Windigo Rises

Luminous moonlight from a silver crescent lances through the brittle branches of the forest. Disturbed by a brisk gust, a light dusting of the previous day’s snow gently drifts from their withered surfaces to the ground below. Very little moves out here tonight. Mid January this far north has always been a time of fragile tranquility, as if the sky, as well as the earth, is covered with a thin veil of ice. All too easy is it to disturb this peace, but, fortunately, there isn’t much around to do so. Usually.

That fragile tranquility shatters when a spine-tingling wail rents the air. The breeze stills, as if it were a breath sucked in in trepidation, and the snow ceases its steady drifting for one moment. The world holds still, encased in a tight bubble of tension.

Rapid footfalls crack through layers of crusty ice, and another inhuman cry of rage swells in the tense world. A figure unceremoniously bursts through a clearing in the woods, its arms heavy with bags of some foul-smelling substance. Its breath gushes in and out of its lungs in rapid succession, and it soon becomes clear as to why: Merely an instant later, a second figure, this one horribly gaunt and tall as the surrounding pines, darts through the trees in pursuit. Another unearthly wail reverberates from its misleadingly frail form.

The first figure, a slight young woman, continues her mad dash, though she knows her efforts are useless. Even though her arms are loaded with the right deterrent, even though she’s the star of her track team and has her best “haul ass and don’t look back” play list of songs cycling through her brain, and even though Yoli is back home whipping up some witchy juju to get rid of this thing for good, she’s just too damned tired to press on. The beast hot on her heels is easily three times as fast as she on her best day, and today had definitely not been her best day…

Winter break is supposed to consist of nothing but lounging around all day, pretending to catch up on homework and chores, and generally being a hermit. With only two days into the week-long vacation, Sandra had no qualms with parking her butt in front of the TV all day and halfheartedly grumbling about class projects. But that sedentary option just wasn’t good enough for dear little Yoli. Boredom doesn’t suit her at all, and, like the demented witch she is, she decided to drag out Dad’s old Ouija board and force Sandra into “summoning a darker energy.” Whatever the hell that was supposed to mean. Apparently it was her version of quality sister bonding. Knowing how persistent Yoli was with sharing any of her freaky obsessions, Sandra simply humored her and played along. Sure, Dad had claimed dozens of times that “you can’t screw around with that spirit stuff, girls; it’ll mark ya for life, you can count on that,” but that was all nonsense. After all, he still kept the damned board around, so he obviously wasn’t all that convinced that it oozed evil.

Daddy, if I die out here, just know that I’m sorry I never listened to you… And that this is all Yoli’s fault!

The wind whips up again, throwing gusts of frigid air and painfully thin limbs at Sandra’s exposed face and neck. She’s beyond feeling the cold by now, and the branches’ slashing falls on numb skin. Her heart thunders against her sternum, trying to pound its way clean out of her rib cage, it seems. Her lungs feel like a dry, shriveled-up furnace filter, and her legs have felt like sacs of pudding for the past three minutes. She can’t do this…can’t do this…

“Come on, it’ll be fun,” Yoli persisted, sliding the planchette in place.

“Says the one who can spend four straight hours reading Shakespeare because ‘it’s so riveting and rich with literary development.’” Sandra rolled her eyes at her sister’s scowl and remained in her supine position on the futon. “Seriously, no. It’s creepy.”

“Whatever,” Yoli huffed. She settled in a cross-legged meditative stance in the middle of the living room. “I don’t really need a partner for this, after all,” she added archly.