I cannot confirm that its species is dimorphic. I wish it could have gotten a good look at the creature's head, but unfortunately its head was too high, not as obscured by the branches of the trees.

After handing the spyglass back to the soldier, I told everyone that I believed what we had seen was the monster in question, and that we were to make a charge towards the mountain at maximum speed so we could catch the creature before dark. The group agreed, and we probably would have remained optimistic about our odds against the creature, had the sky not started to darken. Myself and a few others in possession of pocket watches checked the time. It was only a quarter till three. I checked for signs of a coming storm, and sure enough, just above the peak of the distant mountain, there were dark clouds approaching.

I wasn't truly sure of myself, but I knew if we didn't chase this monster down, we'd lose our chances of saving the children. I voiced this concern aloud, but before any objections to carrying out my previous instructions could be voiced, the sisters let out an excited cry in Russian and charge forward. Not to be outdone by the fairer sex, Barry and a few others on horseback followed suit. I followed forward, urging my horse to a similar gate

and turned back to see those remaining were hot on my tail. The ones who had charged forward slowed their pace once they saw the rest of the party was following behind, and we arrived at the edge of the foothills just as it began to rain. I directed the group to stay tight, proclaiming that our best bet to get out of this thing with no casualties was to make sure all sides are covered so we could hit this thing with everything we got.

I asked Barry how many tracks he'd seen leading into this brush, and pointing to a quickly disappearing alternating pair of deer tracks, gave me my answer. I asked Ward if he could have two of his men stand guard with the Gatling gun, just a little ways back from where we stood, to make sure the monster didn't escape us, and he had two of his company set up with the wagons behind the direction the gun was facing. The trees were closer together here than they were in the forest.

we just traversed, so we left our horses with the wagons and set out on foot into the pines. I took the lead, the remaining men forming a mixed rank of hunters, soldiers and Pinkerton's behind me. One of the hunters held onto a length of twine, tied to one of the wagons, ensuring we could find our way back. Pulling out my Big 50, I started towards the woods. My initial observation that the woods were untainted by the stench of death these creatures carried proved to be somewhat wrong. The ground was littered with pine needles, the count growing with the pouring rain,

shedding the branches of its leaves. Being within such proximity of this creature burned my nostrils and inflamed my lungs like I was breathing in the smoke of a terrible fire. It heard some of the people behind me let out coughs as we drew deeper into the burgeoning hellscape. Navigating through the downpour, we eventually arrived at a small clearing.

At the centre of it was a small shack, a thin tendril of smoke drifting out of its stone chimney. One of the soldiers had had a cry and rushed past me to a scene so horrible it threatens to surpass the things I saw in the war and my days as a Pinkerton. There were three bodies surrounding a trunk and a recently felled tree. The large, blood-stained bowsaw laid at their feet. All three of them were eviscerated in a way I had never seen before. I'd seen bodies that were flayed by troglodytes, torn to pieces by wild bears, even a man dismembered by a group of bandits, but nothing as savage as this. The group caught up to me in the soldier. A few of the men wretched, while the rest kept their distance, disgust and fear painting their faces. Vera knelt down next to me, her sister too busy emptying her stomach of heart attack and whiskey to assist.

Vera noted that the slashes on the men's bodies were in sets of five, the longest and deepest cuts forming in the middle of the groupings. Pointing out that the blood was still trickling out of the wounds, she added that they were recent, no older than an hour. She brought herself closer to the body of one of the men and hailed deeply, coughing shortly after. She explained that the wounds were already malodorous, as if they'd been rotting for a week. Well, I would have asked her if Pinkerton, taught her all these things when I heard an unholy screech. That sound still haunts me. Nothing I have ever heard on this earth comes close to the atrocious noise that thing manufactured. I suppose it could be compared to the sound of several people yelling at once, except here it was

like it was the same voice yelling at volumes varying from adversarial conversation to murderous shrieks layered on top of each other going off at the exact same time. But even more confusing still, the voices seemed to be all desperately trying to say that same something in many different languages. Everyone turned to face the creature as it lumbered out of the shack. Though I bore the advantage of having already seen this monstrosity through the looking-glass of a soldier,

my heart still insisted on seizing at the sight of it. My previous observations were mostly accurately. but failed to account for just how misshapen this beast was. Its hunchback forced its spidery limbs to dangle at its sides, which hung all the way down to its gloven feet. The torso was covered in dark grey, nearly black postules, hiding a concave chest and protruding belly. The head of this beast was the hardest to lay eyes on her,

but its visage is forever burned into my memory. The sickening amalgamation of man and deer, with the lengthy snout covered in decaying flesh and a pair of antlers sticking out of its head, one much more developed than the other. Eyes dark as colds, save for the reflection of the people it looked upon. I vividly recall seeing several raindrops pelt this thing's eyes without it blinking. Its attention hyper-focused on the thirteen people cowering in its presence. It had been carrying another body.

This one picked nearly clean of all its flesh, and let out that ghastly sound once again. as it dropped it and charged towards us. I'm not sure who acted first, but I'm certain it wasn't me. A volley of shots from several kinds of guns rang out as I hurried to join them. A creature kept its pace, hobbling forward as fast as its disfigured body could carry it, only flinching from the heaviest of arms. I ate my rifle at its head, hoping 50-90 would be enough to stop it in its tracks.

With it sufficiently distracted by the multitude of targets before it, I nailed my shot. The bullet hit the side of the beast's face that was more dear than man. The head of the creature twisted to the side sharply in response to the bullet's force and for a moment I thought I'd fell at the thing since it stopped advancing.

But it slowly began to turn its head back looking in my direction. While this thing was incapable of showing human emotion I could feel its dark gaze burn me with rage, turning its attention towards me It changed the direction of its procession.

At this point I noticed that some of the postules have been ruptured by the shots we'd fired. From there, my case a thick, viscous, iridescent liquid pouring out. A globule of it fell off of the brute, landing on one of the corpses we'd found. The liquid let out a hiss as it touched the body and immediately began to eat away at what remained of the poor soul. I shouted for the men to watch out for the liquid, but the entire squadron had already.

descended into some degree of chaos the hunter that held the twine fled for the way we'd come from and two of the soldiers seemed to follow suit here I am thankful to admit my primary observation was wrong as I later saw them up in the trees firing down on the thing and the hunter that had fled returned without his twine having tied it to a tree Barry and the two remaining hunters were unloading everything they had into the creature dropping weapons as they ran out of ammunition and backpedal it Mila had taken a position near the back corner of the house, taking shots at the creature's backside. Ward ordered for his men to heed my warning and aim away from the torso. As the

abomination drew closer to me, I kept my lucky stars that Vera had stayed near me when it happened. I was trying to reload my rifle at the time, and had only just jammed a bullet into my rifle when the monster was upon me. It raised its massive arm to swipe down at me, and I surely would have been torn in half had Vera not blasted it away with her shot now. The beast didn't really suffer so much from the bullets as he did the power behind them. His swing was thrown off by the shot, causing his clawed hand to swing mere inches in front of my face. As it passed by, I was overcome with a stench unlike any I'd experienced before, as if this thing was cursed to bear the smell of the corpses it consumed. As Vera continued pumping shells into the creature, a bit of the

The liquid from its source found its way onto my jacket sleeve. I threw my jacket off immediately, relieved that the caustic substance had not yet eaten through it before I had tossed it. Had I not acted as quickly as I did, I at least wouldn't be completing this entry due to missing the only arm I can write with. Vera managed to push the creature back to the border of the clearing. Here she had run out of shelves and needed to reload. Ward shouted for her to get out of the way, and had she dived any later? her body would have eaten the bullets of six men. Ward's troops, in accordance with his last instruction, aimed directly for the head of this creature. I watched as the bullets either missed

or ricocheted off the skull. Disbelieving such a creature could ignore this much damage for so long, I took aim once again at its head. This time I sought to hit the decaying human side on its right, hoping that blowing that away would surely end this beast. Just like the previous time, My shot found its mark. I felt hopeful when I saw the entire right side of this thing's head get reduced to a misty mix of blood and pus. Surely no living thing on this earth could survive without its head. I was proven wrong when, as it had moments before, turned what remained of its head towards me. Missing the human half of its body may have triggered a deeper level of inhumanity,

one that none of us could have comprehended or prepared for. The monster suddenly fell to its arms, letting out that guttural, unnatural cry as it charged towards Ward's regiment. More scream for the men to break rank, but his command was issued too late for one of his men. The sorry gentleman, whose name I now know is Zachary Nicholson, was one of the two troops at the front of Ward's charge. The soldier that had shot next to him was able to turn tail in time, but poor Zachary stood and fell back. I do not know what caused Zachary to fall, but it was the last mistake he ever made. The fiend pounced on Zachary within a second of his collapse. For a few moments I thought we might stand a chance at saving him,

as it seemed to be trying to eat him with his head, but only accomplished dragging the front end of its exposed snout across his face and shoulders. This caused a few scratches to appear on his face, but nothing so serious as to believe he wouldn't make it out alive. But then I heard the sickening sizzle, not too different from what I'd heard in the inn two days prior when the bartender's wife cooked bacon for us. The liquid from the postules and the thing's torso was dripping excessively onto Zachary's body. I was morbidly mesmerized by how fast the liquid ate through his uniform. My attention given both because of how close I came to sharing his fate and because of how grotesque it was to witness what it did to his body.

