The frosted breath of autumn curled through the ancient pines surrounding Chateaugay Lake, whispering of the long-dead spirits that dwelt within. Though the village slumbered, a restless energy permeated the night air, for this was the eve of All Hallows when the veil between worlds grows thin.
The lake’s glassy surface reflected the light of the hunter’s moon, cold and pale like the face of a corpse. Along its banks the shadows drew long like grasping claws. I sat upon the creaking porch of the old McAllister house, built in 1834 from stone and timber harvested from these very woods. The rough-hewn planks sagged beneath my feet, worn by the tread of generations past.
My compatriots and I had journeyed here, far from the gas-lit streets of New York, seeking respite from modernity’s trappings. We wished to live as the ancestors did, drawing sustenance from the land and wisdom from the solitude of nature. But as darkness deepened on this Halloween night, a sinister change came over the landscape.
The cheerful chatter of birds and chipmunks faded, leaving only the sighing of the trees. A bone-chilling breeze rippled the surface of the lake, breaking the reflection of the moon into fragments. All the creatures of the forest grew muted, as if holding their breath in dreadful anticipation.
My friends had gone walking along the wooded paths to gather firewood and enjoy the brisk autumn air before nightfall. But they had been gone too long. I peered out into the gloaming, straining for any sign of their return. Only the shifting shadows between the columns of pines greeted my searching gaze.
As the last dying rays of sunlight disappeared below the horizon, I heard a distant cry echoing across the lake. My heart seized in my chest—no natural animal made a sound so anguished, so consumed with primal terror. I leapt to my feet, the old porch boards screaming in protest beneath me, just as my compatriots came bursting from the tree line.
Their faces were pale and wild-eyed, their clothing torn and dirty from scrambling desperately through the underbrush. They collapsed onto the porch, chests heaving from exertion and horror. When they had caught their breath, they began to speak of what pursued them, what infernal creature had crossed their path as twilight deepened in the forest.
The Wendigo, that mythical fiend born from consuming human flesh, the eternal hunger that drives men mad, had come stalking these ancient woods. My friends described its emaciated flesh pulled taut over its skeletal frame, antlers sprouting from its skull, the glow of damnation burning in its sunken eyes. It moved with preternatural speed between the trees, compelled by an insatiable craving for human prey.
I knew then that we were doomed. The Wendigo had marked us; it would not stop until we had all been dragged down into its cursed lair, there to writhe and scream as it feasted on our flesh. We barred the doors and shuttered the windows, knowing such frail barricades would not hold the demon at bay for long.
The night stretched on interminably. We huddled close to the hearth, more for the meager comfort of companionship than warmth. The unholy cries of the Wendigo echoed from the shores of Lake Chateaugay, sometimes near, sometimes far. We flinched at every small noise—the pop of burning wood, the scurry of mice in the walls. Sleep was impossible. The waning moon traversed the sky with agonizing slowness, indifferent to our torment.
As the first glimmer of dawn pierced the gloom outside, we dared to hope the Wendigo had retreated back into whatever hellish domain it emerged from. Perhaps this annual nocturnal terror would pass with the rising sun. But then came a sound at once familiar and utterly foreign—the shuffling tread of footsteps on the porch.
The boards creaked under an unseen weight, the rhythm unlike how a human walks. A rank animal odor permeated the air, the stench of carrion and festering wounds. Frozen in dread, we stared as the doorknob began to turn, ever so slowly.
The door swung open, ancient hinges squealing in protest. There, framed by the doorway, stood the hulking form of the Wendigo, more gruesome than any nightmare. Milky eyes gleamed with predatory hunger beneath its crown of jagged antlers. Yellowed fangs jutted from a mouth that split its face from ear to ear. Taloned fingers longer than steak knives flexed eagerly at its sides as it stooped under the lintel, crossing the threshold into the farmhouse.
We screamed then, wild and shrill, as the monster lunged. Ancient instinct seized control of our bodies, though our rational minds knew escape was impossible. The Wendigo swatted us aside like insects, unrelenting in its pursuit as we scattered through the ground floor rooms.
I heard the nauseating sound of teeth rending flesh as it seized one of my compatriots. His agonized wailing was cut short as the creature tore his head from his body in a single wrenching motion. Hot blood sprayed across my face as I fled. Stumbling blindly, I overturned chairs and sideboards to block the fiend’s path, but its preternatural speed defied all obstacles.
At last I reached the front hall, where the bodies of my friends lay strewn like broken dolls, limbs twisted in unnatural angles, faces frozen in rictus grins of agony. The Wendigo towered above them, blood dripping from its jaws as it savored its kills. This was the horrific end it had planned for us the moment we set foot in its domain.
In that instant, the utter indifference of the cosmos overwhelmed me. The old gods we had hoped to commune with cared nothing for our mortal dreams. Nature was a merciless carnivore glutting itself on our flesh and terror.
As the Wendigo turned the malevolent blaze of its gaze upon me, my sanity shattered. I knew I would soon join my compatriots in death, torn limb from limb by an entity ancient when man was young. So I threw back my head, opened my mouth wide, and let loose an unhinged howl to echo the Wendigo’s own.
Laughter bubbled from my lips as I gibbered and swooned in the face of the demon’s unholy glory. As darkness closed in around me, part of my shattered mind exulted that I would become one with the unnameable forces that dwell beyond the pale of reason. The last sensation I recall was my flesh parting beneath the Wendigo’s fangs as it dragged me into the blackness between the stars, beyond all earthly imaginings.
What mysteries of Chateaugay Lake haunt you?