Bill is quick and seizes David by the throat, swatting away the shotgun as he lifts him into the air. Shocked and revolted, David stares into the horror of the wendigo’s fiery orbs. Bill’s face distorts as Cold Bill claws his way to the surface with ravenous hunger. His shredded bloody lips twitch and quiver, parting to reveal his top and bottom rows of hungry sharp eagerness. It takes the entirety of Bill’s will to keep his beast from remerging or unleashing his horrid tongue. If it were to pick up the Ojibwa’s scent, Bill would certainly lose control and devour his only hope for redemption. He holds David out at arm’s length, attempting to suppress Cold Bill.
Sasha, without hesitation, leaps upward, sinking her jaws into the dry leathery flesh of the wendigo’s upper arm hanging two feet off the ground and holding fast. She crushes the humerus with little effort, and Bill roars in response to the pain she is inflicting. He bashes a closed fist into her ribs. Sasha yelps fiercely but with locked jaws; she applies even more pressure to his arm. Again, Bill pummels the wolf with his fist, and this time, the blow proves to be too much for Sasha. She releases her death grip, limply falling into the dirt. She lays crumpled, unmoving—except to draw in quick, shallow breaths. David averts his eyes long enough to see that Sasha is unmoving, although she still breathes. Bill’s wound closes, and he lifts David higher into the air, throwing his arms backward as he victoriously howls into the night sky. David flails about like a ragdoll in the moonlight.
Without as much as a second thought, Bill tosses the Ojibwa across the drive and into the hood of the Chevy. Colliding violently with the flimsy hood, David’s hat flies off his head, whisks over the cab, and settles on the ground. Bill leans forward with a vicious sneer, still angry about the wolf’s attack. Sucking air into his lifeless body, he unleashes his paralytic wail upon the Ojibwa man. Afterward, he furiously pounds his fists against his chest like an enraged silverback, fuming tirelessly and directly avoiding David. It would take Bill several minutes to regain control of his ensuing beast, and when he finally gains a measure of control, he moves to collect David. He is quick in a beeline and on all fours as he hops effortlessly onto the hood of the truck and glowers hungrily upon the immobile man.
They meet eye to eye, so close in fact that Bill can clearly see the blood gorging furiously through David’s carotid artery. He senses the intensity of David’s racing heart, and it is all too enticing. Once again, Bill can feel the persistently tantalizing lust for flesh he often experienced right before a hunt. Knowing that if he lost control of Cold Bill now, even for a second, it would be an arduous affair trying to stave off the beast, and it would most certainly spell out the end of Nuke’s grandfather. He could not allow his tongue to slide out of his mouth. If he was unable to smell the rich warm blood he could clearly imagine pumping through the Ojibwa’s veins, Bill knew he could maintain a reasonable amount of control. He scoops David up, carelessly tossing him over his shoulder, and then hops down off the truck, carrying him inside the cabin. Barney resurfaces from under the truck and trots past Sasha. He sniffs her and seems satisfied, knowing she is still alive. Barney then wags his nub and pursues his master through the cabin door.
Upon entering, the interior of the living room is a billow of black smoke. Just the thought of burned pork and cinnamon filling, Bill’s receptors aids in calming his beast. He slaps the smoking frying pan off the stove and across the hardwood floor. Barney chases after the blackened pork chops and burned yams, happy to devour the ruined meal and save the day.
Bill drops David to the floor without any thought for his well-being. David lands with a heavy thud—his head bouncing off the treated pine. Crouching down, Bill concentrates, peering past David’s widened eyes into his very thoughts. He has a good sense of the terror David was feeling, and David had every right to be terrified. Soon he would come to understand the reality of his tribe’s ancient enemy.
Bill circles him once before resting his back to the wall opposite of him. He extends his long bony arms over his crouched legs and presses his clawed hands flat against the floor. Bill then remains completely still, allowing the sight of him to play on David’s worst nightmares.
My name is William Blake Colden, he imprints his thoughts into David, and I am wendigo.
Had it not been for Bill’s paralysis spell, David’s eyes might have intensified to the discovery of such an atrocious enemy. Instead, he stared back at Bill without a hint of expression or emotion. All the while, Bill sensed he was trying to process the horror before him within the quiet of his own scattered thoughts.
I know the degree of terror and hate you must feel. I sense it in you. It’s perfectly understandable. I know what I look like. However, I am not entirely as I appear.