I hadn't seen the insides of a man in a long time, but it wasn't a sight I relished. His blood, organs, and bones were all exposed momentarily, only to boil, bubble, and disappear for the next layer of innards to be consumed by this unrelenting material. I was brought out of my trance by Barry, who told me he had an idea. I saw two of his men with lassus. I would have asked him what he had in mind, but I was already aware of how little and effect how firearms had had on this creature and needed to act fast. He asked him what he needed, and he said to just be ready to hold on tight to one of the ropes. I called for the men to do

as Barry suggested, and we split up into two groups, half of us with each of the lassoing men. The creature was preoccupied with trying to eat Zachary, and I started to grasp what Barry's plan may have been. What we were going to do once we had this thing subdued was beyond my comprehension the time and i was not prepared for barry's suggestion at first i was uncertain how we might ever get the creature's arms in ropes that's when i heard a battle cry not unlike the ones i'd hear my fellow yankees yell from my soldiering days ward charged the beast his pistol in his left hand and his sabre in his right since ward had backed away perhaps he wasn't privy to the fate of zachary like i was and thus believed he could save him

I admire the bravery of this man's charge and admit here and now that my first impression of him was extremely poor. Ward made a wild slash at the monster with his sabre, slicing a thin piece of its shoulder. The beast fell back a bit, but then lunged forward at Ward. He sidesteped the creature to the right, a powerful manoeuvre taking advantage of its blindspot. Ward fired around from his pistol into the gaping moor that remained with the monster's heads, and the beast recoiled. Throughout another blind slash, this one parried by Ward's blade,

but the strength behind it caused Ward to lose his footing a bit and fall. The beast then stood on its hind legs and positioned itself above Ward, raising both of its arms ready to tear him to shreds. At that moment, both of the lassoos threw their ropes and managed to snare the creature's arms. Immediately Ward shot to his feet, and we all grabbed the ropes,

holding on to them tightly. Barry then shouted at the soldiers in the trees to come down and grab the bowsaw. On the off-chance they might have hesitated, both ward and myself gave the same command. As the soldiers got down and we struggled to keep the beasts subdued, I saw Barry nod his head towards the edge of the clearing. At first I had no idea what he was motioning towards, so I yelled for everyone to move in the direction he'd given. As we grew closer, I figured out what he was.

going for. There was a massive pine sitting on the edge of these woods. Understanding his plan wholly now, I instructed the two soldiers to get started on cutting down the tree and to make sure it faced our direction. We all struggled greatly against the beast, trying to bring it to its demise. But still we managed to get it right where we needed it, and the soldiers were soaring away at the trees instructed. It felt like an eternity, especially with the rain making the ground that much harder to dig our heels into, but soon we heard the deafening crack of wood splitting and felt the ground tremble as the tree came crashing down. We were all steadfast, our grips as sure as our collective will to live, and the beast let out one final roar as it was crushed

underneath the powerful weight of the tree. The ones closest to the monster were nearly covered in the terrible bus, but thankfully stepped out of the way in time. Barry told his men then to leave the ropes behind a decision I supported strongly. It took us a while to recover from our battle with the monster. The soldiers were downtrodden at the loss of their comrade, but had their spirits restored in part by war. Ward asked the hunters if they would help him dig a grave for the unknown men, as well as Zachary. They agreed, set to digging holes for all of them.

As they were all set to digging graves, Ward took it upon himself to share stories of Zachary, of his heroism, of his loves and of his occasional acts of stupidity, getting laughs and bitter sweet memories from his fellow troops about their fallen friend. I took this time to thank Vera for saving me. While I was still unhappy that she was a Pinkerton, I wasn't about to let my past get in the way of good manners. She responded indifferently,

asserting that this was only one of the five remaining creatures, and that casualties needed to be minimised if we were to succeed. I took it in stride, as I'd seen the same matter-of-factly attitude from plenty of Pinkerton women before. I truly pity her, and the women like her that I've met. Constantly having to prove yourself to the world must grow tiring. Once the dead were buried, we confirmed that the monster was truly dead. Given that it hadn't moved an inch, and had its entire midsection and head reduced a pulp, we felt confident to pronounce it dead.

Raided the shack of poultry supplies, then followed the twine, to our wagons. As soon as we broke out of the woods, we were met with a terrifying scene. The two soldiers we'd assigned to the gatling gun were surrounded by several Indians. By my count, there were five of them, two holding knives to the throats of the soldiers, two aiming bows at us, and one staring us down with no weapons in his arms. The one without weapons announced himself as Sunukukukkah, a member of the Algonquin tribe. He announced that he was hunting the same thing we were and told us we were going to die without their help

I told him that we could talk about that but he would need to let the men go if he wanted to talk The stoic Algonquin nodded to his braves And they took their blades off the necks of Ward's troops We approached with great trepidation The Algonquians lowered their weapons Sunukakau unwavering as we got back to our wagons The man told us that his tribe had been attacked by the same creatures that attacked us,

except they were attacked yesterday. During the attack, the monsters kidnapped the chieftain's daughter. He called the beasts Wendigo. The creature we had fought was formerly a man turned into this horrible beast, either the result of consuming human flesh or having insatiable greed. He said that he didn't know why the Wendigo were gathering children, but it couldn't be good, as it coincided with the coming full moon. I responded by telling them that we'd be happy to find their missing child, but pointed out that

even our most powerful weapons barely faced the creatures. Sunuku Kau promised that his men were prepared to face Wendigo, and that he was especially ready in case of one that had fully transformed. He pulled an arrow out of his quiver, one unlike any I'd seen before. The shaft seemed to be much thicker than normal, painted an alternating pattern of blue and white. The feathers towards the end were jet black, the same colour as the arrowhead. I assume the arrowhead was made out of volcanic rock, as even in the dwindling rain and moonlight, I could see a reflection off of it.

Sunukukkah told me this arrow had been blessed by his shaman, and would be devastating to any Wendgo that had fully shed its human identity. No one, save for the two troopers that had knives to their throats, seemed to object to having the Indians join our party. It was a good thing they joined too, as Barry lost the tracks of the beasts to the rain, and they said they knew where the Wendigo rested. I cannot imagine what sort of realm men who rejected their humanity would reside in. Taking on one of these things was bad enough,

but the thought of having to take on four more gives me the feeling that this is a suicide mission. The Algonquians say this place is right around a day and a half's ride from our current location. The men seem either shaken or overconfident. Some of them feel worse for where, seeing what this thing did to Zachary, or rather maybe what we didn't do with our own weapons. The ones that are sleeping soundly tonight rest easy knowing that these things can be killed. But I feel like those ones forgot just how difficult it was for us to keep that thing restrained. The name the Algonquians gave these beasts keep rolling in my mind. Wendigo.

I keep thinking back to a scary story Esperanza told me about a chupacabra, a flying beast that was used to explain cattle shortages in her mother's village. If she had the patience to hear what I'd experience today, I'd imagine she'd think I was playing a cruel joke on her. But who could blame her? Nothing of this earth could go on living after losing Huckford's head. Truly, the invulnerability and raw power these Wendigo possess further lend themselves to the idea that this is all a test from God.

Tuesday, September 10th, 1878. The events of this day were largely inconsequential. Some of the horses were showing signs of exhaustion, so I opted to unsaddle mine and tie her to one of the wagons and continue on foot. The respite seemed to brighten her resolve, so the other ride has followed suit. This unfortunately added time to our journey, but the Indians say this may be for the better,

as we'll likely arrive at the place these Wendigo call home by midday tomorrow, and we'd be safer to prepare some kind of assault during the day than at night. I reminded them that our last encounter with a Wendigo had taken place during the day, but they seemed confident to assert that the beasts would not be milling about at that hour. The Algonquians are surprisingly personable with our ranks. In my experience, Indians tend to only tolerate the white man as needed, only socializing with them when absolutely necessary, and even then making sure we know how much we were despised. Here they openly engaged with the men in conversation, sharing stories and waxing philosophical,

as if they were our lifelong companions. Over time many of the men shared their friendly nature, even the two who had been at the mercy of their blades last night. They were even so kind as to give me a dear-skin height to keep me warm in place of my jackets, a gift I am very grateful for. The Volkovs were the only ones keeping their distance. I assumed because they had never seen the natives as anything more than a means to a quick fifty dollars. When we broke camp for the evening, I asked Sunukkow,

why he and his men were so benevolent to us. He told me that he had been in many battles and that his most successful skirmishes occurred when the men bonded well together. I wanted to press further, but what good would that have done? I'd just end up feeling guilty for things he'd every right to be mad about. I spoke briefly with Ward Barry and Sunukakau about our plans for the coming day. Sunoka cow described the land we were about to enter as wholly devoid of nearly all signs of life,

where the soil is too coarse for any kind of plant to survive. He said that this was due to the influx of the Windingos' boundless greed, constantly taking all it could, even unconsciously. Barry suggested this was opportune, as it would be easy to dig trenches and traps if the soil was as Suna cacao described. Ward asked both Barry and Suna cacao if one of their men would take the place of Zachary for their parrot rifle,

saying they could be trained to use the sponge staff in about half an hour. Ward emphasized the importance of their artillery unit operating at peak efficiency, and Barry said he'd asked one of the men to fill the spot. As I was preparing for bed, I noticed Mila on the south end of our encampment, sitting by herself on a stump.

