Wendigo

Enjoy this short story by Mace Styx.

On the first day of my stay, I just spent most of my time roaming about the woods and taking pictures. The selling point of this place was undoubtedly the beautiful nature that was surrounding it. I didn’t use the motor bike since its noise would scare away the animals, and I was able to take some great shots of the gorgeous scenery and its inhabitants. As I was strolling, I noticed some peculiar etchings on the trees that were clearly carved by a human. It was some kind of sigils or characters that were foreign to me, and I saw them engraved on a couple of trees at the same area of the forest. I assumed it must have been some kind superstitious practice of those who were living there, but I almost certain that the neighborhood closest to Harris’ place was at least several kilometers away. Its remote location was the reason why I chose to go here anyway. Aside from those trivial vandalisms, I really enjoyed my walk in the woods. The peace and serene sound of leaves brushing across the air, and the absence of human noise and pollution was relaxing to say the least. I took Harris’ advice and made sure that I made it back home before the sun down.