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Wendigo (short story) [HHWC]

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posted on Sep, 2 2010 @ 01:58 AM

Ron Sturgeon felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Somebody was watching him. He turned around and scanned the room. The bar was half full. None of the regulars were looking at him. Some were lost in conversation. Others sat staring into their drinks. Then, he saw him; across the room. The man was there again, staring. He’d been coming in for the past week. Every day it was the same. Before, whenever the man saw that he’d been caught, he’d gotten up and left. The man looked to be about fifty. Lines bracketed his nose and mouth. He had shoulder-length salt and pepper hair. An aura of loss and defeat surrounded him. He looked familiar somehow, but Ron couldn’t place him. This had got to stop, though. Ron was about to go over and see what the problem was, when the man got up and came over to his table. He wore a faded blue work shirt and jeans. His boots were scuffed.
“You got a problem, man?”
“Are you Ron? Ron Sturgeon? Mary Sturgeon’s son?”
“So what if I am. Who the hell are…” Then the realization hit him. He knew who the guy was. His father. Walter Sturgeon had walked out of Ron and his sister and mother‘s life fifteen years ago. “Why you son of a bitch!” His voice trembled with emotion. He must have yelled because people at the surrounding tables turned and looked.
His father took a step back. “I’ve been looking for you for a couple of years now. I tried finding your mom first but-”
“She’s dead-as if you cared. She died of breast cancer two years ago. So, why is it so important to get in touch with me, after you left us? We weren’t important to you then. Do you even have any idea how hard it was for her to make ends meet? You broke her heart, you-” He had to stop. He noticed that his voice was rising again. He felt like his head was going to explode.
“I guess I deserved that. No. I know I do. But you have to understand…I did it to protect you and your sister.”


Title edit - contest entry

[edit on 5/9/10 by masqua]

posted on Sep, 2 2010 @ 02:00 AM
reply to post by Skid Mark


“Yeah, right. From what? You hurt us more than you-”
“Have you ever heard of the wendigo?”
Ron was on his feet before he knew it. “Oh no you don’t. You’re not going to blame what you did on a stupid myth. I’m out of here.” He turned and stormed to the door.
“Have you been having the dreams?”
That stopped Ron cold. How could he know about that? He’d been having the most horrible dreams for the past month. “How-How did you know?”
“I had them too, before I left. I started having these…urges. I knew that I had to leave when I started sleep walking. I woke up one time standing next to Samantha’s bed with a knife in my hand. I left that night.”
This was too much. Ron was actually starting to believe him. He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again, unable to decide what to say.
“I know you’re stunned seeing me after all this time, and what I just told you must’ve thrown you for a loop. How about you think on it tonight, and I’ll meet you here tomorrow.”
“Yeah. Sure. Okay,” Ron said nodding.
Walt walked past him and out the door.

Ron’s head was pounding as he walked home. He didn’t know what to think. First, there was the shock of seeing his dad after so long. A part of him had wondered if it had been his fault that he’d left. He’d even blamed his mom for a while. He’d wanted so much to confront that man for all the harm he’d done. His mother’s depression, the strain that his absence had on the family, his mom running herself ragged in order to make ends meet. They’d both suffered so much. Then, there were the dreams. They were horrible. They were always the same. First, he kills the baby and starts to eat her. Then, he chases his wife and son through the house to do the same to them.

posted on Sep, 2 2010 @ 02:06 AM
reply to post by Skid Mark

Wendigo CTD

The lights were still on when he got home. Vicky was on the couch watching television.
“Hon, where’ve you been?” she called when he came through the door.
“I had a lot to think about so I took a walk.”
“Is everything alright?”
“I saw my dad tonight. It messed with my head.”
Vicky came to him and wrapped him in her arms. “I bet. He’s been gone for so long. Do you want to have him over for dinner?”
“I don’t know. I think I’d like to get to know him more first.” He didn’t know why he was reluctant to have his dad know where he lived. It just seemed…dangerous.
“So, are you going to see him again?”
“Yeah. We’re going to meet tomorrow. Look, I’m really beat. I’m going to go to bed.”
“Okay. I’ll be in after a while.”
Ron walked down the hall and stopped outside Sarah’s door and looked in. He walked up to her crib and bent over to give her a kiss. He had a strong urge to bite her cheek. What the hell is wrong with me? He staggered out of the room and went to bed.

