A year later, I was in the bar at my usual place on the second bar stool from the right, when Harvey walked in. Jack had run home to check on his wife who was sick with a fever, leaving me to man the till; which, knowing Jack, was a grand honor. So, when Harvey asked for a drink, I just reached over the counter and grabbed a bottle.
"Never expected to see you again," I told him.
"Never expected to be back. But something's been calling me here. I tried to ignore it, but couldn't; it's like whatever it is has gotten inside my brain and is messin' around with the remote."
"I know the feeling," I said as I poured a him a glass.
Just then, the door opened and a dark figure, dressed in a coarse Indian blanket, entered the tavern and walked all the way across the room and sat down in front of the fireplace.
"There's something familiar about that guy," Harvey whispered to me.
"Well, I've never seen him before. Don't see how you could recognize him anyway with that blanket wrapped around him like that."
Harvey went over to where the figure sat in front of the hearth.
"Iago?" I heard him say. "Is that you?"
If the figure answered him, I didn't hear it; but something caused Harvey to pull away the blanket. All that was underneath was a huge pile of ashes.
Harvey ran out screaming. I swept up the ashed and threw the blanket into the fire before Jack got back, and that was it. I never saw Harvey again. And, as for Iago, well, we all know what happened. The Wendigo got him.
