Eyes of the Wendigo

7 -

Elias hadn't slept in days. Not really. Whenever he closed his eyes, he felt the oppressive weight of a nightmare pressing down on him. But the nightmares weren't confined to sleep. They had spilled over into his waking hours, gripping him with cold, invisible hands. When he did manage to doze off, it wasn't long before he was jolted awake, drenched in sweat, his heart hammering against his ribs as if trying to escape.

He was being hunted. He could feel it.

The faces of the villagers had become masks of suspicion, their eyes narrowing every time he passed. They watched him now, always. The weight of their distrust pressed on him like the unrelenting winter chill. Once, they had looked to him for answers, for guidance. Now, they questioned his every move. Every decision. He could hear the whispers behind his back.

It had started when Graham went missing. After their hunting expedition had gone horribly wrong, Graham had never returned to the village. The others, Pete and Bill, had been shaken. They hadn't said it directly to his face, but he saw it in their eyes. They blamed him. As word spread of Graham's disappearance, the village began to murmur. And then, when yet another man vanished, the whispers turned to open accusations.

Elias sat in his cabin, staring into the fire as it flickered and danced, casting long shadows against the walls. He gripped a mug of cold coffee, untouched since morning. His body was stiff, his mind racing in circles. He couldn't think clearly anymore. The days were blurring together, each one bleeding into the next, and the mounting tension in White Pines had become unbearable.

The accusations had come quietly at first, just murmurs during the council meetings. They weren't directed at him, but he could feel the shift in the room. People avoided his gaze, their voices hushed when he entered. They didn't trust him anymore. And why should they? Two men were missing under his leadership, Rob Mercer and now Graham. A third, Roy Briggs, had been found dead in the snow, just as twisted and frozen as Rob had been.

Now, the villagers didn't just distrust him. Some of them openly suspected him.

There had been no official accusation, but Elias could feel it. The words hovered just beneath the surface, waiting to strike. They thought he was involved, somehow. He could see it in their eyes, the way they flinched when he spoke, the way they kept their distance. A few had even gone so far as to suggest he had a hand in the disappearances—that he had led those men into the woods for some twisted purpose.

But why would he do that? Why would he harm the people he'd known his whole life?

The accusations made no sense, but fear wasn't logical. The village was scared, terrified even, and fear needed a target. Someone had to be responsible for what was happening. And Elias, their leader, was the easiest target of all.

The fire crackled and popped, pulling Elias from his thoughts. He leaned forward, staring into the flames as they twisted and writhed, as if they were alive, reaching out to him. His eyes felt heavy, the exhaustion pulling at him, but he couldn't sleep. Not now. Not when everything was falling apart around him.

He had been seeing things lately. Things that couldn't be real. Fleeting shadows in the distance, figures moving just out of sight. At first, he thought it was just his mind playing tricks on him. The strain of the disappearances, the weight of leadership—it was getting to him. But the figures were becoming more frequent, more distinct. And then there were the noises. Low, guttural sounds in the wind. Sometimes it was a voice, whispering his name, just like the wind passing through the trees. Other times, it was a growl, deep and feral, coming from somewhere beyond the tree line.

He had tried to convince himself it was just his imagination. But every time he walked through the village, every time he stepped into the forest, that same creeping feeling clawed at him. He wasn't imagining it. He was being watched.