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Thank you. The Silent Directive Episode 6 The
Wendigo in the Woods Perhaps one of the most
well -known cryptic creatures of paranormal and
unusual folklore is the Wendigo. No doubt you've
heard of it, and very likely you have a picture
in your mind. But if you would, please set that
aside. Do you remember my story of the vampires
in Munich? Rather than the Count Dracula sparkly
-skinned vampires known from media, they seemed
more like what we know of as zombies. This is
my point. Stories, especially those with no clear
origin, are warped over time. Some change is
good, and traditions should be allowed to change,
but with folklore and other tales of old, it
is extremely important to know the original tale,
especially if you worry about encountering the
subjects. The story of the Wendigo has been warped
through the years. It is not what modern pop
culture has made it seem to be. In my opinion,
it's much scarier. It is said that a Wendigo
is created when one human eats another out of
desperation. These stories particularly come
from travelers trapped in the cold wilderness.
The legend goes that if a human eats another
human, they lose their own humanity and become
a Wendigo. However, this is misleading. The Wendigo
is not a monster. It could be called a spirit,
but it's closer to a sort of concept. When it
finds a suitable host, it possesses their body
and warps it into what is widely known as a Wendigo.
Because of this, there is only ever one Wendigo
in existence. When it is killed, or the host
body can no longer sustain itself, The spirit,
or concept, finds a new host. Sometimes this
is instant. Sometimes it takes years. So what
fulfills the concept of a Wendigo? What are the
traits of the host that allow the monster's creation?
Firstly, a human must kill another human with
the intention of eating them for survival. Eating
someone already dead and ritualistic cannibal
murders do not count. And as far as has ever
been known or seen, this possession only ever
takes place out in the cold wilderness, most
commonly in North America. After the violent
cannibalism, the human begins to die. This act
allows the ancient evil concept to enter the
person. Once that happens, there is no going
back. Soon, their body begins to warp. The transformation
is horrid. Yet not as physically dramatic as,
say, Hollywood makes it out to be. Forget the
antlers, forget the fur, none of that is accurate.
Instead, imagine a human who has starved to death.
Their ashen gray skin is pulled so tight you
can see every bone they have. And it smells.
It smells like death and decay and all corruption
alike. Its body grows in proportion to the meals
it has. So its hunger can never... ever be satisfied.
But it doesn't grow quite right. Rather than
its stomach stretching, the growth goes to its
limbs and its overall size. A larger wendigo
is said to stand at eight feet tall and have
arms that drag on the ground. But they all start
as a human. The wendigo concept comes from the
Native American Algonquian peoples. The very
word Wendigo comes from the Anishinaabe words
ween -dago, which mean solely for self. This
creature no longer cares or even perceives anything
other than its own hunger. About 400 miles, maybe
700 kilometers, north of the Canadian city Sudbury,
is a small wooden hunting cabin tucked away in
the woods. usually only visits during the summer.
During the winter, he rents the place out to
visiting families. This year, however, the family
renting left a week early. They let him know,
apologized for the hasty exit, saying they just
didn't feel comfortable up there. Thomas was
a little confused, but he didn't think much of
it. What he was worried about, however, was their
hasty exit. For all he knew, they left a window
open or a light on. Not wanting to deal with
a mess by summer, he made the long drive up,
planning on staying a week or so. His small supply
shop would be in the hands of his teenage son,
and it would be nice to have a little break.
Since Thomas left first thing in the morning,
he arrived about an hour before sunset. That
gave him just enough time to check the house
for damage and clean up a little bit. The house
was fine, but judging by the mess, the renters
had left in a really big hurry, and his suspicions
were correct. The closet light had been left
on. Thankful the trip wasn't for nothing, Thomas
cleaned the house and started making a dinner
out of the food he brought with him. He made
a small pork chop dinner and went to bed early.
He woke in the middle of the night. Thomas was
a deep sleeper. He didn't usually wake up with
such a start. He got out of bed and went to his
window, checking if there was a storm. But no.
Just a little wind and barely any snow falling.
The room was empty. Quiet. Nothing seemed out
of place, so he went right back to sleep. The
next day, he geared up and went out for a little
evening hunting trip. He was a rather experienced
hunter and was used to going out alone. Something
that day felt off. He couldn't quite place it,
but he had a deep unease settling in his stomach.
He chalked it up to the promptness of the trip
and headed out. He knew the area very well, even
with the snow on the ground. After an hour of
quietly walking around the area, he found a trail
of deer prints in the fresh snow. Thomas slowly
followed these prints, hoping to catch up with
the deer. It took him about half an hour to spot
them, but when he finally did, nothing was as
he expected. First, it was already dead. Now,
Thomas knew it was dead the moment he saw it,
because its ribcage was exposed, and it had been
consumed. But this wasn't what concerned Thomas
the most. There are predators in the woods. This
was nature. What concerned him was the unusual
voracity with which the carcass had been torn
apart. Every inch was covered in gashes. Parts
were strewn about all over, some hanging from
tree branches. Also, The entirety of the head
was missing. Thomas didn't know if any predator
had acted in such a violent way. He knelt, took
his glove off, and reached toward the creature.
