My brother is missing. He has been gone for the better part of two years. This wouldn’t be unusual for Gary though. We grew up together, separated by only a few years. He was always the adventurous one. Courageous, brave and intelligent, the worst combination for an older brother. Everybody loved and admired him and I lived in his shadow. Most people would be resentful but Gary was a character who raised those around him. I always knew he would end up making a positive difference in the world. When he told me he was going to be away for a few months the summer of my senior year I wasn’t surprised. He had been involved with a state-wide operation which led to the seizure of a large amount of narcotics. He was an investigative journalist and had spent months working from the inside to build a case for the local police.
The next big case was another year undercover, working to tear down an arms dealer. The group were supplying and fuelling gang wars, profiting from the lives of men killed by the weapons he put in their hands. He told me some details over drinks one night over the holidays. He didn’t say much until late into the night. He told me how involved he needed to be to get into a position to know the head of the operation. Things he didn’t like to reminisce on for too long. It was the same night that he told me about his next assignment. He was working on bringing down a worldwide organisation, who arranged big game hunting trips for seedy individuals. I met him a couple of months later and he told me he was leaving the country to meet up with the group. That was the last I heard from him until today.
I received an email this morning from an unknown sender. The subject title said “For the attention of the big fella”. I normally would delete these on receipt but the title caught my attention. Gary had always called me the big fella since I passed him in height at 15. I am about an inch taller than him and wouldn’t be considered the big fella by any means. The email contained a text file and journal detailing his time spent with the group. The text file just said the following.
“I don’t think I’m going to make it back from this one, big fella.”
May 5th 2022
Last week I received the notification to meet in a small town in North Dakota. It was addressed to Mr. Johnathon Marley, the alias in which I have been communicating under. The letter was stamped with a golden view at the head of the page. There was a list of essentials such as camping equipment, warm clothing and hunting equipment. Food would be provided on site before departure. There was a highlighted asterisk beside hunting equipment. It said if bringing your own weaponry, rifle and sidearm must be compatible with .308 and 9mm calibre respectively. Weapons will be provided on departure if requirements can not be met. The request felt strange to me but I knew this group was very exclusive in admission and presumed it was part of their procedures to remain anonymous. The final part of the note stated the next part of the trip would be confirmed on the day.
Our meeting point is situated on the outskirts of a forest. The town seems abandoned other than the people from the “venatores”. Latin for the hunters. A mix of men and women equipped in military grade gear, quite heavy duty for a simple hunting expedition. The main spokesperson for the venatores was a broad man called Crane. He wore a dusty black cowboy hat pulled down to his eyes. His right cheek had three prominent scars running towards his top lip.
“I’d like to thank you all for joining us on the first “great cryptid hunt. This adventure will bring us into contact with the most prestigious prey known to man.”
I wasn’t sure what he meant by cryptid but the other ten people who seemed to be joining the party didn’t look too confused by this.
“I’d just like to remind you all that this hunt is partaken at your own risk. I’m presuming you have the necessary precautions in place if something were to go wrong.” A slight murmur of agreement from the crowd allowed Crane to continue.
“This is your last chance to pull out, once I name our first intended target there is no going back. Please return to your vehicle and leave if you have any doubt about your commitment.” He eyed the group intensely waiting for our response. When no one backed away he smiled.
“With that we are bound to the hunt.” He raised a fist in triumph.”Go collect your ammunition from the table to your left. Silver bullets are the only thing that can take down a wendigo.”
The group set out as the sun reached its peak. Crane, the only member of the Venetores. The others were to hold down base camp and come to our aid if the need arose. They also were arranging transport for the next trip to Ireland. Four members of the gang split off to the right. A hushed but frantic discussion barely audible. Marco, the son of an Italian superyacht distributor, was accompanied by his partner Lola and two friends, Antonio and Micheal. All of whom were reassuring Lola that this trip was a once in a lifetime opportunity to see the magical creatures walk among us. I was unsure how anyone would describe a wendigo as magical from the stories you would hear on the internet. My expectations for this hunt have reduced dramatically. The thoughts of uncovering a huge illegal hunting enterprise have tethered out as I realised we will be hunting a planted elk with a sound box attached. It’s hard to comprehend how the Venetores have managed to pull the wool over the eyes of so many wealthy and prominent figures. For the sake of my cover I know I will need to play my role in this trip but I’m hopeful that I may depart before the next destination.
