Wendigo Dreams Read online

hair is frosty and frozen looking, sticking out in weird spikes and tangles. My eyes are sunken and the bones in my face stick out. I’m all bony and anorexic looking. I look like a one of those Holocaust people who’d died, been buried and then unburied, my body already beginning to decompose. Oh, man, and the smell. Even now I swear I can smell it, the sickly sweet scent of rotting meat and the rancid odor of sour milk. And I’m hungry, so hungry. With the nauseating smells around me you’d think the idea of eating anything would be revolting, but I’m starving…Mr. Shiriki? Are you okay? You look a little weird. What’s the matter?... Mr. Shiriki?”

  “What do you know of our legends?”

  “Legends?”

  “Did your grandmother ever tell you the stories about the Wendigo?”

  “Wendigo? No. I’ve never heard of it. What is a Wendigo and what does it have to do with my nightmares?”

  “In our culture, the Wendigo is a malevolent, cannibalistic being. Very powerful, very spiritual. Usually they are associated with winter and coldness--”

  “Like my dream!”

  “--as well as famine and starvation. They are the embodiments of gluttony and greed, and are never satisfied after killing and consuming a person. They will constantly search for new victims. We’ve been using the Wendigo myths for years to caution children against greed and encourage cooperation and moderation; humans who become overpowered by greed are said to turn into Wendigos. Whenever a Wendigo eats another person, it grows in proportion to the meal, and, as a result, is never full. They are, therefore, simultaneously constantly gorging themselves and emaciated from starvation.”

  “And something about my nightmares reminds you of that?”

  “You yourself mentioned the cold and the hunger. But more than that, the Wendigo has often been described as gaunt to the point of emaciation, desiccated skin pulled tautly over bones, a grey complexion... it’s said that it smells of death and corruption. Sounds pretty close, doesn’t it?”

  “Oh, that’s... that’s... I don’t know what that is, but it’s crazy and creepy... Why...why would I have a nightmare that has me turned into a... a Wendigo?”

  “I can’t say, but I think there’s something very ominous about your dreams. Is there any more?”

  “Um… yeah, but I don’t think…”

  “Bethany, you have to tell me everything if I am going to help you. Think of me like a shrink or a priest. I won’t judge you and I won’t share anything that we talk about. But this will require honesty and trust.”

  “It’s just that… I can’t… it’s too horrible!”

  “You can tell me. It’s a dream, it can’t hurt you.”

  “In the nightmares I… It’s like I’m possessed. Crazy thoughts race through my mind and I start to hunt people. I’ll find someone, and they smell so good. My stomach growls and my mouth waters and … and…. Oh, God, I can’t breathe.”

  “You can. Deep breath in, hold it, and release. This is just purging the evilness and ugliness from your mind, from your soul. You can hold my hand if you think it will help. Maintaining a connection on the living plain can protect your mind from the horrors of the dreamscape.”

  “Yes, please. To push the evilness out, the idea of breaking free from the taint of it, to be at peace with myself... Okay… I hunt someone down and I—the dream me, I swear it’s the dream me--I kill him. I snap his neck like it’s the easiest thing in the world, just one twist and crack. And this person, this stranger, is just there and dead and I look at it like it’s a Thanksgiving feast. I’m so hungry but I don’t know where to start. The vulnerable belly with the soft organs, or the bones with the savory marrow? It’s a buffet and I want to sample it all.”

  “Bethany—“

  “So I do. The first is a woman. Her belly is soft and supple and my hands can tear open the flesh with such ease. The blood is warm and rich, thick gravy to ease my hunger. The meat is so sweet. I’ve never tasted anything like it before. And the heart, that muscle that fuels the body, hosts the soul, is so firm, and fills me with such power. And for a moment I’m not hungry. But the satisfaction doesn’t last. I gorge on meat and blood and fat and marrow and still I hunger. So I hunt some more.”