posted on Sep, 2 2010 @ 02:07 AM
reply to post by Skid Mark

“Alright. Tell me what’s going on. The dreams are getting worse, and I almost bit my daughter last night.”
They were in the bar again, sitting in a booth at the back.
“First, what do you know about wendigo?”
“They’re from an Algonquin legend. Something like a fifteen foot giant that eats people. What’s that got to do with anything?”
Walt was shaking his head. “It’s hard to explain. Just let me do it my own way. Okay, now, first, that’s not all that’s to the legend. People can turn into wendigos, too-if they’re greedy enough. Also, wendigos eat human flesh. You got that part right. Now, what do you know about our family?”
“Mom always said that we’re Ojibway from Michigan.”
“Yep. We are. I’ve been doing some research, looking into the family tree, talking to people, trying to find out what this is all about.
“Here’s what I learned: Back in the early 1800’s, your great, great grandfather, Ronald Jameson (that was the name the white man gave him) had something to do with our people losing their land. He wanted power. He saw all that the whites had and he wanted that, too. “
“So, you’re telling me that he helped them steal the land? Wait. His last name was Jameson?”
“Yeah. I’ll get to that. Anyway, what he did was cause a massacre. I’m not sure how many people died or what happened. All I know is that in the end, he ended up being shipped off to Oklahoma with all the rest. They ended up screwing him, too. Now, here’s where the wendigo comes in. I got all this from old diaries and newspaper clippings. A couple years after they reached Oklahoma, Robert murdered his family and ate them. Your great grandpa managed to escape. When the rest of the village found out, they killed him. Justice, your great grandfather was raised by his uncle. Ten years later, the same thing happened to him. It’s been like that with every generation. I thought I’d broken the cycle by leaving. Now, I see that it hasn’t.” Walt frowned and ran a hand down his face. "Now, I have to tell you about your grandpa…my dad. I woke up to the sound of screaming one night…”

[edit on 2-9-2010 by Skid Mark]

posted on Sep, 2 2010 @ 02:08 AM
Young Walt hears a scream, then another. It sounds like his mother.
“What did you do? My God, Charles what did you do?”
Walt gets out of bed and pads down the hall to see what’s happening. He’s scared, but the horror in his mother’s voice propels him onward. The commotion is coming from his sister, Maggie’s room. He steps to the doorway and peers in; wishes he hadn’t. Maggie is laying on the floor like a broken doll. Walt has never seen a dead body but he’d always heard that they looked like they were sleeping. Maggie doesn’t look like she’s sleeping. She looks like the dead animals he’s seen on the side of the road. Her guts have been torn out and are stretched across the floor. Her throat looks like a gaping hole. He hears something growling and manages to tear his eyes away from his sister’s body , only to see something even worse. Dad has been turned into a monster. Gore covers his mouth and strings of flesh hang from between long yellow teeth. His cheeks have sunken in and his eyes are hollow looking, glittering deep inside dark caves. He looks like he’s been starved. Dad has mom by the neck and is choking her. She lifts her arm and claws the side of his face. Dad screams and staggers back, letting go of her. She turns toward the door to run and sees Walt standing there in shock.
“Run, baby! Run!” Those are the last words that she ever speaks to him. Dad grabs her by her hair and yanks her head back. He buries his face in her throat. Her gurgling scream breaks through Walt’s paralysis. He turns and runs down the stairs.
“Come back here you little #! Come back and take your medicine!” His father’s voice has become a grating roar. It sounds close. Walt manages to get down the stairs without falling and runs into the living room. His eyes lock on the glass rifle case standing in the corner . He takes the poker from the fireplace and smashes it through the glass. He doesn’t feel it cutting into his feet as he reaches in and removes the revolver from the bottom shelf. He made it just in time. A hand grabs him by the shoulder and turns him around. Walt brings the gun up and presses it into his father’s side. He squeezes the trigger until all six cylinders are empty. He doesn’t know how long he stands there dry firing the weapon.

