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short-stories-by-alli · 4 years

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Backwater Wendigo

This is an original story by me. Please do not reblog without giving credit. If you have questions or suggestions, let me know!

Warnings: Death, violence, blood, cursing

Matthew James drove through the small town of Backwater with a large pile of animal pelts in the truck’s bed. In the passenger seat sat a large, black, three-legged wolf whose head hung out the window, its tongue lolling. Backwater, which only held about a thousand people, sat on the western side of the Yukon. As usual for October, the sky was grey and snow was falling lightly. Though the population was laughably small, the town itself was spread out nicely. There weren’t many buildings in Backwater at all; the courthouse doubled as the town hall and the jail sat in the police station itself. Matt passed an old park, but no one was on it; it was simply too cold. Though he was an outsider amongst Backwater’s residents, he enjoyed living outside of the town. In truth, he lived about twenty miles from Backwater, his house nestled at the foot of the Saint Elias Mountains. Matt made a living selling the pelts, meat and bones of animals that he hunted.

Well, that and formerly selling contraband.

At least in Backwater, Matt was able to outrun most of his past. The residents didn’t like him all too much, but that was fine by him. It wasn’t a goal of his to be liked; he only wanted to be left alone.

Matt pulled up to the fur-trading store to drop off his stock. Seven caribou pelts, fourteen rabbit pelts, and even a bear pelt, all tanned and cut. He was getting paid pretty well today.

He walked into the small shop, the wolf limping at his side, glancing around. He stood out a bit. With his dark clothes, pale skin, violet eyes, long strawberry blonde hair that fell past his shoulders and into his eyes, he seemed muted compared to the customers that wore expensive jewelry and shopped for their next fur coat. There were five other people in there, and they all gave him and the wolf nervous glances. An old, round man, named Martin, came out from behind the counter.

“Mr. James, you’ve come with the pelts?”

Matt nodded, continuing to look around the store.

“Wonderful, wonderful. If you’d bring them in …” Martin stayed clear of the wolf, who watched him with amber eyes.

Matt sighed. “C’mon, Logan.” The wolf pricked its ears towards Matt before they trekked back out to his truck. Carefully, Matt unloaded the furs before walking back into the store, watching as people moved out of his way. Placing the pelts on the counter, Matt studied Martin; the way his round face turned red if he spoke too much, and how his voice was quite condescending. Martin was a customer that Matt had to watch; he’d tried to underpay before, as if Matt wouldn’t notice. The old man clapped his hands together, smiling. “Well, Matt, what do we have here?”

“Seven caribou, fourteen rabbits, an’ a bear.”

“That much?! I say, Matt, you must be one of the best hunters around. What about this. I give you ten thousand, five hundred.”

“No.”

“What? What do you mean? Surely that’s enough.” Martin laughed, though there was a certain nervousness behind it.

“I mean, that ain’t nearly enough, an’ you know it. I got seven caribou, which you usually pay three-fifty for. That’s two thousand, four hundred an’ fifty added up. Then I got fourteen rabbits, which go for about ten dollars. That’s a hundred an’ forty more. Then there’s the bear. That’s worth ten thousand, easy. That’s …” Matt paused, thinking. “Twelve thousand, five hundred an’ ninety dollars. Throw in another two hundred ‘cause I already tanned an’ cut ‘em. Tha’s bein’ nice an’ you know it.”

Martin studied Matt, his eyes narrowed, trying to find a way around this. Matt sighed. “I ain’t as expensive as mos’, you know that. Jus’ give me what I ask.”

Martin gave a nervous smile. “Matt, I can never get around you. Alright, you asked for twelve thousand, five hundred and ninety?”

“Plus the two hundred. Twelve thousand, seven hundred and ninety.”

Martin began pulling money from the safe below the counter. “Right, right. Here…” Martin handed Matt a large wad of money, smiling amiably. As Matt took it and began to carefully count it, Martin called over storehands to help with the furs. Before they could take all of them, Matt plucked two rabbit pelts from the pile.

One of the storehands looked confused. “M-Mr. James, what are you …?”

Matt turned his shadowed, violet eyes to the young woman. “I’m twenty short. Ain’t gettin’ two of the rabbits if they ain’t paid for.”

Martin laughed nervously, “Matt, it was an honest mistake. Here -” He handed Matt a twenty dollar bill. Matt studied the man before taking the money and tossing back the rabbit skins. He sighed as he walked out of the store with Logan. He could’ve told Martin off, but it wasn’t worth the trouble and he tried to limit his conversations as much as he could. At least he had gotten paid.

The drive back to his cabin seemed longer than usual. Perhaps it was the interaction with Martin that had him rattled, or perhaps it was the icy road below him. But somehow - he didn’t understand why - he had a nasty feeling that something bad was about to happen.

He decided not to think about it. Like everything else in his life, Matt felt that if he ignored it long enough, it would eventually go away. Usually, that’s what ended up happening. So, he decided to think about the caribou that he’d shot that morning, and how it still needed to be skinned. He thought about this for most of the drive, until he pulled into his snow-covered yard.

