It's Here

It's Here (short horror story)

The wind howled through the barren trees, their naked branches scratching against the empty sky like fingernails on a chalkboard. The air was cold, biting at the exposed flesh of anyone foolish enough to be outside. It was night, but not the peaceful, starry night that often painted the heavens. No, this night was shrouded in eerie darkness, as if some malevolent force had sucked all light from the world and spat it out, leaving only the faintest glow of the moon to guide the way. The only sound that pierced the stillness was the distant cry of a wolf, its haunting howl sending shivers down the spines of those who dared to listen.

This place, this world, was no longer the same. It had been twisted, corrupted, by an evil so ancient and powerful that it had left its mark on everything it touched. The people who once lived here, their laughter and joy now replaced by fear and despair, huddled in their homes, afraid to venture out into the night for fear of what might be lurking just beyond the safety of their firelight. They spoke of a creature, a beast that stalked the woods and the mountains, a creature that had once been human but had been warped and transformed by the malevolent force that had overtaken their world. They called it the Wendigo.

The Wendigo was said to be insatiably hungry, driven by an unquenchable thirst for flesh. It would stalk its prey for days, watching them from the shadows, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. And when it did, there was no escape. The Wendigo was swift and brutal, tearing its victim's limb from limb with a ferocity that defied description. It was said that even the bravest of hunters, those who had once stood tall against the dangers of the wild, would cower in fear at the mere mention of the Wendigo's name.

But some were not so easily cowed. There were those who, driven by curiosity or a sense of duty, would venture forth into the night, determined to confront the Wendigo and end its reign of terror. These brave souls were few, but their stories were legendary. Some said they had faced the Wendigo and emerged victorious, while others claimed to have seen it and lived to tell the tale. Still others, however, were never heard from again, their fates lost to the cold, dark woods and the hungry mouths of the Wendigo.

As for the creature itself, it remained an enigma. Some claimed it was once a man, cursed by a vengeful god for his wicked deeds. Others said it was a spirit of the forest, twisted and warped by the evil that now permeated the world. No one knew for sure, and few dared to ask. For to do so would be to invite the Wendigo's wrath and none who had ever faced it wished to do so again.

The wind picked up, howling through the trees like the lonely wail of a ghost. A lone figure stood silhouetted against the dark sky, their features obscured by the shadows. They stood resolute, their shoulders squared, as if ready to face the terrors that lurked in the darkness. They were one of those brave souls, driven by a purpose they could not ignore, determined to confront the Wendigo and put an end to its reign of terror. As the figure took its first hesitant step into the night, they knew they might not survive the encounter. But they also knew that if they did not try if they did not stand against the darkness, then there would be no hope for anyone, no refuge from the Wendigo's endless hunger.

The woods seemed to close in around them, the trees forming a claustrophobic tunnel that led deeper into the heart of the forest. The air grew colder, the silence more oppressive, as if the very earth itself was holding its breath, waiting for the confrontation to come. The figure moved silently through the underbrush, their senses on high alert, every nerve tingling with anticipation and fear. They knew that the Wendigo could be anywhere, could be watching them even now, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

As they ventured further into the woods, the figure began to sense that they were getting closer to their quarry. The air grew thick with an unnatural sense of foreboding as if the very fabric of reality was straining against the presence of the Wendigo. The trees seemed to lean in towards them, their branches reaching out like skeletal fingers, beckoning them deeper into the heart of the darkness.

Suddenly, a rustle in the underbrush to their left caught their attention. The figure tensed, drawing their weapon as they slowly turned towards the sound. There, in the dim moonlight, they saw it: a figure crouched low, moving silently through the shadows. The Wendigo.

Time seemed to slow as the two adversaries locked eyes. The Wendigo's gaze was cold and unyielding, its face twisted into a snarl of hunger and rage. The figure felt a shiver of fear run down their spine, but they did not waver. They knew that they could not show weakness, not now. They steeled themselves, preparing for the fight of their life.

With a feral snarl, the Wendigo sprang forward, its massive form crashing through the underbrush toward them. The figure dodged to the side, rolling away from the creature's powerful blows. They countered with their attack, driving their weapon towards the Wendigo's flesh. The blade struck true, but with a force that was barely more than a flesh wound. The Wendigo howled in pain and fury, its blood-curdling cry echoing through the woods.

The figure knew that they couldn't rely on their weapon alone. They needed to find some way to weaken the Wendigo, to exploit its weaknesses. As the creature charged again, they ducked and rolled beneath its powerful blows, scrambling to their feet just out of reach. They summoned all their strength and hurled a small dagger, aiming for the Wendigo's eye. The dagger struck true, lodging itself in the creature's socket. It howled in agony, clawing at its face as blood poured down its twisted features.

The figure saw their opening and attacked with renewed vigor. They drove their weapon relentlessly, forcing the Wendigo back, wearing it down with a flurry of blows. Slowly but surely, they were gaining the upper hand. As the Wendigo stumbled and fell, the figure did not hesitate. They raised their weapon high, ready to deliver the killing blow. But just as they were about to strike, the Wendigo's body began to convulse, and with a terrible, otherworldly shriek, it was gone, vanished into thin air as if it had never existed.

The figure stood there, panting heavily, their heart racing. They couldn't believe that they had bested the Wendigo. They searched the area for any sign of the creature but found nothing. It was as if it had truly disappeared as if it had never been there at all. As they stood there, catching their breath, they couldn't help but wonder what had happened. Had they somehow managed to defeat the Wendigo, or had they only driven it away, leaving it to return another day? The answer, they knew, would only come with time. But for now, they could rest easy, knowing that they had done what they set out to do. They had faced the Wendigo, and they had survived.