Estimated reading time — 9 minutes

I remember the events that happened to us on the 1st of October in a small Oregon town as if it were only yesterday. Zoe, our twelve-year-old daughter, was playing outside in the backyard. The leaves of the trees had started to fall, creating a blanket of yellow and brown foliage everywhere. It was truly one of those moments that, if made possible, could be frozen in time, and kept forever in memory. The smile on Zoe’s caramel-toned face as she played without a care, lost in innocence and imagination, was priceless. It started to rain, and I made her put on her raincoat. She hated wearing that yellow, cumbersome jacket, but if it meant that she could play outside just a little longer, then so be it.

The rain came in as a light drizzle at first. The pitter-patter danced on the tin roof, but it soon intensified into a downpour after a few minutes. I rushed toward the back door, expecting to find Zoe standing in the doorway, drenched from the rain. Nothing. She wasn’t there, and she wasn’t playing in the backyard anymore. I started to panic as I searched the house, going room by room. The sense of uneasiness grew as I opened doors and peered into empty spaces. She had disappeared into the woods behind our house, swallowed up by the vast unknown.

The police were unable to do anything because she had only been missing for a few hours. Stricken with worry, my husband, Ruben, and I searched for hours in the woods until nightfall. The scent of pine and damp earth surrounded us, but still, there was no sign of our adventurous daughter. Our backyard seamlessly converged into the woods nearby. We had never ventured past the property line where the forest started and had warned Zoe to do the same. The woods had always given me an unsettling feeling since we bought the property a year ago. There was an unnatural sense of eeriness that whispered through the trees, carried in by the autumn air, as if the forest itself were alive and watching. Waiting.
After eight exhausting hours, our bright-eyed girl finally appeared at our door without so much as a scratch. All of the worries and anxieties that had been eating away at me, consuming my mind, were suddenly replaced with a deep sense of relief.

I screamed, “Oh my God! Are you okay? Are you hurt, sweetheart?” I rushed over to wrap my arms around her tightly. Through her dampened raincoat, I could feel her body trembling as I embraced her. “Where were you? We’ve been worried sick about you!” I exclaimed.

“I thought I heard something in the woods… and I wanted to see what it was,” Zoe stated in a placid tone. “I’m fine, Mom. Really, I’m just very hungry.”

“You had us worried, young lady,” Ruben chimed in. “It felt like we combed every inch of those woods. Even our neighbor, Old Mrs. Whitaker, was worried about you. And you know all she ever worries about are those damn cats of hers. Seriously, who needs that many cats?”

“I got turned around for a couple of hours, I guess,” She replied as she plundered the fridge. “I’m really hungry. What’s for supper?”

“It was eight hours, Zoe,” I said. “You were missing for eight straight hours.” I watched as she scrambled around, focusing her sights on anything that she could devour.

Zoe had returned visibly unharmed yet confused about having a long period of time unanswered for. We were just so happy to have her back that, in that moment, nothing else really mattered. She was her normal, happy self, and we loved her for it. Her hazel-brown eyes sparkled with a radiance that glowed. At dinner, she ate everything on her plate and asked for seconds… then thirds. It was unusual for her to have such a hearty appetite; being petite, she had never been a big eater.

The next couple of days were as vague as a dream. Our only child showed no signs of slowing down her voracious eating habits. Worry and doubt were like seeds planted in the recesses of my mind, fueled by my daughter’s ever-growing erratic behavior. Old Mrs. Whitaker came knocking on our door, inquiring if we had seen one of her cats. She was in her eighties with paper-thin skin and hair as white as snow. A reclusive widow, she had preferred the company of her eight cats, at least that’s how many we figured she had. Zoe would volunteer to help her with errands or chores around the house, so it wasn’t a surprise to see her from time to time.

On the third day, she came knocking again. This time, with teary eyes, inquiring about another one of her missing cats. I told her I had not seen them, and she walked off, calling their names with a melancholy sadness in her raspy voice. Shortly after, I received a disturbing phone call from Zoe’s school. Her principal had called, sounding hysterical over the phone. She informed me that my daughter had been expelled. When asked the cause, she anxiously said that her behavior had become increasingly more irrational in the past couple of days. “Today, she was caught licking a student and trying to bite another!” she exclaimed.

