“There are other factors to consider,” her mother suggested. “There could be wild animals or poisonous plants.”
“I’m not going to eat anything growing in a forest.” Clara rolled her eyes. “I’m not stupid.”
“We know you’re not,” her mother agreed. “I’m sorry, but it’s best you don’t go near the woods.”
“Humph,” Clara huffed, stomping to the door.
“In case you missed the point,” her father called out after her, “you aren’t allowed anywhere near the forest.” He pushed his plate forward, making room for his forehead to hit the table.
“Argh!” The door slammed. Clara’s back straightened against the adjacent wall, ears strained to hear any further conversation. Having the last word in any argument was a sign of victory, even if it wasn’t in the dictionary. Noises counted.
“Do you think she’ll listen?” her mother asked.
“I hope she does,” her father answered, glancing up through messy hair. “We have to trust she has a good head on her shoulders.”
“But the forest...”
“Relax,” her father sighed. “If we are being truthful, we don’t even know if Wendigo are real. You said yourself this could be another case of a wild goose chase.”
“There are other factors,” Mrs. Fawn complained. “You know there are. Sometimes I think humans are more vicious than any other species.” Her eyes teared. “She’s still a little girl.”
“We have to admit, Clara is growing up. Other people are something she’s going to have to learn about for herself,” Mr. Fawn replied. “We can warn her... prepare her... but, no amount of preaching from any parent stops their offspring from making their own mistakes. That’s how they grow up. She has a good head on her shoulders. I think she’ll come to the correct conclusions on her own this time.”
“Boys are dangerous,” her mother cried. “She’s nowhere near old enough to be given that sort of freedom. What if she’s hurt?”
“I don’t think boys are what we should be worried about. She’s going to fall in and out of love. That’s part of life. We can’t stop crushes from happening,” her father sympathized, patting his wife on the back. “We have to let her experience young love and decide for herself where it leads. In the mean time, I suggest we settle the mystery of the Wendigo quickly. I’d feel a lot better if we knew what was really going on in those woods.”
“You’re right,” Mrs. Fawn conceded. “For the record though, I’m not ready to be a grandmother.”
“You’ve given that talk enough times,” George Fawn chuckled. “I’m sure she’ll be safe when the time comes.”
“I hope so,” she snapped, “or you’ll be the one changing diapers at three in the morning.”
“Yes, dear.”
Chapter 9
Her black laptop flipped open, screen lighting up under her blankets. The cursor flashed in the search bar. Her fingers glided smoothly over the keys, typing Wendigo exactly as it sounded. The name seemed familiar, perhaps from a movie or urban legend. The story that went with it, she couldn’t remember, though.
Clara’s eyes widened, reading each of the entries, “Native American folklore.” She scrolled down. “Man-eating creatures found in northern forests.” She pulled out a pen and paper, scratching down information. “Man-beast similar to a cross between a werewolf and an evil spirit.” She gasped, wondering why the stories weren’t more well-known given their obvious level of gruesomeness. These creatures could stand toe-to-toe with any vampire or zombie. “Cannibalism... flesh eater... insatiable hunger... ability to mimic human voices... possession.”
Her fingers shook, clicking on the images tab of the search. The laptop snapped closed. Each picture was more vividly disgusting than the previous, all depicting a strange cross between a man and a stag, standing anywhere from ten to fifteen feet tall. In some cases, skin was stretched tightly over bones, showing off the creature’s full skeletal features. It only took a split second for the depiction of a set of large eyes to bore a hole straight through to her nerves.
The Wendigo were what her parents were probably researching. Even so, they were making a big fuss over a mythological being. Clara sighed, flopping back on her pillow. No one actually believed any of the old legends were true. There’d be widespread panic if they, or any other supernatural phenomena were.
For her parents to be there, something else had to be going on. They weren’t sent to run-of-the-mill places to seek out the unknown. If anything, they probably were there to disprove myths. Neither needed to tell her directly; there were other reasons behind what they did: people missing, or unexplained accidents. That brought up another wrinkle in her own research; with so many bad things happening, it defied logic for other parents to be letting their children into the forest... unless...
Clara gasped, trembling. Was the whole town involved in something sinister? She shook her head. That was ridiculous. This was exactly why she hated horror movies; they put thoughts in her mind that had no business being there.
Eyelids blinked. It was too late to stop the thought process, she’d seen too much. Sleep wasn’t about to come easily, if it all. One hand reached across the bed, grabbing her one protector from things that went bump in the night: Mr. Fluffunny.
Chapter 10
She’d been there before, not that she knew where there was. The memory was as foggy as the air around her. Only flashes passed before her eyes and moments of déjàvu. Her mind was selective, only allowing her access to small details from her previous experience.
Labouring breath and a fast heartbeat mingled with the sound of her own pounding feet. As before, there was no stopping—she wasn’t in control. Tree branches whipped at the skin on her face and arms, leaving the same scratches and cuts. Her mind raced. Why was she running again? Where was she running to? Who was she running from?
Clouds parted, making way for
