Running With Wendy

Monstrous old woman with fangs and fur and long claws

Ray held his breath as the plane skimmed the treetops and bounced along a clearing that had to be too short to land safely. He was still shaking when the plane pivoted 180 degrees and came to a halt.

His father, Bob, clapped him on the shoulder. “Pile out, kid.”

Ray smiled and reached for the door handle, but his stomach felt queasy. He was fourteen, too old for motion sickness. It had to be anticipation.

He jumped out, and his father followed. The third passenger, Paul, heaved out their supplies and equipment. Ray helped his father stack them at the edge of the clearing. Paul handed Bob the rifles, then jumped out, too.

The pilot touched the brim of his hat. “Have a good hunt, guys. I’ll be back in a week.”

The plane was moving almost before he finished speaking. In a few minutes, it was just a dot in the sky. The three of them, alone in the wilderness. From the plane, he’d seen the forest stretched for miles in all directions, with few clearings. Now it hemmed them in. A bit scary, but Ray trusted his dad to keep them safe.

“Might as well set up camp here,” Paul said. “No point packing this stuff further in.”

“Right,” said Bob. “I noticed a big swampy area a couple of miles east of here. Should be a good spot for moose.”

By the time they’d pitched the tent, spread their bedrolls, arranged the supplies to their satisfaction, and collected armloads of deadfall, the northern night was drawing in. The surrounding trees made it darker than normal. Bob made a fire, just the right distance from the trees to get a windbreak without catching them on fire.

Bob made mac and cheese for supper. “Last time we have to eat this crap. Tomorrow we’ll be eating roast moose.”

Secretly, Ray preferred mac and cheese, but he nodded enthusiastically. He was one of the guys, now, a man like his dad. A hunter. Someone at home in the wild. Or he would be, soon.

They sat around the fire, talking and passing a bottle of whiskey. Dad even let Ray have a couple of sips. It burned going down, but that didn’t matter. It was what men did.

The moon was trying to peek through the pine branches when drowsiness overtook Ray. He slumped against his father and jerked awake.

“Go to bed, son,” Bob said. “Big day tomorrow, and you’ll need your energy.”

Ray crawled into his sleeping bag and was asleep almost immediately. The men’s voices crept into his dreams like background music. Then another voice, a child’s voice.

Come run with me.

He was running through the forest, hand in hand with a little girl. She smiled at him, like they were good friends. She jumped and they were airborne, the trees a brooding mass below them. Clouds swallowed the moon and blotted out the stars. A cold wind pierced his pyjamas. The chill went deep into his heart. Suddenly, Wendy let go of his hand and he fell to the ground, alone. Darkness pressed in on him. His heart thudded as he realized he was lost, somewhere deep in the forest.

Ray jerked awake as his father bumped him. A few grunts and the rustle of clothing told him Bob and Paul were climbing into their sleeping bags. Off in the distance, a lone wolf howled. The hairs on the back of Ray’s neck rose. Not because of the wolf. There was something else. But he was too tired to figure out what. He fell asleep again.

In the morning, Ray could hardly remember the dream, but the spooky feeling remained. He had a slight headache, but a cup of strong coffee helped. As they ate breakfast, his father and Paul discussed plans for the day. They were going to work their way through the pines to the marsh Dad had seen yesterday, where they would build a blind and wait for a moose to show himself.

“Make sure you’re always wearing your red vest, in case we get separated,” Bob said.

“Won’t that scare the moose away?” asked Ray.

His father laughed. “No. They can’t see red but they do have excellent vision, so we don’t want to move around too much.”

“Oh.” Ray stared at the ground, feeling his ears get hot. He had so much to learn.

After cleaning up and quenching the fire, they set off. The forest closed in around them, sombre and brooding. Ray was glad his father had a compass to guide them. Something about this forest felt weird. He supposed it was because there were no hardwoods, like the forests at home. And the dead branches reaching for them, snapping off as they forced their way through. And the dead pines like skeletons warning them away. Even with the sun shining, it was dark and cold under the trees.

They didn’t get a moose that day.

That night, Ray’s dreams were filled with skeleton trees grabbing for him. Then the voice again. Come run with me. Again he was running through the forest, hand in hand with a girl. She was older tonight, closer to his age, and beautiful. Her hair was black as night, and her eyes reflected pinpoints of moonlight. He sensed they belonged together, or maybe he belonged to her.