I approached her. thinking of Seneca Cowell's advice and hoping to build a rapport. I spoke quietly to her, thinking she must have been deep in thought, but in truth she was reading. Mela had Wari etched deep into her young face. I asked her what was wrong, and she handed me the book. She told me that she'd retrieved that from the shack we'd raided the previous day, and I noted it was a Moleskin journal, not unlike the one I write in now.

I thought it odd that she would take the journal of some woodcutters who we didn't know. After a brief instant of me leafing through some of the entries, she told me to read the entry for September 2nd. Wondering what she could be going for, I turned my attention to the page. Here, I write verbatim what was written there. A child was left on her doorstep last night. She nearly lost her toes due to the chill of the snow. We're caring for her as best we can, thinking we might run her to one of the orphanages in the

nearby town, if we can't find her parents. I didn't even finish reading before Mila spoke of how we hadn't found the body of a child at the place we fought in the infested monster. I told her that maybe the woodcutters had done as they intended and brought her to one of the nearby orphanages. But she said she had read through the passages from that day to the day we arrived at their house, and did not see mention of them finding her family or bringing her to town. Mila asked me if I was familiar with the numerology. I told her yes, but in truth I only know of how Pythagoras applied it to his studies of her written. She told me this story of how she'd gone to a fortune-teller when the circus had come to town one year,

and how the mystical woman did a tarot reading for her. The woman's prophecy from Mila had all four of the available sevens come out, and she told Mila that this meant the seven was a sign of a spiritual quest for her. She asked me if I thought this was her spiritual quest, seeing as there were now seven kids that needed saving. I could tell she needed guidance. Unlike her sister, Mila is not nearly as resolute, but then again I can't imagine all the men in our company are free of such a state of mind. I told her about my own thoughts of this being a test from God, and shared with her the story of Job, making sure I didn't gloss over the parts about his self-doubt.

This seemed to ease her only a little. I asked her if she knew any hymns. She said she hadn't spent a whole lot of time in church growing up, but she knew a few. At that, I questioned if the religious guidance I offered her would be effective. Still, I continued, pulling out my pocket watch. I pressed the button on its side that triggered a tune very dear to me. I never had much of an aptitude for music, but I still sang the words. After all, plenty of people in my old congregation couldn't sing,

and that never stopped them from making a joyful noise as the Psalms proclaimed. The watch could only play the first few chords of Rescue the Perishing, and Mila didn't know the words, but it seemed to soothe her far more than the parable. Seeing that she'd been alleviated, if only a little, I told her that God had to be on her side in this battle, as nothing this unholy could be his creation. At that, I left her, hoping that she'd find solace in my words. I find myself letting my watch play those same few chords of rescue the perishing to accompany my writing. Perhaps because I've always been such a terrible musician, I was so so enamored with how well Esperanz could play almost any instrument that was put in her arms.

Rescue the Perishing was her favorite hymn, one that she would sing alongside her playing of the piano for two different churches on Sunday. The only difference is in her performance is being the language she sung in. It's been a while, but as the notes are plucked by my mechanical musician, I can faintly recall how sweet her voice was. In all this darkness, after all I've done, she continues to be a bright beacon, only as a memory. I smile as I imagine what kind of lovely influence she might have if she was actually here, but dismiss the thought just as quickly as it comes. This is the last place on earth any good person should be.

Wednesday, September 11, 1878. True to their word, the Algonquians, brought us to the land that these beasts call home, near minutes afternoon. Their warning, accurate as it was, was still insufficient to describe just how barren this wasteland is. This area is a plain, surrounded on all sides by mountains with colossal mesa in the middle. The plain doesn't seem to have so much as a weed growing out of its cracked dirt, decorated only by occasional hills or large rocks. The foothills of the surrounding mountains have only the barest of trees growing out of the ground in wicked formations with branches is free of any leaves.

The plane's most prominent figure is, without doubt, the messer at the centre. It's nearly perfectly cylindrical, so only imperfections being a massive hole in its face, with a few jutting rock formations sticking out beneath this hole. For the moment we arrived, I could sense something evil emanating from that hole. Sunukawa told us that we'd have at least until sundown to prepare to fight these things. I instructed everyone to eat a quick meal and then get right to work. Over lunch I had a brief meeting with the same men from the night before to discuss tactics.

We decided that we didn't have enough time to dig trenches, even with the looseness of the soil present, and instead would dig spike pits for the monsters to hopefully fall into. With four of them present, digging four of these a reasonable distance from their hideout seemed easy enough to accomplish within the next eight hours. Barry and his men would also set bear traps in front of each one. as the beasts would be more likely to fall in if they'd injured their legs. We also decided to lay a dynamite trap a little ways past the pits as a means to clear out any of them that got past the first traps.

After lunch we set our plan immediately into motion. Some men went with picks and shovels to dig the holes, others to the edges of this clearing to cut down trees to make spikes. I joined the latter, feeling remorseful about not grabbing the bowsaw we'd used on Monday, as it surely would have been faster than the hatchet I used. We finished the spike pits by four. I figure we got them completed in record time due to everyone understanding the threat we were up against.

That and the unrelenting gaze we all felt from the cave in the mesa. One of the soldiers in war's regiment had some experience in demolitions, so he set up the dynamite trap, using only five of the six sticks at his insistence. Barry sent one of his men to train for sponging the parrot rifle. His training, thankfully, expedited by his own war experience. With our traps in place, we now had to determine where we'd position ourselves. Ward asked that his unit be in the front lines,

as the artillery would be far more likely to end these creatures that any of the other firepower we had in our possession. I agreed, asked the soldier who set the dynamite how far back they'd need to be to avoid damage from the explosion. He said about 200 feet, and Ward acknowledged. Ward said he'd positioned his gatling gun on the right flank, and his cannon on the left, equidistant from one another, so the beasts were forced to contend with both. Sunukukawa, having heard our tale of Monday's encounter with a Wendigo,

said that he would like to be positioned just behind Ward's artillery with the remaining two hunters. His braves were also good with ropes, and in a pinch could subdue any struggling Wendigo for the rest of us to focus fire. Vera spoke up and said she'd joined Sunukukukawa's group, to my great surprise. Siting her own close-range weaponry, she said she'd be best suited where she could maximise the effectiveness of her shotgun. No one objected, so I approved her proposition. Lastly, we needed a place for the sharpshooters, including myself. There was a large hill near where Ward would be setting up his parrot rifle, and I suggested that Barry, Mela and myself take

position there. Both of them approved, and with that our plan was complete. As everyone got into positions and performed a number of weapons checks, one of the hunters took the horses to the edge of the plane where he'd entered and tied them to the trees. The wagons had been positioned not too far behind where Son of Kukawa's group would be. The sun is starting to set, and I questioned my own readiness. Barry and I have prepared the extra big 50s to simply swap to if we see the monsters approach as faster than we can reload the ones we hold. all three of us are using bags of dried beans as a support for our weapons i don't know what stopping

these things from charging out at us immediately but i know i'm thankful for it barry and myler aren't the most conversation of people but i'm happy they're here at all my mind keeps going back to zachary wondering if we are all doomed to share a similar fate as the sun's last rays disappeared behind the foreboding mesa. I call out to all the men with one last command, aim for the parts that are still human. I'm astounded it didn't occur to me until now, but that's our best bet for defeating these things. For a moment, I thought I'd strengthen the resolve of my party. Then that damn cry came out from the cave. It was no different from the one we'd heard before, except somehow much louder, despite the conflicting pitches it shriek relied on.

The first few times we'd heard it, I was shaken, but battle-ready. It's been an hour. At least it feels like it has, and now I feel my confidence in this fight wearing thin. I try to play Esperanza's favourite song on my watch, but the screams are so deafening that they won't even allow me to hear that. I must close this account post haste. I have to be ready to fight these monsters whenever they finally decide to show themselves. September 12.

It all went to shit. There are more than four of these things. No, only one more, but that one is fully transformed. I have to act fast to save the survivors and the children. Langley, please for the love of God, if you get this, do not try to save me or anyone else. Turn back and go home. Challenge of the Wendigo, part two. September.

19. I worked from my long sleep late this morning. Out of fear that I might misplace memories or forego an important detail, I've decided it far more prudent for me to retell the events that transpired last Wednesdays as opposed to the events of today. For this account, I have the assistance of the other survivors to ensure its accuracy, as well as to dictate on my behalf when my strength fails me. Starting where I left off, neglecting that hurried mess I wrote down, in the very early morning of the 12th. We'd endure the long, agonizing screeches of these Wendigo for about ten more minutes before they finally revealed themselves.

One by one they left the mouth of that cave, climbing down with impressive attention, taking advantage of the rock formations that led up to the cave. At the time I didn't see them too well, even with the brightness of the full moon, but the entire encounter and the accounts of the other survivors enables me to describe them. The first one that fell

seemed to be the closest to its transformation having almost no human qualities save for a patch of dark skin on its shoulder The second one was not nearly as far along Mischapen with the arm of a human man The third was as developed in the torso And head as the first But had human legs that seemed to struggle to carry itself

And relied mostly on its powerful arms to move around The final one Only had a human torso wielding the same terrifying arms and legs as the first. When it got closer, we saw it wore the skull of a bug to hide its human face. They all pressed forward, the one with the human arm trailing behind due to a limp. We held our collective breaths as they approached the traps we'd laid. At that point I found myself cursing for not stripping the wagons of their covers to hide the pits.

