A month later, a fisherman reported finding a dead body near the river. David and I went to investigate.
The body was of a man in his thirties. It had been there for at least three days. His abdomen was crushed and torn open. Flesh scattered. No clear bite marks. Just massive claw-like damage.
Nearby, three dead deer lay in similar condition.
David radioed the station:
"Code Yellow."
Henry's voice came through the static.
"Code Yellow confirmed. Hold position. Do not pursue anything."
That night, we camped near the body.
Around midnight, David woke me.
"Do you hear that?"
At first, nothing. Then…
Soft sobbing. Somewhere in the forest.
Not screaming. Not howling.
Crying.
It moved.
David whispered, "Don't shine your light. Don't call out. Don't move."
We didn't sleep.
The next morning, backup arrived. Official cause: unidentified animal attack. Case closed.
But I overheard Henry say, "Looks like it's back."
Over the next weeks, more bodies appeared. Animals. Then a camper. Same pattern. Torn apart. No bite marks. Just massive claw damage.
Finally, I confronted Henry. I said the word again.
"Wendigo."
The room fell silent.
Henry later told me something I never knew—years ago, David had been hospitalized for three weeks after witnessing the creature kill his partner.
"It's not an animal," David told me. "It's something else. It let me live."
After that, things went quiet for a month.