Wendigo

By Anya Shroff

Wendigo

by fourth year Zoey Stephens

I grew up with folk tales from further down south

Warning me of what waits in the trees

Flesh and bone and sinew in between 

Hiding from me with sharpened teeth in an opened mouth 

The woods come alive in the dead of night 

Deer hooves dancing on dirt with no sense of self

Singing cicadas cast their sinister spell

Beckoning your presence, promising fright

Further down south they pay heed to the trees

In fear of the spirits that lie within 

Twisted visions of monsters walking in skin 

Pouring dread into souls filled with uncanny unease

I crawled out of bed and crept through my window 

And walked into the whispering woods with bare feet

I came face to face with that unholy fleshen priest

We shared a smile, then he turned and I watched him go

See, I cannot be scared of a man made of shadow

Not when his shadows are so like my own

His changing body has made this ground hallowed

For he was made from my land and my family’s own bones