“Where is the next leg of the trip by the way.” I called out to Crane, who led the party as we broke through the tree line.
“Ah yes, I knew I was forgetting something.” He turned to address us. “The next target is a mythical siren who calls out to announce the passing of loved ones.”
“A Banshee ?” Joshua questioned in a thick Texan accent. He too adorned a cowboy hat but his was polished and new.
“You got it in one, Mr Williams.” Crane clapped his hands enthusiastically
“You hear that Junior, we’re heading to Ireland.” Joshua clapped his son on the back as the two discussed the terrain they may have to deal with while hunting a Banshee. Joshua Junior, or J.J as he was known, was the spitting image of his father. Albeit about half his size. J.J needed every bit of his belt loop to keep his trousers above his ankles.
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As night fell, we made our camp in a clearing that Crane had spotted.
“We’ll take turns on duty tomorrow night, if it takes that long. Tonight I’ll let you get some rest.”
“ No need to be the hero Crane, each one of us is experienced enough to keep a fire going.”
Crane dismissed the remark with some reassuring words on how he was well rested and would enjoy the tasks. That seemed to settle Joshua as he felt there was no questioning of his abilities. I took out my notepad to scribble down my thoughts on the day so far. I was running through ideas of how the Venatores were concocting this fraudulent trip when J.J approached.
“Are you working on your checklist ?” He asked as he sat down beside me.
“No, just journaling the day. I like to get my thoughts down while they're still fresh.” My response didn’t seem to register with J.J
“Me and Pops have most things checked off already. Lions, elephants, cheetahs, even a grizzly or two.” J.J seemed to be reminiscing as he asked “Have you ever encountered anything of this…kind before ?”
“Not even in the slightest.” It was an honest response. I’m aware of how much it cost to get involved with the Venatores and JJ and his father had paid double. I didn’t want to be the one to break the news that what we were searching for was no more than a dud.
“We saw something like this on our farm a couple of years back. Kept terrorising our cattle, tore some of them to pieces so it did.” He looked over towards his father. “Pops didn’t know what to do, he shot the son of a bitch damn near ten times. It just kept coming back. Ended up having to call Mr Bolton.”
He gestured to another member of our group who sat alone cleaning his rifle. Caleb Bolton was a dark skinned man with cat-like eyes. He had his head shaved to the skin. A tree trunk like neck was in proportion to the rest of his body.
“Mr Bolton came late one night and set off into the darkness. The next morning he came back covered in blood and deep gashes. He walked right up to Pa and said “It's been dealt with” and just walked right off. Pops slipped him an envelope worth more than all the cows on the farm. He went off into the distance leaving a trail of blood in his wake.
I looked over Caleb, wondering what brought a man like him here, only to notice he was staring right back.
The night wore on with nothing to report. We settled in and went to sleep as Crane looked out into the forest. I woke up late into the night as a sharp stick I missed nearly punctured my lung as I rolled over. I could see Crane sitting with his back to a tree, face illuminated by the glow of his cigarette.
“Can’t sleep Mr Marley?” crane asked as he fished another cigarette out of his pack and handed it to me.
“You can call me Johnathan.” I said as I lit the cigarette. I sat down beside him looking out over the camp. “Will the fire not attract the wendigo ? I asked, gesturing to the crackling blaze in the centre of the sleeping bags.
“No need to worry about that Johnathan.” Crane tipped the ashes onto a stone beside him and pointed across the camp into a dense area of trees. “He’s been following us since we got here.”
Crane's words stayed with me as I lay awake. His demeanour would convince most that we truly were dealing with a creature of the supernatural. I left his side feeling as if we were the ones being hunted. Full of mixed emotions I tossed and turned for what seemed like hours. My scepticism battling hard against the situation I had found myself in. The debate was silenced by a strangled scream that echoed through the encampment.
“Where’s Lucas?” Ellie as she ripped out of her sleeping bag grabbing her husband Levi by the shoulders.