A trembling sense of shock and horror came crashing through my body like wild river currents. I dropped the phone and stood there, frozen in fear, unable to answer or move. I drove to school, replaying the words of the principal over in my head. I knew something was different about Zoe. She came back from those woods, but the light inside of her had dimmed and become hollow and starved.

On the way home from picking her up, my voice quivered when I asked her what had happened. Her reply was as nonchalant and short as ever. She casually stated, “I’m just hungry.” I remained silent all the way home as a feeling of uneasiness crept in and settled in my stomach.

I sent her upstairs to her bedroom when we got home. A foul and rotten stench emanated from some unseen corner of her room. The smell hung heavily in the air, piercing the nostrils and settling in my chest. I was too uneasy to dare to investigate the cause of the smell by myself. A couple of hours had passed, and I could hear her rummaging around in her bedroom. I held my ear to the door in terror as I vaguely heard slurping and chomping sounds coming from the other side. Terrified, I ran downstairs and anxiously waited for my husband to get home from work.

My heart pounded in my chest, matching the rhythm of my racing thoughts. My body felt sick with worry and dread as Ruben had gotten home and immediately headed upstairs to check on her. Time had passed, and I had retired to my bedroom to clear my head. I was later alarmed to see the both of them trailing off in the backyard, walking toward the edge of the woods. I rushed outside, but they had already vanished into the thick cover of centuries-old trees, swallowed up by sprawling limbs and shadowed canopies. Hours went by like the slow turn of a medieval torture device; every second felt like an eternity. I paced back and forth with stomach-turning worry, waiting for them, too scared to follow into those dreaded forestlands.

They finally emerged from the woods, unscathed and unbothered, as if nothing had ever happened. I watched as they casually walked in from the brisk evening air and both sat around the dinner table, smiling and talking. At supper, I took my place at the table and watched in silent horror as they both ferociously ate everything. I sat at the table, lost in my own thoughts… screaming from the inside. Ruben had returned from the woods the same as Zoe. On the outside, he radiated a healthy ray of light, but I knew that something perverse grew inside him, like a poisonous vine. The gluttonous sounds of teeth grinding as they devoured every morsel with intensity were overwhelming. I felt an ever-growing nausea with every masticated bite and salivated gulp. They sat there and continuously shoveled in more food, as if desperately trying to fill an endless void in the pit of their stomachs.

In the days that followed, I rarely left the safety of my bedroom. I tried calling doctors for help, but they referred me to psychologists who, in turn, told me not to worry. I stopped seeing any signs of Old Mrs. Whitaker or any of her cats anymore. I feared the worst, and in my heart, I knew that my husband and daughter had a foul hand to play in it. The kitchen was now empty; their insatiable hunger ran rampant through the house, devouring every crumb and particle of food. An ominous odor of rot lingered heavily throughout much of the house.

After a day or two had passed, I was abruptly awakened by Zoe standing at the foot of my bed. Her honey-skinned cheeks were smeared with speckles of blood that traced across her full lips like cherry lipstick. She smiled and said, “Come downstairs, Dad and I want to show you something in the woods.” She radiated a certain robust glow that I hadn’t seen before, and there was a fierceness in her eyes, like a calculating predator stalking its prey in the wild.

I followed her downstairs with cautious dread that rose inside me like the swell of a crescendo. The stench of decay grew overwhelming at this point. I gasped in horror as I saw Ruben sitting hunched over at the dinner table, fumbling with a kitchen knife. His arm lay flayed open, exposing chunks of meat that had been carved out. I looked around the kitchen, which was in complete disarray with blood splatters and what looked like the remains of Old Mrs. Whitaker’s cats strewn about. The sight of blood and intestines scattered around, married with the odors, caused my stomach to churn and my body to tremble.

My husband lifted his head in my direction while gnawing on pieces of his own bloody flesh. His eyes sparkled with a glint of happiness, as if he found some macabre euphoria in his manic actions. “Bon appétit,” he said, while his teeth tore through muscle and sinew.

I let out a gut-wrenching scream and made a frantic dash toward the front door! Immediately, Zoe pounced on my back, and I felt her grasp tightly around my neck. I fell to the floor while desperately trying to shake her off. She bellowed out an unnatural moan as she lunged at me, biting and snarling. I felt the warm sting of her fingernails as they dug into my flesh. She was something fierce, overtaken by pure animal instinct, driven to maim and tear apart. I screamed out and shoved her off me. She rolled on the floor and bounced back on all fours like a feral cat thrown into a fray.