Now I realise how worthless that would have been. They had been watching us all day. There was no way they'd fall into those pits. Sure enough, the leading Wendigo leaped over our traps and continued their approach. The one with the limp struggled to clear the pit, and for a moment I thought he might have fallen in. But that idea was quashed when I saw it crawling out with its demonic arm, a single spike sticking out of its right leg. It paused to pull out that spiker, and had to move forward at the same slow pace.

it had before. I shouted for the soldier that had set up the explosive to blow them now. I saw him reach for the detonator, and he pushed on the plunger with all his might. There was silence, save for the persistent echoes of the Wendigo coming for us. I saw him repeat the motion for the same result to occur. He began to panic, continuing to slam the plunger into the box to no avail. His captain told him to stop, at the diner of the moment. He began to panic. He began to panic, continuing to slam the plunger into the box to no avail. His captain told him to stop, that the dynamite wasn't going to work, and to ready the first cannonball shot. The soldier named Marcus Quentin reluctantly agreed, and instead took the drawstring of the parrot rifle in his hand, ready to fire. Per his instruction, Ward's

cannon-ball crew aimed their cannon towards the charging Wendigo. At this point, the other sharpshooters and myself began to shoot at the beasts. I'm confident the bullets I shot found their mark as the Wendigo would recoil when I hit them, but they never stopped their advance. I began to wonder if these particular ones were more advanced than the first we'd encounter when the thunderous sound of cannon fire rang out.

According to one of the soldiers, they probably would have been able to reduce these creatures to mist if they'd had access to a bigger cannon. With the parrot rifle only firing ten-pounder cannon, It would barely phase these creatures if it hit the parts of them that were transformed. Now by either a stroke of luck or divine guidance, the ten-pound ordinance managed to strike one of the legs of the Wendigo that at a human bottom half. This caused it to halt its advance for a moment as it clutched the stump where the leg had been. The other three were still approaching,

so War commanded the men behind the Gatlinger unto fire as his cannon crew reloaded. They obliged and let loose a firestorm of bullets upon the monsters. I've come to learn that this gatling gun was a brand new model, one that fires fifty-caliber bullets, not unlike the ones my Sharp's rifle relies on. The power behind the bullets, while not enough to break the skin of these monsters, kept them back. I applauded the aim of the gunner, Jericho Thomas, as he was able to divide his attention effectively between the three Wendigo and keep them all at bay while his comrades reloaded

their cannon. Another resounding boom rang out. This cannonball unfortunately found its way into the torso of the more transformed Wendigo, the one that wore the buck skull. The shot managed to knock it many feet back, almost into the pits originally intended for it. I knew the shot did no true damage when it stood back up, the cannonball embedded in its chest. Reaching into its concave torso, it let out a guttural yell unlike its use. usual cry and pride the cannonball from where it lay. By my observation, the thing did more damage to itself digging it out of its chest with its sharp claws than the cannonball ever did. Continuing its unusual noise, it took a few steps forward before chucking the cannonball back

at Ward's cannon formation. One of the soldiers in charge of aiming the parrot rifle, Randall Pritchett, was hit square in the knee by the projectile. A sickening crunch rang out as Randall's knee bent inward, followed closely by a pain shriek from the soldier as he fell to the ground. Ward immediately came to his side, pulling him away from the battlefield as he told his remaining troops to prepare a canister shock once the Wendigo were drawing closer. Providing support, Jericho began to lay on another forty rounds of Calibre fire. I felt relieved that we were able to keep the beasts at bay with the power of the Gatling Gun afforded. And that was when our hour was.

bad luck doubled. Right as the cannonball crew would prime the canister round, the gatling guns stopped firing. Apparently it had jammed, as these things are unfortunately prone to. Jericho and his partner, Aaron Bard, immediately set to clearing the jam, but the Wendigo were already resuming their charge. Chaos would have surely reigned and destroyed these men, were it not for the brave attack of the second wave, led by Suno Kukau, the team of Albu. Conguians, Hunters and Vera dashed forward, weapons ready. Ward shouted for his men to cease fire, drew his sword and charged forward with them. The cannon crew went to abandon their post, but Ward commanded for the youngest, Obed Ulrich, to stay behind and be ready to unleash the

canister round if the monster got too close. Obed obeyed, and took the rifle off his shoulder, ready to support his men from a distance. Seeing her sister run for him from her sister run forward, Mila shot up from her position and slid down the hill. I called for her to stay in position, but my command fell on deaf ears. Vera was running straight for the Wendigo that had been pushed back by the cannonball, who was licking the wounds it had given itself. It noticed Vera's advance and stood up to give her the shout we were all familiar with. Reminding me of the ice in her blood, Vera didn't flinch and continued her fast pace as she grew closer to the beasts. She got nearly to the point blank range when she finally drew her shotgun and aimed it at the creature.

In one swift motion, the Wendigo grabbed the barrel of Vera's shotgun, pulled it as she fired, and delivered a powerful backhand that sent her to the ground. The beast cast her weapon aside as it moved forward, and would have pounced on her if Mila hadn't put a 45-slug in its false skull. It recoiled from the shot, and Myla delivered another shot, this one cracking the façade. As the shattered skull fell to its feet, the disfigured human skull shrieked the scary sound of dozens of voices. It turned to Mila again, and she met its frightening gaze with another bullet. The bullet passed cleanly through its temple, but the force still pushed the beast back. At this point Vera had reclaimed her shotgun, and her bullet had been a bit of her shotgun, and

began her originally intended approach. With the four remaining shots, she pushed the Wendigo back to the edge of the pits, Mela providing support with her Winchester. Her final shot caused the beast to stumble, and, being the hot-headed warrior she was, Vera had dashed forward with her shotgun raised and jammed the butt of it into the chest of this creature. That was the final blow, and it fell back and had most of its body impaled on the spikes below, including one that pierced what little remained of its head. Sunukukawa, two of Barry's hunters, and two of the Braves, had elected to engage the Wendigo

with a shrunken arm. The Braves, brothers Kemean Kichi, wielded short bows and engaged the Wendigo at a brief distance. The hunters, Michael Walker and Ramon Alvarez, used their guns in a similar manner. Sunukukau was far braver, opting to take on the beast at a close range.

He began his encounter by throwing a tomahawk at the beast, then charged forward to attack it using a spear. The tomahawk buried itself in the monster's belly, and Sunukau followed up by plunging his spear into the same spot. The beast responded by kicking the native square in the chest, knocking the man into Kemi. I hadn't noticed it, but it was around this time that Barry got up from our position and ran down to enter the frame. He ran past the other fighters towards the pits and recovered two of the bear traps they'd laid. With one of them in each hand, he ran back towards the fight Mika and Kitchie were handling on their own. Because Kichy was next to his brother, Kemi, when Sunukakawa was knocked into him, he was the next person in the Wendigo's line of sight.

The monster sprinted forward at him, and he continued to fire short-boat arrows into it. In an interesting manoeuvre, Kitchie. started running towards it as he fired arrows at it. I can't imagine what sort of bravery it takes to charge right at one of these things, with only a bow, but the move paid off. As the Wendigo leap forward, Kitchie slid to the ground feet forward. The unhealthy earth proved to be the perfect ground to execute this move as he slid right under the monstrosity's pounce. The Wendigo rolled a few times as a result of his unsuccessful strike, and the five attackers took this chance to fire upon the monster in earnest.

Unfortunately, Micah got too cocky. Wielding a repeater rifle, he steadily got closer to the things. He fired off shot after shot into its flesh. It was nearly upon the beast when his gun ran out of ammo. As if in a trance, Micah continued his advance, the clicking of the gun totally lost on him. It wasn't until the monster looked up at him that he realized his mistake. Mikeer attempted to turn his gun into a makeshift club, but by the time he gripped the barrel of his repeater, the beast had already jumped on him and began chewing out a large piece of his neck.

Ramon tried desperately to save his friend, pumping several rounds of his Remington into the monster's backside, but the beast was too enamoured with its catch to note the damage it was causing. Barry had finally arrived when the Wendigo had nearly eaten through the entirety of Micah's neck. Barry led out a frenzied yell, which caused the creature to turn and face him. Swinging one of the bear traps over his head, the way a medieval soldier might have ball and chain, Barry connected the contraption to the atrocity's human arm. The trap snapped right on the joint connecting the arm to the shoulder, and its arm fell off almost immediately after. The Wendigo dropped Mika and turned to attack Barry only to be run through by another of Sunoka Gow's spears.

It fell to its knees as it gripped the place in its stomach that now had three weapons protruding from it. Barry charged the thing one last time, slamming his second bear trap onto the thing's skull. The metal immediately closed in place, and the Wendigo's head rolled on the ground next to Micah's body. The warden his team engaged directly with the creature that had only one. human leg remaining. Like two days before, Ward was wielding his saber and pistol at close range with the fiend. His men, Nathan Potter and Samuel Harper, were offering long-range support, firing upon the thing with Springfield breech-loaders. Jed Goldberg, the hunter trained to sponge, the parrot rifle, was firing his long-barrel colt at the Wendigo from a similar range. Due to its

limited mobility, Ward had no issues ducking and dodging the wild swings it through. I had to give view of this fight, as I'd slid down the hill to fire upon this particular Wendigo. Again I find myself thinking of how poorly I thought of the man, and I was starting to think I may have been subconsciously envious of just how much of a talent this man had for war. Eventually, Ward's blade ended up embedded in the shoulder of this creature. Lacking a means to engage with this thing in close quarters combat, Ward retreated as he fired what remained in his pistol into the creature. in a movement almost too fast to believe,

that Wendigo charged Ward and pounced upon him, using its arms to subdue the man. Ward led out a cry, and I learned after the fight that this was because the weight of this thing had put upon him had broken his left shoulder. The beast went to take a bite out of Ward, like its friend had done to Miko, when Potter and Harper jammed their bayonets into the beast's chest.