Levi gathered up his rifle and started towards the location of the uproar, calling out for his son. Caleb and Crane are already ahead of him. I followed after bringing the handgun I had under my pillow. Caleb and Crane split off in separate directions directing each other through pointing and gestures. They encircled an area fifteen feet from where I stood. Crane surveyed the area thoroughly as Caleb scanned the trees.
“Something was here alright, but I don’t think it was your son.” Crane looked at Levi, his face full of concern.
Marco and Antonio came rushing towards us. The faces slick with sweat. “ Lucas is ok, he was just going to the toilet.” Marco said panting.
“He came back not long after you left, we weren’t sure what to do so we came to get you.” Antonio said hunching over from the extension
Levi let out a sigh of relief as he made his way over to thank the guys for bringing the good news. I turned to Crane to ask him what he thought could have made the noise but the colour had drained from his face.
“We have to get back now!.” Crane pushed past us at full sprint heading in the direction of camp.
“It seems we have been fooled.” Caleb said. Much more calmly than the situation deserved.
We raced through the trees, receiving nicks and cuts as we ran without hesitation. I was pulling away from the main group, just keeping pace with Crane and Caleb. My arms, pumping like pistons working to their max. The two in front didn’t seem to be putting much effort in their stride, yet they ate up the ground like a marathon runner on his first mile. They were discussing what they might find on our return but I was to focussed on filling my lungs with deep breaths to hear what they were saying. They burst into camp, frightening the four remaining members who looked perfectly fine sitting around the fireplace.
“Jesus Christ Crane, you frightened me half to death. Michael was gripping his rifle tightly as the others shrank in behind him.
Levi was next to break the clearing, overjoyed to see his family safe and well. Ellie went over to greet him. As she stretched out her arm to take his hand in hers, Lucas let out a cry of panic. Her arm never made it far enough to embrace her husband, the wendigo burst out from the shadows grabbing Ellie by the arm and tearing it off and he flung her down on the moss covered floor. She bounced with the force but managed to remain conscious as the beast reared his fangs in her face. Michael aimed at the monstrous figure but pulled his shot. The bullet struck Ellie in the temple. On reflection I believe it to be an act of mercy from whatever god looks down upon us. The wendigo screamed in anger and flung Ellie’s arm towards us. It struck Lucas in the chest, his mother's blood left a streak across his shirt as it landed at his feet. His stomach emptied of any contents left from dinner. The wendigo stomped towards us, true evil glistening in the moonlight.
Levi managed to pull himself from his daze once he noticed the creature heading towards his son. He looked at his wife’s corpse and pure rage boiled over. He tackles the wendigo with all his might, knocking the beast back into the fire. It tripped over as its right foot caught ablaze. Levi fell on top of it and unloaded the clip of his pistol into the creature's chest. For every bullet he fired the wendigo tore off a strip of flesh. His chest was opened first, a mist of red spraying into the night sky. His face was the next to go. Teeth were launched ten feet in all directions. Levi kept firing through this brutal assault. As the hammer clicked empty, not much remained to identify Levi. His rage fuelled attack cost him his life.
The wendigo pushed the remains of Levi to the side and clambered to its feet. The silver bullets lodged into his chest were bringing this monster closer to its final breath.
“Steady now.” Crane called out as he raised his sights. “On my mark.”
Lucas roared as he ran towards the wendigo. He brandished a blade from its sheath with murderous intentions. I tried to grab him as he raised the blade for the killing blow. I could see what looked like a grin on the face of the wendigo, through the large gaping hole of Lucas’s chest. The wendigo had punched through, tearing his heart out in one swift motion.
“For fucks sake.” Crane said in disbelief. “Fire!”
The forest erupted in a cacophony of gunfire as bits of wendigo were torn apart. It crumpled to the ground, relishing in the delight to gain one more soul before it fell. Crane dropped his rifle and walked back to his tree where his cigarettes once were. He picked up the tattered box which had been destroyed in the melee. I offered him one of mine as we sat by the tree soaked in the blood of many.
“And then there was 7.”he said as he ignited his match on the striker box.