In the blink of an eye, the once bright-eyed and adorable little girl had descended upon me once more. I cried out in terror as we scuffled through the house, contending for ground like some savage beasts. I managed to funnel her through the nearby basement door, where she tumbled down the steps and fell unconscious on the floor. I was shocked and appalled to see the remains of Old Mrs. Whitaker scattered about the basement floor. The sight provoked a nauseating surge of terror throughout my body. I slammed the door shut, locking the creature that used to be Zoe away in that darkened basement of horrors.

I hurtled down the backdoor steps outside before being attacked and pinned to the ground by Ruben. He was a vastly stronger and more formidable adversary. His hands clenched tightly around my neck like a frenzied python. I felt my vision blur as I struggled to gasp for air. My hands frantically clawed at the ground in hopes of finding anything to use as a weapon. Blood rushed to my head as I started to lose consciousness. My fingers fumbled around what felt like a wooden handle. I felt the blood vessels in my eyes contract as I swung with every ounce of energy my body could muster.

Air rushed through my lungs as his tall and broad-built body collapsed to the ground, rendered unconscious by the blow to the head from the shovel I had seized. As adrenaline coursed through my veins, my eyes shifted downward at his motionless body. Emotions of shock, fear, and even relief flooded my body upon seeing my husband on the ground. My body reeled and ached in response as I stood up, still processing the events that had just occurred.

I frantically scanned my surrounding area, my eyes darting around in a crazed stupor, desperate for an escape from the madness that surrounded me. I found myself strangely drawn to the entrance of the ominous woods, as if unseen forces were pulling me into its gravity. Against better judgment, I slowly entered the timbered threshold, armed with the bloodied shovel, terrified of what resided within.

Down a trackless path, I reluctantly marched. The only sound to accompany me were the leaves and twigs that snapped under the weight of my feet. Time became lost to me the farther I ventured into the dense growth of towering, majestic trees. Veins of roots webbed out across the tannin-brown floor of the forest. The thickness of the trees’ canopies prevented light from entering, making it difficult to navigate the deeper I journeyed. Eventually, the path opened to a sparse area where a large patch of lush grass grew in an unnatural circular pattern. The unusual area grew in a flattened-down ring-shaped design, resembling a smaller crop circle pattern.

Encircled by this unnatural growth, towered an old and crumbled statue, crafted from cold, grey stone. Its body was emaciated and skeletal, crafted with elongated limbs and meticulously chiseled claws. Seated atop its body lay a deer-like skull with gnarled antlers twisted from its head. The wind seemed to whisper through the moss-covered statue as it briskly passed by, adding a level of impending dread to the atmosphere.

A great and mighty sense of fear surged through my body like an electric current. I stared at those hollow eyes as if I were staring into an abyssal void, consuming the very center of my soul. Every fiber of my being tensed and coiled until it exploded out in blind rage. From the depths of my terror-stricken core, I screamed and roared as loudly as mountain torrents and furiously lashed out, striking the sinister sculpture.

“Leave us alone!” I shrieked, while I bashed and pummeled relentlessly on that abhorrent statue.
When it was over, the statue of The Wendigo lay fragmented in pieces. With labored breath, I collapsed under the cold and pale sky. My body trembled with a mixture of fear and exhaustion. I lay on the deep green forest carpet beside the bloodied and now broken shovel, still clutched in my hands. I felt increasingly lightheaded as I struggled to breathe. Everything spun around like a weathered leaf descending to the ground in a maddening whirlwind.

Time became illusory, merging minutes into what felt like hours. After my consciousness aimlessly drifted around in a fever dream, I finally emerged, greeted by an overwhelming sensation coursing through my body. My taste buds tingled, and my senses heightened like a newborn discovering their surroundings for the first time. A raging spark ignited within my soul, slowly burning away at the core of my humanity.

I struggled to regain my bearings and slowly rose under a blanket of night stars and ambient darkness. A ravenous craving pulsated through my veins like I have never felt before. I go forth, determined to appease this newfound yearning. I’m hungry now… so hungry.

Credit: Michael Castillo

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