David’s eyes indicate nothing. His head remains elevated slightly off the cabin floor, with his dark hair dusting the pine boards.
I have numbed you—it will take hours to recover. In that time, if I have not devoured you, Bill pauses for effect, then I ask only that you consider my intentions, as I assure you they are not hostile despite introductions and appearances. I only felt it is necessary so that I may relay my story to you.
* * *
I could feel myself slipping away… I was dying. It wasn’t poetic or graceful. It was bloody and painful and filled with too many regrets. I have never been as scared as when I was lying on that cold pavement, bleeding out. My squad and I were alone and so far from home, and I could not stop thinking of unresolved matters concerning my mother and father or the fact that I had left her alone. It was not how she and I were supposed to end, and I was angry because of it. When the wolf god came to me, he told me to pick myself up, and I was weak. Somewhere within the taunting madness of Malsum’s invading thoughts and the last few beats of my slowing heart, I surrendered to him and came back. For neither food nor survival did I tear into the insurgent’s neck and feel his warm blood spray into my mouth. It was for love. I ate of another man’s flesh out of love. I’ve undergone months of hell tormenting myself for her. In the end, for her sake, Abigail’s sake, I betrayed my brothers.
I abandoned them after discovering my mother and father had died. I did not want to leave them, but I knew I needed to—they were not like me. They did not choose to fight for their humanity. They choose to embrace the wolf god and their hunger for human flesh. There was a time, however, when I thought I could protect them from themselves, but it only served to complicate my own struggles. I could not let them have her, not the way they craved her. I would not let Abigail die that way. It was then I realized the emotions I had been harboring were only going to intensify. This is why I am here and why I seek your help, David. I have been starving myself for days, and eventually, I will need to feed. My beast craves it. Tell me about Wiindigookaanzhimowin—tell me you will perform the ritual on me. Do you even remember how?
The hours pass, and Bill can feel David’s fear start to subside. But David’s intentions remain unclear as their minds coalesce and David experiences the desperate truth of Bill’s hapless story. Within minutes, his fingers began twitching. Ten minutes later, the numbness leaves David’s arms, and he begins to move, although sluggish at first. Once he is in control of his body and he can again fully utilize all motor skills, David cannot resist screaming out. He screams and continues screaming, dreadfully, repeatedly, purging himself of all pent-up terror. Eventually, David just stops, breathlessly heaving as he glares across the room at the ghastly wendigo. With loathing disgust, a good measure of disbelief and respected fear, David scrambles backward, propelling himself on his hands and feet, putting as much distance as he could between himself and Bill. Bill remains stationary against the wall, allowing David his distance. He had kept his word and not made a meal of Nuke’s grandfather. Bill only hoped it would prove his earnestness to the Ojibwa.
After another few moments, David groans nervously, “My wolf… Sasha… is she?”
I hear her heartbeat—your wolf lives. She had the wind knocked from her and perhaps suffers bruised or cracked ribs.
“Can I attend to her?”
Know that if you try to run or move for your shotgun, I am much faster than you are, David. You will not get far or do much to change your situation. You should remember that I am very hungry at this point, and if angered, I will not be able to fend off my beast a second time.
“I understand.”
Then go… tend to your wolf.
David rises slowly, cautiously, keeping his eyes peeled for any attempts to ravage him. He refrains from making sudden movements as he walks past Bill toward the door. Once outside, David can see that Sasha still lay where Bill had dropped her. She lifts her head, and a weak cry escapes her.
“It will be all right.” David steps off the porch and kneels next to Sasha, stroking her magnificent grayish-black fur. Sasha yelps in pain and lays her head to the ground. “Let’s get you inside, girl.”
David slides his arms under Sasha’s legs, and as he lifts her, she let out a series of sharp painful yelps. Gently, he holds her out in front of him, whispering, “Shhh… It will be okay, girl.”
Once inside, Sasha instinctively lifts her head and growls at Bill, only to realize it causes her too much pain, and she resumes her limp position. David lays her on the red and black plaid cushion in her large wicker bed next to the door. He needed to examine her thoroughly but knew better than to prod around an unrestrained, wounded animal. David, instead, visually opts to scan her rib section for any major injuries. He is satisfied without finding any protruding bones or pronounced contusions.