The monster loosened its grip briefly, and probably would have plunged at the two soldiers had they not fired their weapons into their mube, cushion. The point-blank ranged, combined with the caliber of their guns, and the already weakened state of the beast, resulted in it falling backward with a roar. Jericho shouted for the men to get out of the way. Potter and Harper grabbed their captain quickly and moved out of the way just as Jericho began firing the gatling gun once again. Cranking the weapon furiously, Jericho peppered the flesh of the window, pushing it back towards the position Obed

held. The beast howled and hollered as its human leg was diminished into a loosely connected length of bone and sinew. The pain it felt must have been immeasurable, as it didn't notice the barrel of the parrot rifle as it was gently pressed into the back of its head. With an air of righteous fury, Obed yanked the cord and the Wendigo's head was reduced to a bloody stump. I had never seen a canist around be used in this manner for close-range combat, but but witnessing its devastating effects reminded me of the faith I held in the artillery unit I delighted myself with. Final Wendigo, the one with a sole patch of human skin on its shoulder, had witnessed the death of its peers by this point,

and opted to engage Marcus, who had run to the dynamite trap in an attempt to diagnose what had gone wrong and properly armed the explosives. Preoccupied with the nuances of dynamite, Marcus never stood a chance. as he was pulling the wires that were attached to the plunger out of the sticks, the Wendigo was upon him. He pulled his sidearm, but didn't even turn around before the beast had delivered two powerful slashes into his back. One of the other braves, Hassun, attempted to save Marcus using his knife. With an impressive jump, Hassan was on top of the monster, his knife finding its mark in the only human part that remains. The Wendigo squealed, and began spinning in circles in a circle.

an effort to get Hassan off his back. I believe Hassan may have maintained his position until the creature had died if it wasn't for the rock that it tripped on. Falling backward, Hassan was crushed under the Wendigo's weight, and, free of the only thing dealing damage to it, the monster began to claw at the already broken man. It was at this point that Marcus had regained some semblance of consciousness and took action. Pistol in hand, he pulled back the hand, he pulled back the hammer and aimed it directly at the bundle of dynamite at his feet. Some accounts swear that at this point Hassan nodded at Marcus with what remained of his strength. I personally cannot affirm this, but given that the Wendigo stopped tearing at Hassan and turned around to attack Marcus right before

the trio were destroyed, gives credence to the validity of this detail. The explosion rocked everything. Most of us were too preoccupied with stabbing or shooting the court. of the monsters we'd slain to notice the fate of Marcus and Hassan, but we all turned to face the blast immediately after it went off. Five sticks of dynamite had reduced our two companions and the monster they'd faced to a smouldering crater of ash, blood and bones. It took us a few minutes to gather our bearings after the fight. Nearly all parties involved had lost someone, and thus wished to mourn, if only briefly. Then I wasn't worried much about the casualties. if anything I felt blessed.

Out of nineteen men, only three had died and two were injured. I'd seen worse casualties in skirmishes against mortals with the odds in our favour, and given the strength of these Wendigo, the outcome was spectacular. Upon covering Micah's body, Vera gave medical attention to Warden Pritching.

Both men's injuries were purely internal, but the severity of the brakes rendered the attached limb as useless. Using the supplies, by the doctor of the town of prominence, Vera put ward's left arm in a sling and set Pritchard's knee before attaching splints to both sides. A left ward in his regiment to console each other, as I addressed the next order of business, saving the children. Myself, the sisters, the Algonquians and the hunters approached the massive mesa. Sizing it up, I said our best bet would be to have someone climb up and tie a rope to something inside,

so the rest of us could have an easier time scaling this rock. With Micah dead, Ramon was the only person remaining that had any special skills with a rope. He agreed to scale the cliff face and went to grab his rope. Well, had it all ended there, this account would have been much less bleak. I can't believe I didn't see the signs before. Seven children, but only six monsters.

Had I been paying attention, we might have been able to take on the final wind ago. Had I been paying attention, maybe those three would have been the only casualties that night. We were all sitting a considerable distance from Ramon when it happened. We were all still licking our wounds from the night before, some of us even cutting up, relieved it was all over, when we heard something hit the ground hard.

At first I thought Ramon might have fallen off the face of the mason. God, if only that were what had happened, things would be much easier to rectify. Oh, Ramon's body had been crushed under the weight of the Wendigo. Its clove and hooves had the circumference of dinner plates and were embedded in Ramon's body. The body of this evil entity was covered in a thin layer of black fur, barely hiding, tall, grey skin that was poured tightly over every muscle and bulk. The hands it had were small, but outstretched from them were five claws. Impossibly long, each one nearly the length of the beast's arm.

It stood at least a full head taller than the monsters we'd just defeated. Its head was that of a deer skull that had been left out in a Texan desert for several decades, bleached a shade of porcelain white I'd never seen before. In its dark eye sockets I could make out a tiny golden glow, one that I've been. would never have caught if I wasn't looking right at the creature. The glare it gave showed me this thing was fully transformed. It had no humanity to target. I never had a chance of bringing order to the incoming ordeal.

I shouted for everyone to fall back. Most of the men nearby were already doing so, running as fast as they could back to the place we'd skirmished before. One of the Algonquians, Ascouk, fired a longbow arrow at the monster. The arrow bounced off its flesh, and the Wendigo jumped on the poor native in a single bound. Asgook suffered the same fate as Ramon, crumpled underneath the immense weight of the fully transformed Wendigo. I can only take solace in the fact that both men died quickly. The next victim of the Wendigo was Kitchie.

He was one of the first deterred tail, but, unfortunately, in looking back at the thing, he neglected to watch for one of the remaining bear traps. His right foot was cleaved through cleanly, and he fell to the ground in agony. The rest of us were too preoccupied with saving ourselves to notice his blight. By the time the rest of us had reached the fleeting safety of the artillery encampments.

It was too late for Kitchie. In vain he attempted to stab the Wendigo with his knife as it approached, but the speed at which this thing acted was too much for any mortal man. It grabbed Kitchie by his unharmes. arm leg and chucked him with powerful force into the spike pit he was closest to. Again I can only feel good knowing Kichi died fast, as his cries of pain stopped immediately after he disappeared into the trap we'd made for the monsters. Watching three men die in less than a minute from only one of these creatures had me feeling

hopeless. My spirits were briefly restored when Ward had announced that they prepared the final cannonball while we were under attack. Remembering what had happened to the last Wendigo that faced the parrot rifle, I told Ward to only fire it when the damn thing was upon us. Godified, only reconsidered and had him fire as soon as they were ready, that might have been the end of it. The Wendigo bounded toward us at a speed comparable to a locomotive. Ward's cannon team remained steadfast, the only indicators of their fear being the sweat that rolled down their brows in the cold lifeless air. As the Wendigo came upon them, Obed Yanked the cord once again.

Before he'd even fully pulled his arm back, the Wendigo's arm came down on top of the cannon. The cannon bore fired, but it buried itself in the dead soil instead of the Wendigo's body. The parrot rifle became disconnected from its carriage. The Wendigo picked up the cast-iron piece of metal like a charmedite, a stick it found in the woods. The cannon grew was in complete disarray, which played right. into the monster's hands. Swinging the parrot rifle like it were a club, the Wendigo knocked Nathan Potter's head clean off his shoulders. As if it wasn't satisfied with the damage it had done, it delivered another blow to the place where Potter's head had once been, forming a sickening

divot between the man's shoulders. Samuel Harper, in a frenzied panic, ran at the beast with his bayoneted Springfield. The Wendigo disposed of Harper with a single back swing of the cannon, connecting with the left side of the man's body. The loud crack rang out as Harper's ribs and spine was smashed to pieces. His body went flying, landing close to where Ward's gatling gun was set up. Pritchett was the last meet his end, at the weapon that he manned. Seeing what the monster was doing to his friends, he attempted to run away as fast as his limp would allow.

