HomeMy parents bought the house on April Fools Day. It was something of a running joke: should have known, Dad would say, tightening yet another leaking faucet. It was a sign, Mom said, staring down a nest of carpenter wasps. In truth, they were never lucky with dates. Got married on D-Day, had a kid on Thanksgiving. JFK was assassinated on my Dad’s birthday; Brenda Ann Spencer went on her killing spree on my Mom’s. Holidays were always a touchy thing.More Like This
My second birthday was spent in the new house—a gorgeous, rambling affair in the heart of what had been a boom town during the years of the Erie Canal, and was now just a sleepy commuter village. They’d lived in consistently horrible neighborhoods up to that point. Dad had been mugged a block from their first apartment. A neighbor had been brutally beaten and robbed near their second. My Mom would recall with wonder the first week they moved int
wendigo.More Like This
All cultures in which the Wendigo myth appeared shared the belief that human beings could turn into Wendigos if they ever resorted to cannibalism or, alternately, become possessed by the demonic spirit of a Wendigo, often in a dream. Once transformed, a person would become violent and obsessed with eating human flesh. The most frequent cause of transformation into a Wendigo was if a person had resorted to cannibalism, consuming the body of another human in order to keep from starving to death during a time of extreme hardship or famine.
It's been weeks. Weeks. It is all I can do to stare up into the canopy of the tent. I cannot even begin to try and move from the sleeping bag. I turn my head to the left to assess her condition. She is far worse off than I. Her hips have become bone, hard, thick cat ears jutting from her waist. Her sweater and blankets cover most of her body, though I know that
WendigoSlush flew around the car in brown chunks as the wheels spun. The little black sedan rocked back and forth tentatively before sinking back into the bank. Sarah rested her head against the steering wheel and started to cry.More Like This
"How Goddamned stupid am I?" she whispered to the dashboard. It was stupid, really. Most normal people would have taken one look out there window that morning and went back to bed. Sarah liked winter, really; even blizzards like these are kind of fun if you don't need to be anywhere. But Sarah had to be somewhere that day.
She pulled on her gloves and braced for the cold. The wind snagged the door out of her hands and yanked it open. The bank was deep, easily four feet, and it stretched the whole length of road. Dusty snow swept across the road and erased the landscape all around.
Now came the real dilemma; whether to stay with the sedan and wait for the emergency crew to eventually find her, or to walk to the Stop-n'-Go. It was a short walk, even in a blizzard. It c