It was warm. Fresh. Whatever had done this had
done so recently. He stood back up, almost tripping
over himself. Standing there in that clearing,
staring at the dead deer, he realized it may
have been a buck. Usually it was easy to tell
the difference because only bucks have antlers,
but then again, the head was missing. As he stood
there, the uneasy feeling grew deeper in Thomas'
stomach. He shuddered as if someone had breathed
down his neck. He spun around, but nothing was
there, of course, just his nerves. He shook off
the feeling and continued on. Any animals in
the area would have been scared off, so he would
have to head far out of the way if he was going
to find dinner. So he did. He trekked through
the snowy forest, away from the carcass. As he
walked, every rustle in the trees and chirp of
a bird made him jump. He scolded himself every
time. It was ridiculous. He knew better than
this. He was very experienced. At one point,
as he glanced over his shoulder, he stopped,
because he spotted movement along the trail behind
him. He raised his rifle, hoping it was a deer
or a coyote, or something of the like. But it
was just a bird. Thomas was growing impatient.
No game, and the longer he stayed out here, the
more uncomfortable he felt. Not to mention how
cold it was. He considered going by the small
river that ran through the area. Even though
he hated the taste of geese, it was better than
nothing. As he turned in that direction, something
stopped him in his tracks. Thomas nearly dropped
his rifle as he tried to see what made that sound.
Part of him wanted to run towards it, because
it sounded like a person, a human person, in
pain. But he couldn't shake this odd, quiet feeling
that something was very wrong. As hungry as he
was, Thomas began to make his way back home.
He would rather miss dinner than be outside for
another second. He looked over his shoulder again
and again as he went back, each time sure something
would be there. But each time the forest was
empty. By the time he got back to his cabin,
the sun was setting. He stopped himself at the
end of the trail. And Thomas was beginning to
get really annoyed with himself. See, he was
a very experienced hunter. And here he was, foregoing
dinner because he was scared of the empty forest.
He mentally kicked himself as he stepped up to
the front of his cabin. Only, there was something
off about his front door. It was lying on its
side. Halfway torn off the hinges, Thomas felt
his hands begin to shake, his body betraying
him as he raised his rifle. Everything he'd been
scared of was happening. There was something
tracking him, something hunting him, and it had
been inside his cabin. Slowly and cautiously,
Thomas stepped inside his cabin, grimacing from
the rancid smell of rot. It was dark, sunlight
slowly disappearing. He stepped over the door,
and as he looked down, his heart sank. Deep gashes
were carved into the door. They didn't look like
any creature he'd seen before. They were much
longer than they were deep. And each gash had
a trail of blood inside it, as if the creature
scratched the door so viciously that it began
to bleed. Just as the sun fully disappeared from
the sky, the light disappeared from Thomas' cabin.
It was dark, only lit by a faint light from the
kitchen. Thomas recognized it as the glow from
the open refrigerator. The living room was trashed,
as if some burglar had been searching for something.
But the violence, blood, and scratches told Thomas
this was no burglar. He stepped forward, moving
toward the faint noise from the kitchen. He flinched
as a jar was tossed aside and rolled across the
floor. Whatever this was, it was right there,
and it was rooting through his fridge. Thomas
readied himself, turning the corner, and finally
getting a look at the creature. Thomas only got
a moment to see the creature, but that was enough
to make his heart nearly stop. This creature
resembled a human corpse. As I described earlier,
its skin was ashen and its bones were visible.
On its head was the skull from the buck, almost
like a helmet. Its eyes were sunken so far into
the back of its face that Thomas could only see
a glint of them. It smelled so badly of decay
and of death, Thomas' nose began to burn. He
was so shocked and horrified by the creature,
he didn't pull the trigger. This small hesitation
was the worst thing Thomas would ever do. The
Wendigo leapt forward. With such intensity, it
knocked Thomas off his feet. He raised his hands
to protect his face. The Wendigo's hands were
so long, its fingers warped and razor sharp.
It slashed Thomas' arm, cutting it open. The
Wendigo attacked with such brazen ferocity, it
harmed itself and the floor just as much as it
did Thomas. But one claw sank it to his stomach.
Thomas yelled out, and the Wendigo yelled back.
The Wendigo, in its eternal hunger, tore Thomas
apart. To his credit, Thomas put up a strong
fight. At one point, the Wendigo bent down, its
misshapen body contorted over Thomas. It sank
its sharp teeth into his shoulder, and Thomas
pulled the buck skull off its head, jabbing one
of the handlers into the Wendigo's stomach. This
was his last act. The Wendigo, enraged and in
more pain, ripped poor Thomas in half. I don't
like how this story ended. I found myself wanting
to look away while I was observing. But a being
built on observing cannot look away. There were
many things that could have gone differently,
many different choices that could have been made,
different outcomes. Thomas was a good man. He
was smart, cautious. Not... that other victims
in my stories weren't. I just, I wish it could
be different. I'm not sure quite why I feel this
way. I've never felt this way. But alas, that
is my tale of the Wendigo.