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Tom Fiddler sent Jericho off so that he could face the Wendigo. The wind spirit had claimed its last victim as far as Fiddler was concerned. Survival would be a bonus.
He had no idea how he was going tell his daughter, Angela, her only son was dead. He couldn't explain how it happened either. She wouldn't believe it. No one did anymore. That's why it could still feed out in the wilderness without repercussions. Imagine if the field mouse refused to believe in the hawk. It wouldn't change the ending very much, but if the mouse knows it's being hunted, it has a chance. If only that damn boy learned to listen.
Jericho did listen. He heard The Whisper out here. The fact that he was strong enough to ignore it made Fiddler believe even more that Jericho was the right man for this job. Fiddler couldn't say whether or not Jericho was really a believer, but he believed enough. Not blind faith, but enough to keep him on his toes. A man on his toes stays alive. The same way old Tom Fiddler did in that Vietnamese jungle.
BBBBBBRRRRRRRRAAAAAAEEEEEEWWWWWWWW
"On the wind cries the Wendigo. One last time."
The woods were thick and dark. Fiddler's fire lit enough of the surroundings to see about twenty feet in front of him. Not nearly far enough. It was coming. There was no reason for him to keep walking. He knew that monster could smell him.
Old Tom sniffed the sour air.
"Come on out, you son of a bitch."
CHIK CHIK
Fiddler held the gun in one hand and the torch in the other. The woods stayed silent.
"I can hear you breathing, you smelly bastard."
He couldn't, but the Wendigo didn't need to know.
BBBBBBRRRRRRRRAAAAAAEEEEEEWWWWWWWW
The creature emerged from the darkness. Tom Fiddler dropped the torch and raised the shotgun. The Wendigo pounced. The downed torch highlighted just enough of the creature to give Fiddler a place to aim.
BOOOOM
The Wendigo kept coming.
CHIK CHIK
BOOOOM
Still, the Wendigo drew near. The low burning fire illuminated the tall creature with its gangly arms and broad shoulders. Fiddler's eyes locked onto its jagged yellow teeth and he took aim.
CHIK CHIK
BOOOOM
This time he hit the creature in the chest. It dropped to the icy ground. Fiddler didn't move from his spot.
CHIK CHIK
"I'm not that stupid."
It wanted Fiddler to come close. It wanted him to lean in and investigate. The buckshot burned the monster's chest. But Tom Fiddler had seen his fair share of Wendigos throughout his lifetime. He knew better than to get any closer. Now would be a good time for Mr. Jericho and the silver dagger to come in and finish the job.
The Wendigo rolled back to his front, making a sound that Tom Fiddler swore was a laugh. Blood dripped from the demon's chest. In the center was a bloody cluster of small flesh wounds.
"Jericho!" Fiddler screamed, raising the shotgun again.
Baring its flaxen teeth, the Wendigo stood tall. Even from this distance, it towered over Fiddler.
BBBBBBRRRRRRRRAAAAAAEEEEEEWWWWWWWW
Fiddler raised the shotgun, but this time, he didn't get the chance to pull the trigger. The Wendigo's serrated talons tore through Fiddler's face.
"Ahhhhh!!!!"
The creature ripped its arms to the side, tearing away the old man's eyes and cheekbones. The Wendigo opened its mouth and engorged itself with a fistful of the old man’s face. Fiddler dropped to the ground in more pain than the human body was ever meant to endure. He fired the shotgun one last time, but without his sight, the buckshot only grazed the trees.
The last thing Tom felt was the hot sting of the creature's barbed fangs sinking deep into his throat. Tom Fiddler fought the good fight.