  “Uh, Bethany, I think that’s enough. I need you to pull yourself out of the dreamscape—“

  “The next night I get a man. He’s so strong, so powerful. I’m sure that if I devour him I’ll finally be strong enough and the hunger will abate. But it doesn’t. Every night I find someone new. It’s an uncontrollable compulsion. And with every kill I get stronger, more powerful. But still so hungry. The worst part is … I don’t want to stop. I know it’s wrong, but every night that moment of revulsion, of denial, is getting less and less and it’s like I’m looking forward to it.

  “Sometimes I wake up in the morning and I’m outside, just lying in the grass. I don’t know how I got there. It’s a complete blank. And sometimes I’m naked, or my clothes are torn. I’m covered in mud and leaves… and blood.”

  “Dear God!”

  “Have you seen the news lately?”

  “You’re not saying… you think those people...”

  “Twelve people within a three mile radius of my house have been murdered in the last month. Bodies were found torn apart, flesh missing. Teeth marks… oh, man… found on bones.”

  “You’re crushing my hand.”

  “Please don’t pull away. I need the connection. If you pull away…”

  “Okay. Just relax.”

  “There’s something very comforting about you, you know? You’re very powerful, aren’t you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “The spiritual essence completely surrounds you. The shamanistic magic or whatever you want to call it. I had hoped you’d be able to make it stop, but now it makes me wonder. You…I think you can finally be the end of this nightmare.”

  “Ahem… Ah, going back to these blackouts of yours….”

  “You’re right, I need to focus. It was last night. I wake up at the city park. For once my clothes are in pretty good condition. A little dirty with grass stains at the knees of my jeans, but they aren’t ripped up or covered in blood. I am relieved as I head home. The park is three blocks from my house and I’ve only gone about half a block when a train of police cars and ambulances comes roaring down the street. My heart starts to pound and dread twists in my guts. The emergency vehicles all stop at a house that I know. It was the McKinnon’s place. Every other Friday night I babysit the McKinnon baby, Isabel. I slow down as reach the center of the commotion. Mrs. McKinnon is standing on the front porch, her face pale and dead looking. Mr. McKinnon is holding her, but I don’t think she notices. He’s sobbing, saying ‘my baby, my little Izzy.’”

  “Oh, no, please, no….”

  “As I stand there I remember everything. I hope, I really hope, it’s just another dream. But I know it’s not. Not a dream. It’s a memory.”

  “The baby…”

  “She was such a sweet little girl. Well behaved , cute as can be. She was so innocent, so pure. Not evil like me. There was no monster lurking in her. And, for the first time in a long time I was satisfied and almost at peace... Don’t pull away!”

  “Jesus, you’re saying you—“

  “I really thought it was just a dream. God, how I wish it was just a dream, another nightmare, like the ants. “

  “Let go. Oh, please, let go. You’re so strong. Why are you so strong?”

  “Mr. Shirkiri, please….”

  “Bethany, you’re hurting me. You’re making me bleed.”

  “Mmm, I know. I can already feel your power filling me, sating me. With you… with you I’d be strong enough, powerful enough, to control the monster. I don’t want to be responsible… those people… little Izzy. You understand, right? With you—your spirit is so strong.”

  “Please, no!”

  “I’m hungry, so, so hungry.”

  “Please, Bethany, don’t do this!”

  “I know you unders
tand. You, only you, can see what I’m going through. Only you can end this hunger. It’s so clear to me now.”

  “Please, this isn’t going to help... No, please! Betha—”

  The end.

  BIO

  j. leigh bailey is an office drone by day and the author of Young Adult LGBT Romance by night. She can usually be found with her nose in a book or pressed up against her computer monitor. A book-a-day reading habit sometimes gets in the way of... well, everything...but some habits aren't worth breaking. She's been reading romance novels since she was ten years old. The last twenty years or so have not changed her voracious appetite for stories of romance, relationships and achieving that vitally important Happy Ever After. She's a firm believer that everyone, no matter their race, religion, gender, age, sexual orientation or paranormal affiliation deserves a happy ending. She loves the paranormal, and prefers it when the princes are evil, the monsters are good and the endings are happy.

  Find out more at www.jleighbailey.net or contact her at [email protected].