1
Ron Sturgeon felt the hairs on the back of his neck prickle. Somebody was watching him. He turned around and scanned the room. The bar was half full. None of the regulars were looking at him. Some were lost in conversation. Others sat staring into their drinks. Then, he saw him; across the room.
The man was there again, staring. He'd been coming in for the past week. Every day it was the same. Before, whenever the man saw that he'd been caught, he'd gotten up and left. The man looked to be about fifty. Lines bracketed his nose and mouth. He had shoulder-length salt and pepper hair. An aura of loss and defeat surrounded him. He looked familiar somehow, but Ron couldn't place him. This had got to stop, though.
Ron was about to go over and see what the problem was, when the man got up and came over to his table. He wore a faded blue work shirt and jeans. His boots were scuffed.
"You got a problem, man?"
"Are you Ron? Ron Sturgeon? Mary Sturgeon's son?"
"So what if I am. Who the hell are..." Then the realization hit him. He knew who the guy was. His father. Walter Sturgeon had walked out of Ron and his sister and mother's life fifteen years ago. "Why you son of a bitch!" His voice trembled with emotion. He must have yelled because people at the surrounding tables turned and looked.
His father took a step back. "I've been looking for you for a couple of years now. I tried finding your mom first but-"
"She's dead-as if you cared. She died of breast cancer two years ago. So, why is it so important to get in touch with me, after you left us? We weren't important to you then. Do you even have any idea how hard it was for her to make ends meet? You broke her heart, you-" He had to stop. He noticed that his voice was rising again. He felt like his head was going to explode.
"I guess I deserved that. No. I know I do. But you have to understand...I did it to protect you and your sister."
"Yeah, right. From what? You hurt us more than you-"
"Have you ever heard of the wendigo?"
Ron was on his feet before he knew it. "Oh no you don't. You're not going to blame what you did on a stupid myth. I'm out of here." He turned and stormed to the door.
"Have you been having the dreams?"
That stopped Ron cold. How could he know about that? He'd been having the most horrible dreams for the past month. "How-How did you know?"
"I had them too, before I left. I started having these...urges. I knew that I had to leave when I started sleep walking. I woke up one time standing next to Samantha's bed with a knife in my hand. I left that night."
This was too much. Ron was actually starting to believe him. He opened his mouth to speak and closed it again, unable to decide what to say.
"I know you're stunned seeing me after all this time, and what I just told you must've thrown you for a loop. How about you think on it tonight, and I'll meet you here tomorrow."
"Yeah. Sure. Okay," Ron said nodding.
Walt walked past him and out the door.
2
Ron's head was pounding as he walked home. He didn't know what to think. First, there was the shock of seeing his dad after so long. A part of him had wondered if it had been his fault that he'd left. He'd even blamed his mom for a while. He'd wanted so much to confront that man for all the harm he'd done. His mother's depression, the strain that his absence had on the family, his mom running herself ragged in order to make ends meet. They'd both suffered so much. Then, there were the dreams.
