The Legend of the Wendigo

The Winter's Curse

The winter had arrived early that year, creeping in with an icy grip before the last of the autumn leaves had fallen. For the Anishinaabe people, it was a season of preparation and endurance. The hunters of the village had gone deep into the woods to bring back enough food to last through the bitter cold months, but something had changed. The forest was quieter than usual. The animals, once plentiful, had become scarce, and those who ventured too far into the deep woods often returned with empty hands—or worse, didn’t return at all.

Among the hunters was a man named Kitchi, a seasoned warrior known for his skill and courage. He had never feared the wilderness, but as the winter stretched on, even he could feel something was wrong. The usual signs of life had vanished from the woods, and a sense of dread hung in the air. The elders whispered of an ancient curse, a warning passed down from the ancestors.

"The Wendigo walks again," they said. "Its hunger grows as the cold deepens."

But Kitchi, ever the pragmatist, dismissed their words as superstition. "There is no monster," he told his wife, Shania, one night as they huddled close by the fire. "Only the cold and the need for food. Tomorrow, I will go further into the woods and find what we need."

That next morning, Kitchi set out alone, armed with his bow and his determination. The snow crunched beneath his feet, and the air was thick with the promise of a coming storm. He ventured deeper into the forest than he had ever gone before, pushing past the familiar landmarks into the unknown.

Hours passed, and as the day grew darker, Kitchi realized that he had found no tracks, no signs of life. The silence was unnerving. He paused to rest by a frozen stream, his breath forming small clouds in the frigid air. As he knelt to drink from the icy water, a sound caught his ear—a low, mournful wail that seemed to come from deep within the woods.

Kitchi stood, his heart pounding in his chest. The sound was unlike anything he had ever heard, a chilling cry that set every hair on his body on end. He scanned the trees, his eyes straining to see through the growing shadows. The wind picked up, howling through the trees, and for a moment, he thought he saw a figure—a tall, gaunt shape moving between the trunks.

But when he blinked, it was gone.

The Spirit of Hunger

Kitchi returned to the village that night, empty-handed and shaken. He told no one of the strange figure he had seen, dismissing it as a trick of the light or his own weary mind. But the feeling of unease stayed with him, creeping into his dreams. That night, he dreamt of the Wendigo—a creature with long, skeletal limbs and hollow eyes that glowed like embers. It moved silently through the snow, leaving no tracks behind, and its mouth was filled with sharp, jagged teeth, forever gnashing, forever hungry.

In his dream, the Wendigo stood before him, its gaze piercing his soul. "I am hunger," it whispered, its voice like the wind through dead leaves. "I am the cold that gnaws at your bones. You cannot escape me."

Kitchi woke in a cold sweat, his heart racing. He lay in the darkness, listening to the sound of his own breathing, until finally, he drifted back into an uneasy sleep.

The next day, he set out again, determined to shake off the fear that had taken root in his mind. But as he ventured once more into the forest, the same feeling of dread settled over him. The woods were silent, as though the very life had been drained from them. And again, as he walked, he heard that terrible wail.

This time, he did not turn back.

The sound led him deeper into the woods, to a place he had never been before—a clearing where the trees stood twisted and blackened, their branches like skeletal fingers reaching for the sky. In the center of the clearing stood a small cabin, its windows dark and its door hanging loosely on its hinges.

Kitchi approached cautiously, his bow at the ready. As he drew closer, he could see that the cabin was old, abandoned for years. The air around it was heavy, thick with the stench of decay. He stepped inside, and his stomach turned at the sight before him.

Bones.

Human bones, scattered across the floor, gnawed clean of flesh.

Kitchi backed out of the cabin, his heart racing. He had heard the stories of the Wendigo, but he had never believed them. Now, he wasn't so sure. He turned to leave, but as he did, he felt a cold hand on his shoulder.

He spun around, but there was no one there.

The Haunting Begins

For days after his encounter in the woods, Kitchi could not shake the feeling that he was being watched. Every time he left the village, he felt eyes on him, unseen but ever-present. The other hunters began to notice his unease, but when they questioned him, he said nothing. He didn’t want to spread fear, especially when food was already so scarce and morale was low.

But the signs were there for all to see. The village dogs refused to go near the edge of the forest, howling and barking whenever Kitchi tried to take them on his hunts. Strange tracks appeared in the snow, too large to belong to any animal but too thin and twisted to be human. And always, there was the wailing cry in the distance, growing louder each night.

Shania noticed the change in her husband. He was no longer the confident, fearless man she had married. He grew more withdrawn, speaking little and sleeping even less. She could see the toll it was taking on him, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t get him to open up about what had happened in the woods.

One night, as they lay in bed, Kitchi finally spoke.

"I think it's following me," he whispered, his voice barely audible over the crackling of the fire. "The Wendigo."

Shania shivered at the name. "It's just a legend," she said, trying to reassure him. "It can't hurt you."

But Kitchi shook his head. "I’ve seen it. I’ve heard it. It's real, and it wants something from me."

The Wendigo's Price

The following weeks were a blur of terror and confusion. Kitchi's dreams became more vivid, filled with images of the Wendigo stalking him through the woods, its eyes glowing in the darkness. The creature seemed to be growing stronger, its presence more palpable with each passing day. Kitchi’s mind was unraveling, and Shania feared that soon he would be lost to whatever madness had gripped him.

One night, the village was awakened by Kitchi’s screams. He had gone into the woods alone, despite Shania's pleas to stay. When they found him, he was delirious, mumbling about the Wendigo and how it had come for him. His body was cold to the touch, even though the fire burned brightly in the center of the village.

The elders gathered around him, their faces grim. They knew the signs, the stories. Kitchi had been marked by the Wendigo, and there was little they could do to save him. They performed rituals, chanting and burning sacred herbs to ward off the spirit, but it was no use. The Wendigo’s curse was too strong.

Kitchi’s condition worsened with each passing day. He grew thinner, his skin pale and stretched tight over his bones. His eyes became hollow, and his once strong voice became a rasping whisper. He refused to eat, claiming that food only made the hunger worse.

Shania stayed by his side, refusing to give up hope. But deep down, she knew that the man she had loved was gone, replaced by something cold and empty.

The Final Confrontation

In the final days of Kitchi’s life, the Wendigo came to him in the flesh. It stood at the edge of the village, its skeletal form towering over the trees. The villagers could see it now, a creature of nightmares, its skin stretched tight over its emaciated body, its eyes glowing with an unnatural light.

Shania stood in the center of the village, her heart pounding in her chest as the Wendigo approached. It did not speak, but its intentions were clear. It had come to claim Kitchi, to take him into the woods where he would become one of its own—a creature of hunger and despair.

But Shania would

not let it take him. She stood between the Wendigo and her husband, her hands shaking but her resolve strong. She called upon the spirits of her ancestors, asking for their protection and guidance. The wind howled around her, but she did not move.

For a moment, the Wendigo paused, as though considering her plea. Then, with a final, mournful wail, it vanished into the night, leaving behind only the echo of its cry on the wind.

Kitchi died that night, his body finally succumbing to the Wendigo’s curse. But Shania knew that his spirit was free, saved from the fate that had awaited him in the woods. The Wendigo’s hunger had been sated, for now, but the legend would live on, a reminder of the dangers that lurk in the cold, dark places of the world.