She’d been here before. She’d done this already. Of course travelling from one place to another wasn’t anything new. This was different, though.
“You’re finally awake,” her mother said. “I was starting to think you might sleep for days.”
“Where are we?” Clara asked, clearing her throat. She tried to speak again but couldn’t vocalize while her mouth begged for a drink.
“Almost there,” her father replied. “I think we’ll be making this town home for a while.”
Clara reached up, fingers catching on tangled hair. “What?” Her hand returned in slow motion. Dirt, blood, she was covered. The blanket fell to the back seat floor. “That was real?”
“I’m afraid so,” her mother sighed. “We weren’t sure the Wendigo actually existed until now. This is a big breakthrough for your father and me.”
“Breakthrough,” Clara huffed. “They’re killers. They are cannibals.”
“Cannibals as in they eat people?” Mr. Fawn kept his eyes on the empty stretch of road before him.
“They weren’t human to begin with,” Mrs. Fawn said. “A tiger killing a gazelle isn’t considered cannibalism. A tiger killing a human isn’t for that matter. It’s frowned on, of course, but it’s not entirely wrong. There are predatory species in this world. The Wendigo are merely one of those.”
“What happened in the woods?” Clara asked.
“You shifted,” Mr. Fawn replied.
“I’m a werewolf?” Clara’s words trembled.
“No,” Mrs. Fawn answered. “Not a wolf, more... a part of the deer family. That’s why your head hurts. You grew horns, so to speak.”
“You knew this would happen?” Clara shrieked.
“Not at all.” Mr. Fawn glanced in the car’s mirror at his daughter. “Most first shifts happen at an early age. When you reached sixteen, we figured the shifting trait skipped a generation. That’s why we never told you.”
“Apparently those woods have an effect of even the most dormant of genes.” Mrs. Fawn offered a weak smile. “Your father and I keep an eye on those individuals who are considered unusual.”
“That’s why we were here,” Mr. Fawn explained. “There have been a number of unexplained disappearances in and around the area dating back decades. A lot of them where blamed on the Wendigo. It wasn’t them, of course. It was the townsfolk using the unusual power found in the land to their advantage.”
“I don’t understand,” Clara admitted. “Are you saying it wasn’t the Wendigo behind the disappearances?”
“That’s right,” Mrs. Fawn sighed. “Those missing were all shifters of one type or another... most just passing through the area. They were murdered for being different. It’s likely not one of them did anything to deserve such a fate.”
“But those eyes...”
“Yes.” Mr. Fawn interrupted. “The Wendigo are real. I found it hard to believe myself. You wouldn’t be alive if they weren’t. The others you were with are on the missing list now. The Wendigo stopped the townsfolk from hunting you like a wild animal.”
“They saved me?” Clara muttered. “But why?”
“A connection from the past, perhaps,” Mrs. Fawn suggested. “Deer, stag, doe... Our family could be descendants of some sort.”
“That’s what we hope to find out.” Mr. Fawn smiled, winking in the mirror. “We’ll be working out of a town on the other side of Wendigo Forest.”
“Aren’t there any questions from the people in Chance?” Clara questioned, pulling the blanket back around her.
“Nope,” her mother answered. “If they ask too many, it would draw attention to all those unsolved cases. They’ll simply chalk it all up to the Wendigo and sweep it under the rug.”
Clara’s eyes teared. “What happens to me now?”
Mrs. Fawn smiled, neck stretching to allow her to meet her daughter’s gaze. “You’ll spend time learning about yourself... your people. It’ll take a bit, but you’ll come to terms with it all. Then it’s up to you. Your father and I could use some help with our work. You are welcome to join the team now we can tell you everything.”
“In Wendigo Forest?” Clara asked, biting her bottom lip afterward.
“That’s where we expect to find our answers,” Mrs. Fawn agreed. “If we are their descendants, it would be nice to find out more about them—where they came from—how—when—why?”
“Maybe by finding out we can put an end to the terrible stories that currently exist and write new legends,” Mr. Fawn suggested.
Clara nestled back against the seat, the blanket covering all but her nose and eyes. This time it wasn’t a dream she was faced with. This time it was real. As much as she appreciated her parents’ explanations, she needed to know more. She needed to understand for herself. There was only one path leading in that direction and it headed straight through Wendigo Forest. Taking it was her only choice.
The End...
or is it.
About the Author
C.A. King is the recipient of several awards, including: The Hamilton Spectator Readers' Choice Award for 2017, 2018 & 2019 in the Best Local Author category; The Brant News Readers' Choice Award for 2017 Best Local Author; Readers' Favorite award in the short story/novella category; the 2017 SIBA Award for Best New Adult; the 2017 SIBA Award for Best Novella; 2018 Readers' Favorite International Book Awards: Gold Medal in the Fiction—Supernatural genre; 2018 Readers' Favorite International Book Awards: Bronze Medal in the Fiction—New Adult genre; 2019 Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards: Gold Medal in the Fiction – Supernatural genre; and 2019 Readers’ Favorite International Book Awards: Gold Medal in the Young Adult – Fantasy – Urban Genre.
Currently residing in Brantford, Ontario Canada, she lives with her two sons. She began her writing career after the tragic loss of her parents and husband. Redirecting
