Eyes of the Wendigo

16 -

The feeling of being watched had started as a faint whisper at the back of Elias' mind. At first, he had dismissed it as paranoia—a side effect of the stress that had been mounting for weeks as more people disappeared from White Pines, as more eyes in the village turned their suspicion toward him. But now, the whispers had become shouts, a relentless certainty gnawing at his every waking moment. Someone was following him.

It wasn't just the villagers' mistrust anymore. This was something else. Someone—or something—was always there, lurking just out of sight, watching him from the shadows. It had started in the woods. The strange noises, the fleeting glimpses of a figure moving between the trees whenever Elias ventured out on his own. At first, he had thought it was just his imagination, his nerves playing tricks on him. But now, he knew better.

He could feel it. Every time he left his cabin, every time he stepped foot in the village, that presence was there, waiting, following. He wasn't safe. Not in the village, not in the woods, not even in his own cabin.

Especially not here.

Elias sat at the small table in his cabin, staring blankly at the cold fireplace in front of him. The embers had long since died, leaving the room chilly and dim, but Elias barely noticed. He couldn't stop thinking about the last few days—the strange notes he'd found along his path, the subtle but unmistakable signs that someone was tracking his every move. The notes had started innocuously enough. Cryptic messages, written in a hand he didn't recognize, tucked into places where he couldn't miss them.

"I know what you did to him."
"You're not the only one who knows."

At first, Elias had assumed it was some villager trying to unsettle him, trying to force a confession for something he hadn't done. The suspicions about Rob's death had been festering for weeks, and he knew people were looking for someone to blame. But the more notes he found, the more unnerved he became. Whoever was leaving them knew too much. They were watching him closely, studying him, following him even when he thought he was alone.

His hands trembled as he ran them through his disheveled hair, his thoughts swirling in chaotic spirals. The pressure was unbearable now. He had tried to keep things together, tried to lead the village as he always had, but it was slipping through his fingers. Every time he looked at the faces of the people he had grown up with, people who had once trusted him implicitly, all he saw was suspicion. Fear. Accusation.

His leadership was crumbling, and Elias didn't know how much longer he could hold on.

He glanced at the door, his pulse quickening at the thought of stepping outside again. Every time he left his cabin, the feeling of being followed intensified, like a pair of invisible eyes were locked on him, tracking his every move. He had taken to looking over his shoulder constantly, but there was never anyone there. At least, not anyone he could see.

His mind darted back to Rob's body, twisted and frozen in the snow, eyes wide open, staring at nothing. A shiver ran down Elias's spine. Rob had looked terrified in death, his face contorted in a way that still haunted Elias every time he closed his eyes.

What had happened to him?

The thought crept into Elias's mind like a shadow, dark and persistent. There was something unnatural about the way Rob had died. He had tried to rationalize it, tried to convince himself that Rob had simply gotten lost in the woods, succumbed to the cold, and been found too late. But the fear in Rob's face, the strange marks on his body—it all pointed to something else, something that Elias couldn't explain.

And now, with the notes and the constant feeling of being followed, Elias couldn't shake the gnawing fear that Rob's death was connected to whatever was happening to him. That maybe, somehow, Rob hadn't been the first to go. Maybe Rob had known something before he died, something about the village or the woods—something Elias had missed.