The Wendigo must have sensed his fear, as it ignored Orbed, who was much closer, and instead opted to throw the parrot rifle right at Pritch. The way it was thrown was not unlike the way I'd seen Sunokawa throw his tomahawk early. Except here the end result was Randall's entire body being destroyed. Satisfied with what it had done to the fleeing man, the Wendigo turned its attention back to Obed. The poor young man was hurriedly backing away from the monster,

having been knocked down by what it did to his cannon. The Wendigo slowly marched towards him, taking deliberate steps as if Obed's fate was certain. The youngest man in Wars Battalion surely would have died if Ward himself had not stepped in. His sword having been annihilated by the canister fire earlier, Ward now only had his sidearm to contend with the beast. Nonetheless, this didn't stop him from taking a firm stance in front of his soldier. In a flash, Ward emptied all six rounds of his cult-fought. into the skull of the hunched beast. Now I cannot forget this detail,

as I remember wondering why the Wendigo still didn't retaliate against Ward immediately. The beast stood still, not so much as flinching as each bullet bounced off its skull. For a moment both Ward and the Wendigo stared at each other. The monster met out a sound not of this earth, but we all understood what it was trying to get across. It was laughing at Wards. Had it been any other man, I think they would have cried. Ward, being the man he was, he simply grimaced,

changed the grip of his pistol, so he was holding its barrel, and began to bludgeon the monster right where he'd been firing. Ward managed to get two hits in before the Wendigo responded. I like to think he got that many in because the monster was genuinely shocked that the man didn't have an ounce of fear in its presence. The Wendigo grabbed Ward, wrapping one hand up around his torso and the other his leg. legs. Slowly, the Wendigo began to pull. Over the course of about ten seconds, Ward's legs

were torn from his waist. All the while, War continued to beat the beast with the grip of his pistol. When his bottom half was removed from him, he was able to hit the beast with two more strikes before his arms fell limp, and life escaped him. Obed and Jericho screamed as they witnessed the loss of their beloved leader. The rest of us had began to fire upon the monster with the weapons we had. I looked to Sununkoukow, who showed me that he was preparing the sacred arrow to take down this horrid creature. As we fired what we had at the monster, I felt the flames of hope flare up within me. My trust in Sunanaka-Kow's arrow was the only thing that could kill this demon, keeping me from losing my mind. Vera and myself would return to our position

atop the hill, while the remaining survivors had taken a position near the Gatling gun. The Wendigo walked calmly towards the others, bullets bouncing off its hardened flesh-like pebbles. I saw Austin and Cacao, pull back his long bow and take careful aim. The firm resolve was reflected in his eyes, and I thought for sure that had been enough to destroy this creature. He released his bowstring, and the arrow travelled in its intended direction. Right as it neared the Wendigo skull, its right arm grabbed the arrow. Until then, I'd only seen this trick done at the circus, and never once thought anything that wasn't human

would be capable of something that required so much focus and dexterity. Casting the arrow aside lazily, the Wendigo approached them. I thought for sure it was going to tear them to shreds. Instead, it brought its hand to its skull, forming a fist as best it could with its lengthy claws. I heard a sound like a powerful gust of wind as a white, powdery dust shot out of its hands. The cloud hid every person in front of the Wendigo.

All of the people trapped within the cloud had their eyes glaze over immediately. Their pupils took the colour of a blind man, turning a pale, nearly imperceptible blue. They all stood in place completely immobile. Vera, fearing the fate of her sister, yelled as she ran down from our position. I yelled for her to come back, and when that didn't work, I ran after her. The Wendigo turned to face. as she ran after it.

Much like our earlier battle, Vera was unhindered in staring down this gargantuan beast. She fired a few shots from the hip as she got closer, the Wendigo barely registering the power behind her shots. With a growl, I didn't think a woman would be capable of rendering. Vera jammed the barrel of her shotgun under the moor of the Wendigo. It felt like I was watching the same encounter from earlier. Like the last time, the Wendigo grabbed the barrel of Vera's shotgun right as she pulled the trigger. moving it to the side of its head and avoiding the entirety of its firepower.

Vera attempted to put the gun back under the beast's head, but she had no chance of overpowering the monster. The Wendigo placed its other hand on Vera's shoulder, and with one pull, yanked her arm out of her shoulder. As Vera yelled and fell to her knees, the Wendigo carelessly cast aside her arm and shotgun and turned back around. I screened Vera's name as she clasped into the dust behind her. and drew the knuckle I had been given as I ran behind the Wendigel. It didn't acknowledge me at first, and that made me completely misunderstand the situation. Why did it need to be aware of my presence? I was the only one left standing out of a group of sixteen,

with this powerful demon having destroyed the rest of them without suffering a single scratch. My blind fury forbade me from thinking clearly, as I came upon the monster, I was unprepared for its giant forrum swinging into my body. Well, to say the wind was not out of me would be putting it lightly. I felt every last bit of air leave my lungs as I flew from the sky and ended up landing on one of our supply wagons. As the black corners of my vision began to dominate all that I could see, I saw the Wendigo pick up the survivors it had stunned under one arm, as if it were carrying a bundle of firewood. I reached doubts. No clue how I would save these people, let alone the children this evil had claimed,

before I fell into a suffocating darkness. September 20th, 1878. I'm afraid I became faint upon in recording how poorly my party performed against these monsters, or rather the one monster of a true Wendigo. Alas, that's all the more reason to resume my retelling of what took place that night. When I finally came to, I had to pull myself out of the wagon the Wendigo had chucked me into. It took me a while to gather my bearings, but by some miracle I hadn't been hurt beyond a handful of bruises and a small scratch on the back of my left leg, just above the ankle. When I was finally able to walk, I heard a soft groan. Turning towards the sound, I saw that Vera was dragging herself towards the mesa. I ran to her side as fast as I could in my dizzy state.

Vera was in a condition I'd only seen in the most grizzled of soldiers. She was in that place of mind where one's body is so damaged that pain isn't felt, and your purpose becomes singular. Here she was trying her damnedest to save her sister. I did my best to bring her to her senses. She ignored me for as long as she could before, with a sob she collapsed, crying softly. I propped her up to a nearby rock,

and at this point it occurred to me to check the time. My watch said it was nearly one in the morning, making this September 12th. The full moon was still high in the sky, giving me light with which to see Vera's wound. The hole in her shoulder where her arm once was continued to bleed profusely. Her already pallid complexion had gone a whole shade whiter. She couldn't hold her gaze in any one spot for too long. I'd seen the signs of this kind of manic delirium before, and worried for her survival. I went to get up, telling her I was going to fetch the medical supplies from the wagon

when she pulled me back down. She did her best to look directly into my eyes. Between the results of her injuries and her tears, it couldn't have been easy for her. But she was firm, as firm as she had been fighting the Wendigo, and spoke with conviction. Save my sister. Save those children. Don't let that bastard kill anyone else. A part of me wishes I hadn't listened to her. I'd broken away from her grip and given her medical treatment.

But a part of me knew that was futile. Plenty of people half her size have survived far more gruesome amputations. The problem wasn't the injury, but rather the place she'd sustained it. The land that boasted no life took all it could. And as she held my arm, I could see the little life she had left was draining from her body. I probably should have told her something, promised her that she'd make it out alive, but instead I just nodded. She gave me a small smiley, genuine one,

one that wasn't the result of a cocksure attitude or the choice she'd once taken in violence, but in the belief that somehow I would succeed where the rest of us had failed. When she let go of me, I told her to stay put, because I was going to prepare to go into the messer and take the demon down myself. She didn't respond,

but the heaving of her chest convinced me she was still alive. I turned and set out to get everything I may need to fight this Wendigo. First I grabbed what weapons lay around from the fight. The knuckle I'd been given was not too far from where I'd landed, and I put that into my pocket. My Sharp's rifle was right where I'd left it, so I slung it over my shoulder,

thinking I'd probably need another rifle if push came to Sharp. With that thought, I grabbed the bayoneted Springfield, Samuel Harper carried when he died. and put it on my other shoulder. The last thing I seized was Stung-Cowl's sacred arrow, holding firm in the belief that it would be the only way to defeat the Wendigo for shot. The remaining weapons, as useful as they may have been, I thought them too unwieldy,

especially if I was to be climbing up the messer. Raiding the remaining supplies, I got to a bit of gauze to bandage the light scratches I'd sustained. I took also a tincture of opium, and put it in my vest pocket next to my wife. watch, unsure of the condition that had befallen the captured men, and hoping it might help them come out of their strange state. I found the last stick of dynamite in a single short fuse, combining them and then stuffing the explosive into my back pocket. I lastly grabbed one of the remaining

long ropes, tying it around my waist. In a rush I quickly jotted down those quick ramblings for the day, worry that Langley might be resigned to the same fate as I, if I didn't get some cause for him not to pursue this matter any further. I came back to Vera, telling her I was going into the messa and to be ready with her shotgun in case that thing got out. I don't know a reply from her. Her eyes were closed and she was clutching something to her chest. When I went to open her hands, I found that it had gone cold. She died clutching a small book of matches. I put them in my pocket. Thanksful she had something I could use in my fight against this creature. I took her hat off the top of her head and covered her face. I said a quick prayer, one that I had said many times

on the battlefield for fallen soldiers. Speaking the word of God brought about a warmth from within, and it was there I had the idea to recite Bible passages aloud to guide me and hopefully offer divine protection from the otherworldly horror I was about to stand up against. Against my initial judgment. I grabbed various shotgun. I'd seen how the other Wendigo were forced to respond to the power this thing possessed, and the added bonus of five shots for them to contend with made me feel that much more confident in its power. I started walking towards the mesa, reciting the final chapter of Paul's letter to the Corinthians as I approached. Watch ye, stand fast in the faith. Quit you like men, and be strong. I began to scale the massive structure.

turning to the Psalms for aid as I moved up. The Lord is my lad and my salvation. Whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life. Of whom shall I be afraid? As I finally stood at the mouth of the cave that these foul monsters had spawned from, I spoke just above a whisper, giving myself the same advice King David gave to his son.

