The Weeping Wendigo

            I confused its cries with shrieks.

            A haunting noise echoing through the icy plains. A place where creatures such as that don't belong. It’s not beneficial for their hunts if their prey has full view of their imposing and terrifying appearance. The blood they carry in their large mouths will leave a stark trail in the snow.

            Yet, somehow, a Wendigo sauntered upon unknown territory. It’s nothing short of a miracle that no one else spotted such a large creature in the middle of nowhere. The skull of an Elk for a head, rotting flesh dripping from the bone. Chunks of meat form its last meal lodges in its jagged teeth, sharper than an obsidian knife.

            It sits as I watch from a safe distance; although there’s no such thing when encountering a Wendigo. From where I stand, I can still tell how large it is. It's legs are far too long to bend, not that it’s even possible with atrophied limbs. Despite the fact, it’s able to run miles in a span of seconds.

            Its large head lifts, empty holes staring directly at me: another prey spotted. But it doesn’t move it’s emaciated body to lodge its jaw into my throat before ripping me to shreds. It simply stares, hunched over with its spindly, patchy arms.

            There’s blood on its long fingers that resemble a fireplace poker; because I have no doubt that’s what they feel like when they snatch their game of the night. I should be afraid of staring face to face with it, instead, I can only feel awe, and on some twisted level, pity.

            Another hollow shriek erupts form its hollowed chest. Instinctively, I take a few steps back, waiting for the attack to happen. The Wendigo moves an inch, reaching one of its arms my direction. Perhaps regaining strength to pounce on me?

            No. It extends a paw, then shrieking again. It dies out as if it lost energy to call for me, if that’s what it was doing.

            And I notice the reason for its cries. I didn’t notice before for obvious reasons, but it’s legs are burned. Charred and peeling. What’s left of their feet are nothing more but nubs of charcoal. The trail of blood wasn’t from its mouth or hands, but from its cindering legs. Pieces of its skin got stuck to the ice sheet, presumably trying to drag itself out form here.

            It wants my help.

            But I can’t give it so easily. What if it’s a trap to lure me in to eat me? As far as we both know, it’s just the two of us out here. A monsters with the strength of a hundred men and a young girl headed back to her village. There’s no challenge in knowing who will win this fight.

            “Does it hurt?” I call to it, unknowing if it even speaks my langauge.

            It moves its head back, taken by surprise that I’m speaking to it at all. Still, it moves its head from me to his burned limbs. Another cry follows, this time, it resembles an elk’s whistle.

            There’s nothing in my knowledge of this creature that it could manipulate. There’s no need for it as it catches prey with ease and it’s difficult to kill. There’s no other explanation for its injuries other than the luck of a warrior. The flesh from that encounter could still be lingering in its mouth.

            “I cannot help you. I do not trust that you won’t eat me.”

            It whistles as a response, leaving me in a bind. There’s without a doubt it has committed atrocities, and may continue do more, but it’s without a moral compass. It kills as instinct, just as mine is to be fearful of it. However, it’s my decision whether this pitiful creature lives or not. And I cannot assume the role of a god.

            I sigh, sealing my fate to my perilous empathy. “I’ll help you. You have to promise not to hurt me and leave this place.”

            I don’t await a response from it. This thing won’t understand not to kill me after I heal it. My words were for my own peace of mind. To make the death less painful knowing that I tried to do something good.

            Slowly, cautiously, I get closer to it, my sight never leaving it. Just as its empty eyes never leave me. The closer I get, the more foul it smells. The putrid stench of meat simmering between other pieces of meals it’s eaten. The rancid smell sticks to the back of my throat, making me gag with each step I take.

            It doesn’t realize why I make disgusted noises  it never occurred to me they’d stink this horribly. The burned skin doesn’t ease the smell any less. It only makes it more pungent. Even my eyes get watery.

            I close the distance. It’s figure and size are nothing to how I saw it from afar. It feels as though I’m between two fallen tree trunks. Despite sitting, it looks down at me, while I still have to crane my neck.

            There’s nothing done or said for a moment. Just the two of us waiting for the other to do something. It’s enough assurance for me, if it wanted to devour me it would’ve done so already.

            From my pouch, I take out a salve. It may not be enough to cover both of its legs.

            “This is for burns. It may sting a bit, and honestly, it may help only a little.”

            I scoop a significant amount of the sale in my hand. Carefully, I inch closer to the first burn. Before making contact with its skin, its paw grabs my arm.

            My blood turns cold.

            I was right about its brutish hand. I’m getting crushed and it’s not even using full force.

            Huasisse

            Huasisse

            A malformed voice comes from within the Wendigo. It's mouth doesn’t move. There’s no tongue to create sound. But the sound of my name came from it.

            The Wendigo makes a drawn out whistle. It's body trembles and its legs convulse before shedding fur and bits of flesh. Blood seeps from the burn wounds, melting the snow beneath. The red of its blood turns black, as if it were poison.

            Huasisse. Huasisse of the hidden lake.

            My screams are caught in my throat. Dry and hoarse already.