“Who are you?” he asked, even though something deep inside him recognized her.

“Call me Wendy.”

As she spoke, her teeth glinted. It woke caterpillars in his stomach, but then they were in the air and exhilaration overtook him. Wendy took huge bounds, half a mile or more, barely touching the ground before carrying them upward again. The shadowy forest spread out below them. Moonlight glinted off the marsh, lit the curved dish of a moose’s antlers. The moose snorted.

Ray jerked awake. It wasn’t a moose. It was his dad snoring.

He lay awake a long time, feeling dark tendrils creep toward him. He wanted to snuggle closer to his father, but he was too old for that nonsense. This creepy feeling was nonsense, too. There were no monsters in the dark. But some primitive part of his brain shrieked in fear. He slept fitfully until dawn.

“I dreamed there was a moose in that swamp,” he said the next morning.

“That so? Maybe we’ll get it today,” Paul said.

“We should take the same route as yesterday so we don’t make noise breaking branches and scare it away,” Bob said. “You remember those shooting lessons I gave you, Ray?”

“Yes, Dad.”

If he shot the rifle today, it would be at a live target, not a tin can or a bit of paper. A little tremor ran through him. Killing something, that was a big deal. He didn’t know if he was ready. That prospect was likely the source of the dread weighing down his heart.

The moose was there, just as he’d dreamed. It lifted its head, looking directly at him, even though he was hidden in the blind with the others. He had the sensation it knew him, was judging him.

“Aim for the heart, while he has his head up,” his father whispered in his ear.

Ray raised his rifle, slowly and cautiously, just as the others did. He squeezed the trigger, bracing for the kickback. Three rifles fired in unison. A heartbeat before, the moose bolted away, as if something had warned it. Maybe Wendy, some deep instinct said. This forest belongs to Wendy. The moose belongs to Wendy.

Don’t be silly, the rational part of Ray’s mind said. Wendy’s just a dream.

“Damn,” Bob said. “We almost had it.”

They lurked in the shadowy blind the rest of the day, but the moose never returned. At dusk, they made their way back through the gloomy forest, through rising mists that turned the pines into misshapen monsters clutching at them.

Ray had never been so glad of a fire. He lingered by it, soaking up warmth and comfort, until his eyes began to close.

“Go to bed, son,” Bob said.

Ray was too tired to object. When he went into the tent, he tugged his bedroll a few inches closer to his father’s. Just in case. That left a bigger gap between Paul’s bed and his own. It made him feel exposed on that side, though he couldn’t say to what. He lay awake until both men came to bed and were snoring beside him.

As he drifted off, he heard the voice again.

Come run with me.

His eyes popped open.

Come run with me.

He wasn’t sleeping. This wasn’t a dream.

As quietly as he could, he felt for his jeans and boots and pulled them on. He crept out of the tent.

Moonlight bathed the clearing, but inky darkness masked the forest and the creatures lurking within.

Like a sigh, the voice came again.

Come run with me.

“Wendy?” He called softly, so he wouldn’t wake the others.

Come run with me. Closer now, drifting on the wind that made the trees tremble.

He shivered.

The pines murmured, clacking their branches like gnashing teeth.

Come run with me.

More like a command than an invitation. He wanted to retreat, run back to the tent, but his feet wouldn’t obey.

Come run with me.

Insistent. Overwhelming.

One foot pulled forward, then the other.

Step by step, he drew closer to the forest’s edge, closer to the darkness.

Come run with me.

He couldn’t stop himself. The pines closed ranks around him, cutting off escape.

Fear stabbed his heart, snatched his breath.

He could barely croak. “Wendy, are you there?”

“I’m here. You are mine. Come run with me.” The voice was raspy, like an old woman’s.

Something stepped forward. Not a little girl. Not a pretty teenager.

She was old, her scrawny limbs gnarly, covered in dark hair, tipped with sharp claws. Silver eyes glittered high above him. Her mouth yawned like a pit, surrounded by rows of fangs. And she stank of rotting meat. The air around them grew bitterly cold.

He shrank back. “You’re not Wendy.”

Her mouth stretched in a predatory smile. “I am Wendigo. Run with me.”

Before he could retreat, she snatched him up. Flexing her shaggy knees, she bounded upward.

His scream rolled across the sky, unheard.