Be strong and of good courage, and do it. Fear not. nor be dismayed, for the law-guard, even my God, will be with thee. He will not fail thee, nor forsake thee, until thou hast finished all the work for the service of the house of the Lord. Here I noticed something unnatural. The air of the land below was tainted with the smell of death, of decay. I come to attribute this stench to the Wendigo. But here the air lacked any smell at all. No matter how deep of a breath I took, I couldn't pick up. even the slightest trace of anything in the air it worried me but again i turned to scripture and

recited the same verses i had on my way in vera's pump action in hand i went forward enveloped by the same darkness that had knocked me out wasn't in the dark for very long the interior of the cave walls were decorated with these strange crystals glistening with an eerie white glow that mimic the moonlight outside near them i could feel a strange hum resonating sounding like the sound made when you barely blow into a harmonica. There was only one path in the cave, and it led to an enormous chamber that I learned was nearly at the top and center of the mess. The chamber was bathed in the radiance of the full moon, courtesy of an opening at the top that

let light in. The place was in the shape of a shallow bowl, with bones and rocks littering the floors. At the center of the chamber lay the bodies of the seven that the Wendigo had captured. I ran to them as soon as I saw them. I thought it odd initially that these people would be left unattended with their weapons by their side still, and so I looked at their eyes. Mylers were the first I noticed. A once deep blue is now a pale, almost non-existent shade of the sky. The pupil was as white as the surrounding squarer.

When I waved my hands in front of them, they didn't respond. I'd seen this condition once before. when an untrained field medic could use gunpowder gorse to treat a head injury and ended up blinding the patient. Myler, like all the men surrounding her, still gripped her gun tightly. Their blank expressions concerned me, giving me the impression that whatever the Wendigo had hit them with had rendered them invalid. I took out the tincture of opium and brought it to Mila's lips. She remained unresponsive and the same held true for the others I tried to revive. I sat there for a minute, unsure of how to proceed.

From the whole above me I heard a falsetto chant. I immediately recognized the sound as the voices of children speaking in unison. I had to act fast if I were to save them, so, forsaking the fallen around me, I climbed the side of the cave and came upon the top of the mesa. Near the edge of it was a circle of children, four girls and three boys. They were linked hand in hand,

repeating the same thing over and over again. We offer our souls to make it whole. I drew closer, ever vigilant, keeping my eyes peeled for the beast that had knocked me out and cut our group in half. Nearly upon the children, I noticed their eyes bore the same condition as the people below. I tried to snap them out of their state,

but they simply continued to chant those same words over and over again. They attempted to pull them apart, but their grip was held strong. Lastly, I tried screaming at them, hoping the volume of my own voice might drown out their heads. Instead, I was answered with the cry of the Wendigo. I spun around to face it. It stood as tall as it could,

revealing itself to be twice my size. Its claws were out by its sides, fully extended and dragged along the rocky surface of the messer to create a scratching sound. I felt the power of those damned eyes bore into the air. my very soul. For a moment I was frozen, shaken to my core at the power of this monster wielded, and my own foolishness in thinking I could fight it. That thought held a place in my mind for several seconds, weighing me down and nearly bringing me to my knees. But then the monster made

the noise it did when Ward had attacked it, that strange sound completely indiscernible from human laughter, yet bearing the same attitude of a madman having his evil plans fully realised. In a flash, my resolve was strengthened. I let loose a quick prayer, asking God to help me kill this demon, and then ran forward. The Wendigo answered my charge with one of its own, diving forward with its claws fully extended. I would have met my end then and there had I not ducked in the nick of time. As the Wendigo passed over me, it attempted to claw at me, digging its blade-like fingers into the ground near me. I popped up from my position after it had flown over me, and began pumping shotgun blasts into it.

My plan was to shoot this thing off the cliff. I figured since we were able to kill one of these things by smashing it, surely I could kill another by making it fall a great distance. The shotgun didn't have much of an effect on it until I dared to get closer. The shots served a dual purpose, knocking the creature into the position I wanted it, and throwing the direction of its swings off course. I felt as if I was channeling a ward spirit in that moment. by some spectacular act of dexterity, I was able to avoid every single attempt the Wendigo made on my life.

Remembering the limited capacity of the shotgun, I pumped it for the last time and threw it into my left hand. It was a difficult maneuver, but I managed to fire off the final round of the shotgun while simultaneously pulling my sharps rifle off my shoulder. The last shot was fired square into the creature's chest, and I felt hopeful to my odds of ending this thing's life, because we were nearly at the end of the mesa and son. or the buck-shock was embedded in its chest. My first mistake was thinking the stopping power of my Sharps' rifle to be equivalent to the sheer force the shotgun had offered. I cast Vera's shotgun aside as I jammed the barrel of my rifle into the Windigo's chest and fire it. I knew I'd made a mistake when the end of my rifle just barely entered the hole the bullet had created and the Wendigo would not move from its position.

I let go of my sharps and grab my knuckle just as the Wendigo pick me up with a single hand. It brought me close to its face. I saw the golden glow that made up its eyes. I could tell the thing was sizing me up, deciding what to do with me. Once I registered that I was feeling an emotion from this thing. I was struck by an idea. Perhaps these gold orbs were a weak spot. At the range I was, hitting the thing in the eyes would be a breeze. decided in my path I raised the knuckler and fired it right into the wengo's right eye sockets. No, it sounds crazy, even for the type of story I've been telling up to this point, but I swear it was like I'd shot my gun into the sky or something.

There was no sound after I'd shot, no wet slaps of organs being reduced to liquid or hard cracks of bone being shattered. It was like the eyes of this creature held a void that consumed everything that came into contact with them. including the 41-caliber bullet I'd just fired. In that moment I felt truly lost, and that would have surely been my death, had I not caught the mark in the middle of its forehead. I must have initially glossed over the detail

because of the circumstance, but between its eye-sockets there was a nearly imperceptible demarcation in the perfectly white skull. At first I thought it to be some kind of demonic symbol, but then I remembered war to standoff against the thing. His bullets had done some. something after all. He hadn't killed the monster, but maybe he'd created the chink in its armour

I needed to defeat it. I took aim once again and fired upon the spot ward had made. The first shot simply bounced off, as did the second, the third and the final one. Again the Wendigo led out that strange sound that somehow was supposed to pass for a laugh. Clinging on to the last desperate bit of hope that still flared within, I gripped the knuckler as the gunsmith had shown me to turn it into an improvised brass knuckle. I punched the spot dead in the centre. I felt no give in the thing's skull and began to feel it tighten its grip on me. With the last breath I could give, I wound up and hit it again.

I felt a crunch. I might have heard it as well, but I can only be sure that I felt the smallest of fractures occur as my fist was coming away from the skull. I'm also sure that I felt the way. when to go stop its squeezing. Our eyes met for a second. I had to act now if I was to survive. A furious, airy cry left my lips as I hit the monster with all my mind.

I was flung from its arms as something akin to a very strong gust of wind flying from the hole I created in its face, not me free. After rolling a couple of times, I ended up on my hands and knees. I turned to face the monster, which was now letting out shrieks, not unlike the ones, it's relative did right before we dropped a pine on it. It was clutching its forehead with both hands, stumbling about dangerously close to the edge of the mess. I smiled as I took the bayoneted Springfield off my shoulder. If I could charge it, bury the blade in its body and push it off. The Wendigo would be no more. With a Yankee holler, I firmly gripped the Springfield and ran as fast as I could at the creature. And that would have been the end of the beast, if it hadn't formed a fist,

in front of its face and blew that mysterious powder into my face. Immediately I was sucked out of the fight with the Wendigo and transported to a world of nothing but a burning bright white. I floated about this place for what seemed like a couple minutes before I was brought out of it by a cold, hard slap to the face. I was now in my child at home in Massachusetts, standing in the living room at the ripe old age of ten years old. My mother's on the floor, her face red with both tears,

my father's handprints. My father towers above me, alcohol and his breath and insanity in his eyes. And he tells me my silence about what he'd just done is absolutely necessary, lest he loses university job. He raises his voice to levels that cause my ears to ring. I'm only able to nod my head in terrified agreement. In my mind, I swear that I'll never be the man he is. suddenly I'm in the state of Louisiana with Langley, Howard, Billy and Benjamin, wearing my full Union uniform. We're speaking of how fortunate we were to survive the fight at Mansfield and retreat to Pleasant Hill when suddenly cannon fire broke out. We stood up from our camps just in time to see rebels charging in on horseback attacking everything they could.

Langley and myself hurried to take cover, but Howard, Billy and Benjamin all died at the ends of Confederate blades. I'm forced to look upon little Billy, a boy no older than fifteen from Iowa, as he struggles to breathe through the gash in his throat. Then I was transported to the outside of Potter's mill. I was one of four Pinkerton's hired to break up the union that had formed. To set an example, the other three had captured the family of the man who'd organized the union in the first place. He and his wife, his two sons, and his four-year-old daughter were pressed against the

wall of the mill. daughter makes eye contact with me and i know i wouldn't be able to follow through with what the other three had planned i turn away as they begin shooting walking then running as far as i can from the place her innocent pleading expression is burned into my mind and i spend the night staring at the ceiling of my room at the local inn seeing only her face lastly i was standing over esperanza as she hit the ground i had just struck her after a heated discussion about how distant i'd been since the incident at Potter's Mill. She looks up at me from her position on the floor, the tears and terror in her eyes exactly the same as they were in my mother's all those years ago. I turned tail

yet again, not saying a word, not grabbing any of my things as I leave her house, get on my horse, and never come back. Over and over and over again I relived the worst parts of my life. With the first few cycles I was myself, playing out my role in my memory. But then my perspectives began to change. I became my father, my mother, Billy, the grey that killed Howard, one of the Pinkerton's I worked with, the little girl, her father, and Esperanza. Each new telling of the memory brought about a different view of the event, and I felt their pain as they felt it. I was slapped, shocked, and cut to pieces more times than I can care to recall. Eventually I completely forgot about the Wendigo and found myself begging for forgiveness from all the people I'd wronged.