            It stands to its full height, never letting go of my mangled arm. It hunches over, toppling from the pain of its legs. Bemoaning and crying, it falls to its knees, nearly using me as support.

            My voice trembles as I try to speak to it once more. “Please…have mercy.”

            There’s a clicking sound. It’s jaw chatters against its teeth. It's body contorts within itself. A painful shriek follows after. I’m at loss at what to do. I’m paralyzed with fear, already sending my goodbyes to my family through the wind.

            Don’t cry. Don’t cry

            It brings its other paw to my head. Prepared to be bludgeoned, I shut my eyes tight. I feel its claws graze the top, its fingers weighing heavily on my skull.

            Kind and forgiving, Huasisse. I’m sorry. It hurts.

            It coils as if it were withering. From the empty holes in its face, streams of tears pour out. Uncontrollably. Hideously. 

            With a shaking hand, I bring it to its snout, risking getting my hand snapped off. It leans towards my touch. Contrary to how it looks, its head is quite slimy, and rather hot underneath the tips of my fingers.

            I’m just hungry. I’m sorry. I don’t mean to.

            It makes me wonder what my tribe would think of me, feeling sadness for a monster that causes so much damage in the woodlands. Seeing me tend its wounds with the care I would to other animals.

            I put the salve over one leg, knowing the damage is far too great for a simple spread like this to help it. It’s nearly impossible for someone to kill a Wendigo. Shamans are equipped with magical abilities to do so, but we’re miles away from my home.

            Another possible way is to detach its head from its body.

            But I can’t bring myself to such barbaric measures. Even to this one here. My mother always said that there’s great dishonor when striking down on a being, man or beast, when it’s already wounded and pleading for mercy. Unless it’s to bring them out of their misery. We have to be different from the others.

            I doubt she included the Wendigo in her words. Yet, I can’t help the sinking feeling of my chest every time it cries. Its leg trembles when I put another layer of the medicine. I can’t bring myself to tell it that its brush are far too great to. It may be too late for it.

            Kill me. Just kill me. It hurts.

            I jerk my hand away. “I can’t do that,” I say.

            I’m not a hunter like my father and brothers. Even knowing that we need to eat meat for survival I can’t bear the thought of killing an animal. They scold me for thinking they’re the same as the white savages from the south. I know we value the animal for the nourishment, and send it back to the Creator with loving words; death, to me, is a concept I cannot come to terms with.

            It feels unfair. To be put on this land for only a moment. I don’t care in the slightest of the cycle every living being has to go through. I don’t care that we should just think of the now, not tomorrow, not a season later, but right now. I don’t care for all of it if it means it will vanish sooner or later.

            Maybe that’s why I’m inclined to help this terrifying creature; a beast so powerful crying beneath my hands. Something has to survive longer than what’s expected. Even our trees will one day perish.

            Kill me. Kill me.

            “Don’t ask me to do such a terrible thing.”

I gently pat its head to comfort it even a little. It’s cruel for me to try to give it false hope, but there must be another way to help it.

It wails, then shoves me to the side with a swat of its large hand. I’m lucky a claw didn’t impale me, but it feels as if a boulder ran over my body. I slide through the ice, gasping for air and trying to get up on my feet.

As I scramble to stand up, to my great horror, the Wendigo starts to eat its own legs.

“Stop! Don’t do that!” I cry out while holding my stomach.

I try to run over to it. Once it sees me getting close it snarl at me this time before continue to feast on its burnt limbs.

The crunches of each bite turn me deaf as my insides twist and turn. There’s nothing to compare such a sound but to rocks coming down a steep cliff. And it turns the puddle of blood into a pool. The snow and ice melt, giving off steam.

It doesn’t finish with its legs; it just goes and starts tearing pieces of its body. Freeing itself fromt the immense pain. The shrieks and wails carve themselves into my memory. Not even the carcasses they leave are as brutal as what it's currently doing to itself.

“Stop it. Stop doing that,” I whisper under my breath.

I run towards it this time. Whatever fear I felt in the beginning no longer resides in me.

Before I can reach one of its arms, or what’s left of it, with its other arm, it aims into the neck. With one heavy and swift move, it slices its head. The skull drops on the ground, breaking the ice, silencing its painful cries. The rest of itself falls into black clumps of fur and gangrenous limbs.

The only whistle heard now is the wind cutting through my cheeks.

            I fall to my knees, blinking away tears and trying to come to terms with what just happened. I crawl towards the remains, thinking that it’s not truly dead. It couldn’t be that easy for it to end itself.

            Alas,  the absence of any movement makes it real and morbid. The stench form before is nothing compared to what’s emanating from its corpse. I’m sure if I breathe in this air it would kill me.

            There’s nothing left of it, but its skull. The tears it shed dried on the bone, leaving marks from blood and dirt. I take the skull and place it on my lap, wiping away the last of its tears.

            And I just sit there until nightfall, holding the skull of a Wendigo, watching the rest of my surroundings and hoping to remember it all before it vanishes. Before the savages travel to our home and take it away like the rest of the tribes.

            If a Wendigo can’t survive it leaves no hope to what might happen to the rest of us.