Matt owned about twenty acres of land, and most of it was the forest where he hunted. But in the center of the land, in a clearing next to a small, shallow pond, sat the beautiful log house that Matt had built for himself. It had two levels, with dark, floor-to-ceiling windows in the front and a beautiful deck that wrapped around the lower perimeter. Beside it sat a quaint shed, where Matt skinned and tanned his pelts. All around the small clearing loomed tall, dark trees that hid prey and predators alike.

An hour later, Matt was sitting on a stool in his shed, skinning the caribou with a cigarette hanging from his lips. His nose was wrinkled up, hating this part of the job. Logan lounged on the floor beside him, noisily gnawing on a leg that Matt had tossed him. Quietly, he hummed to himself, enjoying the feeling of the cool, crisp air against his face. He felt the color rise to his pale cheeks, making him feel more awake than usual. Though the shed was insulated and had a small heater, it was still a bit cold inside. Matt didn’t mind; he loved the cold. So, he had taken off his coat, exposing the tattoos on his arms.

A black ring of trees surrounded his left bicep. Covering his entire right arm was a black and grey sleeve that depicted tall, dark trees, a mountain, and the moon behind it. Birds flew across the sky and the silhouette of a wolf paced across his wrist. The black ink only made Matt seem paler.

The pelt was hung up to dry and Matt started to work on dividing the caribou meat and cleaning the bones. He kept the less desirable pieces of meat for himself and Logan; he always tried very hard not to waste any part of the animal. Logan suddenly stopped gnawing on the leg and looked up, his ears pinned back. With effort, the wolf stood, getting to the shed door in only two paces. Carefully, Matt set down his tools.

“What is it, Logan?” He crouched next to the wolf, scratching behind its ears.

He heard it before he got the chance to see it.

It was a low, terrible scream that echoed through the trees. Matt swore loudly, the cigarette dropping from his lips to the floor of the cabin. Quickly, he stubbed it out before pulling on his coat, grabbing a lighter and a can of hairspray. He gave a sharp whistle to Logan, who quickly followed him as he slammed the door shut.

The forest was quieter than usual. The dull sunlight barely penetrated the canopy of pine needles and branches. Matt jumped every time a squirrel ran up a tree or he stepped on a small twig. Though the man was silent on his feet, he felt as if the entire world could hear him stomping through the snow. He could smell blood ahead.

Matt and Logan came upon a doe that had been gutted viciously. She was terrified, but her legs wouldn’t move and she was bleeding out fast. She bleated as the two approached, doing her best to try and get away. Matt knelt to inspect the clean, deep rips across her stomach, stroking her neck and sighing. Covering her face, he quickly put her out of her misery, wincing as he did so. Beside him, Logan growled softly.

“Easy, now…” Matt reached down to pet Logan’s head, but he couldn’t help but think the wolf was right to be afraid. No animal in the forest would’ve left a perfectly good meal, and no animal would’ve been able to leave such clean and precise slashes.

Behind them, the leaves rustled. The air around them was still.

As fast as he could, Matt whipped around, brandishing the lighter. About thirty feet away stood a creature that was at least twelve feet tall. It was a horrible, twisted thing. The body was elongated and humanoid, skeletal but muscular. The hands ended in long, sickly fingers topped with deadly claws. The face, however, was the worst. It resembled a deer skull, with dried bits of flesh still hanging on and twisted, unnatural antlers protruding from its crown. Instead of flat, herbivore teeth, the mouth was full of fangs as big as Matt’s fingers. Rotten patches of fur covered the neck and continued down the horrible body. Red eyes watched Matt and Logan with a sort of human amusement. It seemed to be evaluating Matt. As they watched one another, the creature gave a low hiss that sounded very much like a dry laugh.

It charged.

Matt firmly stood his ground, and just as the creature was at arm’s length, he lit the lighter and released the hairspray. There was a sharp pain in Matt’s side before the creature was suddenly engulfed in the flame, letting out a scream that pierced through the woods; a long, dying noise that echoed off of the mountains. The flame was so large that the tips of Matt’s fingers were scorched, though he couldn’t feel it with the adrenaline rushing through his veins.

Finally, the creature fell into the snow, covering the body of the doe it had killed. Its body was a charred husk that was quickly turning to ash, taking the doe with it. The creature had caught Matt’s torso, leaving four long, deep gashes.

Kneeling next to the bodies, Matt shook his head, petting Logan. The wolf had stayed by his side the entire time.

Matt sighed, lighting another cigarette. “Fuckin’ wendigo, ruinin’ a perfectly good day.”

Beside him, Logan huffed in agreement.

Matt groaned softly as he checked his side. The wendigo had cut straight though his thick coat and shirt. He sat on the ground, shedding his layers and readying the lighter. Stitches just wouldn’t fix this injury. The flame hurt, as always, but Matt had grown numb to it. It took a while to close the wounds up, and Matt was shivering by the end. As quickly as he could, he pulled his shirt and coat back on, wincing as the fabric brushed over his newly-cauterized injuries. He finally forced himself to stand, holding a hand over his side as he did. He still had to finish the caribou in the shed.

#short story #OCs #original #wendigo #MattJames #Logan

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