posted on Sep, 2 2010 @ 02:09 AM
reply to post by Skid Mark

“The neighbors heard the shots and called the police. I was put into foster care until the Sturgeons adopted me. We moved from Oklahoma to Indiana that year. They thought that it would be best if I grew up in another state. That way, I could start new and the kids at school wouldn’t make my life hell by dredging up all those memories.”
Ron sat for a moment, letting it all sink in. It was so horrible. “How-That’s so…I don’t know what to say. How did you get through it?”
“I had to. I couldn’t let it destroy me. I had nightmares for years. They finally went away after a while. That is until I started dreaming of killing you kids and your mom.”
“Did she know about what happened?”
Walt shook his head. “No. I never told her. I just wanted to forget it.”
“So, what do we do now?”
“I think I found a way to beat it. Let’s go to my place and I’ll show you.”

They walked four blocks to Walt’s house in silence. It was the middle of December and their breath smoked out of their mouths and nostrils. Walt led the way to a blue town house and unlocked the door, holding it open and followed Ron inside.
“Why don’t you have a seat. I’ll go get us some coffee.”
Ron sat and Walt went down the hall, into the kitchen.
“What did you find,” Ron asked when he came back.
Walt picked a book up off the coffee table and held it out to him. “It’s all in here. Go ahead and read it. I’ll go see if the coffee’s done yet.”
Ron sat, absorbed in the book. Walt went to the kitchen and filled two cups, adding sugar and creamer to one. “Do you want cream and sugar?”
Walt added cream and sugar to the other, then pulled a brown pill bottle from his pocket.

They sat and drank their coffee while Ron read. Walt excused himself, saying that he had to use the restroom. The room seemed to grow colder while he was gone.
What did he do? Turn off the heat?
“You know, I’ve been waiting for this for so long.”
Ron looked up at the sound of his father’s voice. It sounded different. He’d changed since he’d left the room. Walt’s cheek bones looked sunken and his eyes stared out from deep sockets. He looked like an inmate from a concentration camp that he’d seen in a picture once. His black lips peeled back from long yellow teeth. Ron tried to get up and the room spun. He made it to his feet and collapsed to the floor. He’d been drugged.
“You’ve always been a good boy. So good. I’m so hungry!”
Ron blinked and tried to clear his head. The room was growing dark. “What…” He never finished the sentence. The room gave one last spin. Darkness claimed him.
Walter Sturgeon began to eat.

posted on Sep, 2 2010 @ 03:05 AM
Awesome I'm hooked

You should write more

Refreshingly original

posted on Sep, 2 2010 @ 03:27 AM
Holy *Snip*, i knew i had a bad feeling when his father took out the medicen bottle, only i thought that after he had his coffee, his father wouldve shot him. Not eat him, great story 5/5

posted on Sep, 2 2010 @ 03:53 AM
Your story was very suitable...entirely enjoyable, and no blemishes...And short too, short is a good trick of its own...

posted on Sep, 2 2010 @ 04:17 AM
Thanks for reading and the comments.

posted on Sep, 2 2010 @ 08:39 AM
Loved it, keep up the good work. It would have made a great "Night Gallery" episode.

posted on Sep, 9 2010 @ 07:27 PM
Great story !

I did not see that coming at all, excellent work!


posted on Oct, 3 2010 @ 07:45 PM
Ok S@F for you, I am sitting here with my 10 year old son reading for his weekly reading minutes and sharing each paragraph.

Well, both of our eyes met
at the end of the story and my son had one thing to say...

"Come on please tell more of the story!"

Ya got me!

edit on 3-10-2010 by antar because: (no reason given)

posted on Oct, 28 2010 @ 03:26 PM
reply to post by antar

Sorry, that's all there is to the story. I hope that didn't give him nightmares.

posted on Nov, 12 2010 @ 05:32 AM
this is my favourite story from the comp
I like your style


posted on Nov, 13 2010 @ 01:25 PM
reply to post by B.Morrison

Thanks. It was fun to write. I'm glad you enjoyed it.

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