Your wolf will be all okay, David. Wendigo share a close bond with all of nature’s predators, and I sense her wounds are superficial.
At that moment, David wished Sasha were his only concern; she was not. The permeable stench of death and decay mingling with the stink of burned pork and cinnamon reminds David of the real threat. Nauseated by the mixture of conflicting bad odors, he turns to Bill and seats himself uneasily on the edge of his reclining chair, burying his hands in his face. Taking in a breath of air through his mouth and not his nose, and then after clearing the lump from his throat, David begins to speak but then shortly halts, considering the perplexing situation in more detailed depth. More so, he thought about John’s willful surrender to the wendigo curse. David pushes the long bangs of his hair back over his head and meets Bill’s glowering orbs with a sudden audacious glare. “You have woven quite the tale, wendigo Bill, but I do not think it is in my power to help you. At least not in the way you might expect.”
Explain yourself, David.
“Wiindigookaanzhimowin,” David explains, “was designed to keep the invading wendigo spirit at bay. The ceremony is a protective ward against intrusion and not a recital to exorcize the spirit itself.”
Bill is silent.
“No one has ever seen a wendigo or at least documented one. The wendigo is ancient Algonquian legend. I have never even heard of such a spirit captured. Unfortunately, I can only offer you stories and myth.”
I assure you, I am no myth. John spoke of you as if you were the authority on wendigo. He implied that you were your tribe’s fanatic historian, unparalleled on the subject. This will be your only chance, David.
“John flatters me. Maybe once I was something of those things, but times have changed. The Ojibwa tribe’s spirit left these lands long ago with the endeavors of a modern world. Anymore, our ancestry is a one-stop shop at a gift store for tourists.”
John did not think so, and neither will Malsum. These things from your past, they are real. There must be a way.
“I fear the only end for you is to stop your heart with a stake made of pure silver. This is what I know of ending your curse.”
Bill snarls, revealing his dreaded teeth, daring David to try.
“I told you. It wasn’t what you expected.”
Malsum told us that in order to complete our transformation, we would each need to feast on the flesh of a family member. Bill pauses. I am the last in my bloodline if that counts for anything.
David understood how desperate Bill had become. Regardless of how pure his intentions were, a desperate wendigo was a terribly dangerous adversary, and so David desperately searches his memories for an answer.
“You walk in between worlds… You are not entirely living, and yet you are not entirely undead either. Your duality may still yet preserve you.” David eases back in his chair. He pulls a ratty bent cigarette from the package in his breast pocket and lights it off the stove. He inhales deeply, appearing deep in thought. “It is true. Wiindigookaanzhimowin will not restore your humanity.”
You already stated this, Bill grows, increasingly annoyed.
“I don’t think you understand what I am saying. Of course not. How could you?” David takes another pull from the cigarette. “You possess all the wendigo abilities and its weaknesses. You certainly have its smell and appearance. I am assuming its appetite for human flesh as well?”
Bill nods, feeling the overwhelming pains of hunger knotting his stomach. We are always hungry.
“There is a chance… a ceremony that allows the Ojibwa to participate in vision quests, even though I am not sure if it will affect you in your unique state… but possibly.” David takes one last drag and then snuffs the cigarette in an ashtray full of cigarette butts. “If you recall the story you were told of the two brothers, Malsum was the creator of all things poisonous and twisted. His brother, however, the Maimed One, was benign in all things pure and natural. If you were to get Glooskap’s attention, and I am certain a wendigo in the spirit realm would do just that, you might be able to bargain with the Great Creator to have him cleanse this poisonous corruption his brother has inflicted upon you. Normally, this would not be possible, as wendigo are unconscious of human reason and emotion. You, however, still possess both.”
Do you know this ritual, David?
“I believe I can send you on the vision quest, one who walks in between worlds, although, once there, it will be up to you to locate and confront Glooskap.” David leans forward and then adds with a solemn countenance, “I will do this for you, wendigo Bill, but with one nonnegotiable condition.”
Being?
“If you do not succeed or if the ceremony fails and you must remain wendigo, you let me end your curse.”
Bill was not remotely aggressive toward David’s suggestion of the true death. In truth, if he could not lift his curse or again see Abigail’s face with human eyes, then he would see it ended. He did, however, understand one thing with perfect clarity—he was about to make a final stand, ending Malsum’s hold over him forever.
I agree, David.
“Then I will need a day to prepare.”