Creepypastas&Urban Legends

The Wendigo

The Wendigo. A creature from the mythology of Native Americans that lived in the region of the northeastern United States and southeastern Canada. It's born from pure cannibalism, and its hunger is never satisfied. There are a lot of stories surrounding the mysterious 13 Mile Woods of northern New Hampshire. I've heard stories of hunting parties starving out there, and resorting to cannibalism. There's no telling what happens out there. This story was told to me by my grandfather, who met one of the people involved.

The year was 1957. His name was Arnold Watson. He loved to hunt, and he loved even more to take long hunting trips in the woods. Of course, he never went alone. He had a couple old friends he'd take along, Andy Johnson and Darrel Trembel. He hadn't seen them in years, so they all decided to go on a week long hunting trip. They packed up all their stuff; hunting rifles, blankets, tents, matches, a week's worth of ammunition and food.

The three of them piled into Arnold's Chevy pickup truck. The ride through the winding dirt roads was long and bumpy. They were deep into the woods now. Then the engine started making clicks and sputtering noises, like it was breaking down. It slowed to a stop.

"Start, goddammit!" said Arnold as he banged on the wheel.

"Did you fill 'er up before we left?" asked Andy.

"I musta forgotten," Arnold said as he sighed and sat back in his seat, "we might as well make camp near here, but I don't wanna get too far from the truck."

So they ventured in the woods a bit, and found a small clearing near a river where they could set up their tents. It was already getting dark, so they started a fire, had a little something to eat, and went to bed. They slept with their guns at their bedside, just in case. They all slept soundly through the night.

Arnold was the first to awake. He stood up and stretched, letting out a long yawn. He stepped outside of the tent and rubbed his eyes. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. A bear had come and tossed everything about, and eaten almost all of their food. Arnold ran into his tent, grabbed his rifle and aimed at the bear. His running around had already startled the bear, and it had gotten away before Arnold could get a clear shot.

"Andy! Darrel! Get up! Damn bear's gotten at our food!" Andy and Darrel scrambled up.

"What in the hell are you-" Darrel stared, open mouthed, at the remaining scraps of their food.

Most of the shotgun shells had been thrown into the river, and only a few usable shells remained.

"Holy shit, what are we gonna do now? We ain't got nuthin! No food, no ammo, no-"

He was cut off by Andy, "Just keep calm Darrel! I think there's more ammo in the truck..." he trailed off.

"Do you guys remember the way back to the truck?" Arnold asked nervously.

"I think it's this way... or, no, this way... well, it might've been this way..." said Andy.

Darrel smacked his hand on his face.

"You ain't got a damn idea what your talkin' 'bout!" Darrel and Andy both lunged at each other and started wrestling, cursing in between breaths.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey! Stop that!" Arnold pulled Darrel off of Andy.

"We gotta get along. We're in a survival situation now. Ain't no fun and games. We could easily die out here and no one would ever find us. Our best bet would be to follow the river. Maybe we could find a town, or a trading post, or somethin'."

Darrel snapped, "A town? Out here? My ass. We're all alone out here. We'll never find our way out!" Andy's always been the weak one. Not very surprising that he'd be the first one to break.