For my mother for not speaking out about my father's abuse, from my fellow soldiers for not taking arms at their side, from the little girl, for not saving her from the Pinkertons, and from Esperanza for not sharing with her, would have turned me into such an empty shell of a man, for breaking my childhood promise to not become the evil person my father was. No matter how much I begged, they never responded, and I was forced to see their horrible fate repeated more times than they, or I deserved. was spiraling downward into complete insanity I was doomed to die here that's when I heard the sweet sound of my salvation the first the first but soon the memories that had threatened to shatter my mind dissipated to make way for the music soon the simple chimes of the music box were replaced with soft deliberate piano notes and in time those were accompanied by a comforting voice I knew all too well First I see Esperanza singing and playing the piano as she sings to the congregation I grew up with.

And then in the church she spent her childhood going to on Sunday, her voice just as honeyed as it was in my own church. We're then in a bar on our journey across states, with only me, her, and the bartender in attendance. She serenades to me gently with a joy that only a woman in love could possess. When she's done singing, she rests her head on my shoulder. I hold her like I did back when she was in love with me and I begin to cry, telling her how sorry I was for abandoning her and for my bullheadedness that led to me keeping the pain I'd internalize from the traumas of my life away from her. She returns my embrace and says nothing, just rubs her hands on my back as I continued to weep. I don't know how long I cried for, but she stayed by my side the whole time. But instead back on top of the messer with the Wendigo towering above me.

I fell backward just as it swung its great arm at me, experiencing once again a close encounter with these creature's claws. I raised my arms in preparation of the second strike, knowing I stood no chance of backpedaling my way out of this one. The Wendigo raised its other hand behind its head. A loud bang suddenly rang out, and the hole in its forehead grew a tiny bit bigger as it staggered back. Myler and the others had been brought out to the same state I experienced by the opium.

I'd given them. Their accounts are mixed as to how well it worked, though I understand those that had been slow to awaken were stirred to consciousness by Barry's shaking. Myler had fired the shot that saved my life. I got to my feet and retreated back to the men as the Wendigo flailed in pain. Back in the saddle I ordered everyone with guns to aim for the hole in its head. Barry, Chet, Kemi and Mila all obeyed, unleashing a hailstone of bullets that this once invincible demon was struggling to contend with.

The Wendigo had resumed covering his wound with one of its massive hands, stumbling as it attempted to make its way toward us. I came to Suna Kaka-Kaua's side, presenting to him the sacred arrow he'd tried to use before. As I handed it to him, he expressed concerned about his ability to hit the thing once again. I told him that all we needed to do was wait for an opening we could hit it right in the hole that had been created. We bickered briefly over how that might be accomplished, when Barry yelled for us to be ready

when he attacked. The giant hunter waited for no reply from either of us, and stealthily as a mountain of a man could while running, went to the other side of the cliff. I had no clue what Barry's attack would be, but at that point I was suddenly struck with an idea. I quickly pulled out the stick of dynamites and the gauze and told Sunukukau to give me the arrow back. As I attached the explosive to the sacred weapon, I told him that even if he didn't hit the monster, that it would have a harder time attacking us with only one arm. He nodded and took the arrow from me when I'd finish my work. The Wendigo was nearly upon us when Barry acted.

With the bellow of a wildman, Barry jumped onto the Wendigo's back, wrapping one massive arm around its neck. Barry began to stab it repeatedly with a large hunting knife. The blade barely broke skin, but the strikes combined with Barry's weight caused the Wendigo to claw blindly at the man on his back, taking the hand off its forehead to do so. As Sunaka Cow drew his arrow, I took out of Vera's matches and lit the fuse on the dynamites. The Algonquian warrior exhaled deeply as he watched the Wendigo fight against the attacker on its back. Then let the arrow loose. The arrow sailed swiftly in the air, finding its mark in the centre of the Wendigo's skull. I shouted, for Barry to get down and saw the man drops the ground near the Wendigo's feet.

The monster wailed grievously, falling to its knees and putting its hand on the floor of the mesa. It went to pluck the arrow out of its skull, when the dynamite went off. The bleached white skull was no more. The head of this beast now reduced to an empty crater sitting atop-taught callabunds. The Wendigo stayed in that position for a few moments before finally falling forward. I breathed a sigh of relief. The monster was defeated, the children were safe. I turned to Sina Kaka-owl to congratulate him on his shot,

when I felt a strange pinching sensation in my ankle. Then everything went black. I remember briefly waking once, shooting up and screaming out in pain before clapsing back into unconsciousness. When I finally came back, it had been a week since we'd all faced off against the Wendigo. I hadn't realised it, but at some point during my fight with the monster,

I'd sustained a scratch from one of its claws near the front of my left ankle. Perhaps if I'd been fighting an ordinary creature, it wouldn't have amounted to much, but the Wendigo's natural appetite for decay spurred an infection unlike any other to take place. Sunukau and the others acted fast to save me. After they'd taken me and the children off the mesa,

they used the bone sore the doctor had sent us to amputate my leg about half a foot below my knee, courtrising the wound with Kimme's Tomahawk after heating it. Despite the circumstances, they managed to bring me and the children back to town without incident. The last man to die in the fight against the Wendigo was Barry. I'm told the injuries he sustained were so bad that he was dead before he hit the ground. I can't imagine anyone other than Barry could have held on for as long as he did, and I, along with many others, owe my life to his sacrifice.

Chet tells me that sort of thing was in his nature. Both the brashness that would require jumping on the back of such an other-worldly monster and the will to hold on when his natural strength was beginning to fail. Myler found my watch on the top of the mesa, not too far from the edge. She found it because it had been playing music at the time. My watch must have become disconnected from my chain during the fight with the Wendigo, falling out of my pocket when I was suddenly stopped in my tracks by the mysterious powder the beast used to keep us in place.

The music it plays has become a year. even more meaningful to me now, a genuine hymn of salvation. Obed and Jericho left town a few hours ago, as they were ordered to report the incident in its entirety to Washington. Sunukukau and Kemi parted ways where we first met them, needing to return to their tribe with the chief's daughter. Kemi, one of the sons of the shaman, gave me a blessing that I wasn't conscious to thank him for,

and we haven't heard from them since. Chet and Myla stuck around, helping me complete this account and ensuring its accuracy. Both of them remain in town, uncertain of where to go. Myla is especially disheartened at the death of her sister. I tell her I don't have much, but if she ever needs anything, I'd be more than happy to come to her aid, as both her and her sister saved my life. It doesn't console her, but I hope she'll know that my offer is good, should she ever need a helping hand. I am currently boarded in the second floor of the Prime.

prominent saloon in the nicest room they could give me. Langley came to see me as soon as he heard I was awake. Yesterday I wasn't too courteous since I was preoccupied with completing my journal. Today I was a much more gracious host and spent a good while talking with him. He brought crutches with him today, courtesy of the town doctor and carpenter, telling me that they'll fashion a wooden leg for me when the wound at the bottom of my leg heals. He was near tears as he told. He was near tears as he me how much he appreciated the help I gave him. I tried to play it off as a favour I was happy to carry out, but he doesn't have any of it. He tells me that he's sorry about my missing leg, and he'll keep me in town for as long as I need to be here, food and bored paid for.

He tells me that because of the selflessness of myself and the others sent on this mission. He'd be around to raise his son. I ask him what he named the boy, and wouldn't you know it, he named him Alexander. I tell him it's not in good taste to name your kid after your friends, and we share a laugh. After a brief bout of small talk, come on! After a brief bout of small talk,

I tell Langley that if he really wants to thank me for my services, that he'll burn the letter I gave him. I tell him that I need to go see Esperanza myself and apologize to her for what I did as soon as I can move. He tells me he's sorry, as I won't heal for another couple of weeks and probably won't be horse-ready for at least three months. I tell him I'll be leaving sooner when he cuts me off,

telling me he's also sorry for having sent a man to deliver the letter on his behalf as soon as I left for the expedition. The man who had given me Langley's letter two weeks ago today, Rusty Jacobs relished any and every opportunity he was offered to relive the days of the Pony Express, and had not only gotten the letter delivered to Esperanza, but managed to pick her up as well. As soon as these words left his mouth, as if on cue, I heard the first notes of rescue the

perishing playing softly from downstairs. With a smile Langley told me to take my time and left my room. I cannot stop grinning as I write this. I don't know what kind of apology I'd need to offer to earn her forgiveness, but as God is my witness, I will do whatever it takes. I have passed the test God put before me and been rewarded with the same. the second chance for my efforts. I'm no job, but then again, I don't need twice as much in return for enduring and proving my faith. All I need is my Esperanza. And so once again,

we reach the end of tonight's podcast. My thanks as always to the authors of those wonderful stories and to you for taking the time to listen. Now, I'd ask one small favor of you. Wherever you get your podcast from, please write a few nice words. and leave a five-star review as it really helps the podcast. That's it for this week, but I'll be back again same time, same place, and I do so hope you'll join me once more. Until next time, sweet dreams and bye-bye.