Consumed

The first body in 1984 made me throw up; right then and there. I couldn’t believe it had ever been a person. All that was left were a few clumps of hair, a couple of misplaced bones, and the lump of crimson goo. The second and third were not as devoured. They were still intact minus the skin and some “bites”. It seemed like a rushed job by comparison. I could hold myself together by then and when we got to number five I began to look. Really look. Whatever it was, these people didn’t fight. There were no defensive wounds. They simply looked as if they had gotten tired and lay right down to sleep; maybe in the street or next to a dumpster; we even had one in the park. But they had been skinned; completely. I fought hard to cover the story and was immediately consumed by it; not much exciting happens in Tacoma. I was desperate to find out what was going on around me and better yet, who knew about it. A story like this could shoot me to the top.

Police brought in the FBI and profilers. There was enough forensic equipment to start a museum, but nothing really came of it: A white male, probably solitary and removed from social circles or contact; unassuming and forgettable. There were no weapons, no cut marks on the bodies. They all tested positive for different bacterial infections; like Lyme disease or syphilis. Most of those reporting or investigating decided it was due to environmental contamination or poor life choices. When the bodies began to show up elsewhere, like Puyallup and BonneyLake, we packed up and moved along too, trying to find answers and stop the madness. I watched it all from the front row and took notes; observed.

But I wanted to explore beyond the obvious crazed killer and after so many months, seven to be exact, we were no closer a solution but deeper in bodies. I went to my friend Jake for a little advice. We were perfectly content, during my mandatory vacation, to check out the most ludicrous possibilities. To tell the truth, it brought levity to what had become such a dreary and hopeless existence for me. We went as far as researching legends of the surrounding Indians of the Northwest and Canada as well as Jake’s familial mythology in the Ojibwa tribe. We got a match. Witiko or Wendigo. They are creatures of great gluttony, feasting for power… on humans. They can become so strong; they are able to take their form (using the flesh of its host or victim as a costume) for easier hunting. Jake and I carried on for days about this, printing everything we could find. I stayed with him until they found another body. To so many these grisly murders seemed disconnected. I thought so too until I began to apply the Wendigo intellect. It took me another six months of research but I got it. Jake laughed at me until I began to write the piece. Then he seemed to slip away, maybe embarrassed by my obsession with such a crazy thought. But I was finding no contradictions when I chased this lead.

Wendigos or skin walkers are thin creatures. They are constantly on the hunt and lull their victims with their personalities, getting in close for the kill. There is always a touch needed to initiate an attack. Through their skin erupts a small proboscis overlaying a smaller tube or mouth with razor like jaws. These will slice the flesh and inject chemicals to numb the innocent; much like a tick; so prostaglandins, vasodilators, anticoagulants and a chemical that breaks down Bradykinin are all contained in this monster’s saliva as well as an enzyme for breaking down flesh. And just like those nasty little arachnid cousins, they might carry diseases common with that species; bacterial infections such as: Rocky Mountain spotted fever, Lyme’s Disease or Syphilis. What does all this mean? Well, you never know what hit you. Your body never gets alarmed and you simply, quietly dissolve; your body, your soul, everything is melting away into this voracious, demon. You will die. The skin walkers began to appear in the 80’s after Mt St Helen’s eruption. Before that, they were mostly murmured about in British Columbia, Saskatchewan and Manitoba. These beasts were stirred by environmental changes and adapted quickly to suburban life, choosing the forms best suiting their hunting grounds: dirty skin walkers choose dirty people because they fit in and can easily disarm their victim. Often times, they chose transients or misfits; those who wouldn’t be noticed or missed. However, as I said, they are gluttonous, thinking only of their next meal as they gorge themselves. Power is ultimately what they’re after; in the form of flesh or energy.

I triumphantly presented my case and evidence to my pal. He read and re-read. He opened a beer and did it all again. I sat, stood, paced and raked my hair. “Well?”

His breath was drawn slowly and he clucked like a muttering chicken.

“It’s bullshit and you need a life” he said cautiously through a slurp of beer.

“WHAT? You’re nuts. How can you not see this?” I slapped the papers angrily, bunching them in my fists. “I have carried all this …THIS around for SO long; finally finding where the pieces of the puzzle fit and you burp on me and tell me it’s BULLSHIT?” I was gulping hot anger.

“You took a legend from an ancient tribe and smeared it around to cover a story to give your deranged sad life purpose. No one will buy this. Not one. You need to go back to Tacoma and write about corrupt politicians, drug busts in high schools and charity events.” He drained his beer.
I smacked the can from his hand.

“You jackass.” I hissed and snatched all my work; cramming it into my briefcase and storming out. I insulted him silently all the way to my car. I wished him a slow painful death the entire ride home, pounding my steering wheel for emphasis.

I made the appointment with my editor anyway, showing everything I had: the pictures, the lab work, interviews and yes, my Wendigo history. She sat back and sucked on the end of her pen. I fidgeted in my seat.

“We’ll run it as fiction.”

“But it’s not.” I pouted.

“We have no proof.”

“We DO. Right here.” I got up and tapped the papers impatiently.

“Let me discuss this with the chief.” She hummed thoughtfully. “Meet with us again tomorrow morning for coffee and bagels. It will run regardless, but we need to be ready if we are going to go main on this. Understood?”

My heart leapt and thudded in my chest. I think I drooled on her desk. “Yes. Yes I do and I will take this to the end.” I raced out and dialed Jake as fast as I could.

“Hey Douche bag!” I gleefully shouted. I was even pointing at the phone as I waved my victory in his face.
He was quiet. “No congrats from the skeptic?” my voice was sharp, filled with gloat and disdain.

“You are mistaken, my friend. But let’s put this behind us and have dinner. I will celebrate what you see as a victory.”

“You’re buyin. Loser.”

We met at our favorite spot. I sat across from him as he somberly walked in and took his place at the table. I chunked the papers on it and patted them lovingly. The waiter brought wine and I made my friend listen to me toast myself. He did not drink but raised his glass and spoke:

“You just couldn’t stop. You know, I fed your little fantasy for a while; even encouraged you. Bad on my part now I see. It’s led us here. You are delusional and confused. This legend of our faith, our people is not subject for your “big break”. It is part of who we are and it does not belong splashed around some two bit paper looking to bolster readership. You don’t understand what you think you’ve uncovered. It is a myth. It is a fable, and untruth, whatever you want to call it…but it is NOT fodder for you…” abruptly he pushed back, stalking out of the restaurant. I followed him calling out. He picked up his pace but faltered at the corner, thinking of where to go next. I caught up with him.

“Wait. Jake.” I stopped him. My voice was soothing and gentle. “I have no intention of raking you or your people through the coals. I know the damage it would do. Trust me, my friend. Let’s fix this.”

He relaxed, permitting me to slip my arm through his and catch his hand. I smiled as we headed down the side street, drinking him in and thinking of my next meal...with my editor.



I guess this isn't a very cheery welcome back from my hiatus, is it? Well, I got caught up in some research on this one and here it is. I love legends, urban myths and ghost stories.  This one caught my eye and I ran with it.  I kinda like it. It's just creepy enough, ya know? Well regardless, it feels good to sit with you again.  I have missed our time together more than you could imagine.  I have another one marinating so let's get together soon and do this again, shall we?

Thanks for stopping by. It's been great. See you soon.

sources researched: Wikipedia :(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wendigo)
                                Maps of Canada and the northwester US : (www.bing.com)
                               www.google.com
                               www.nativearts.com
                               www.americanfolklore.net