The forest was alive with the rustle of wind through the branches, the muted chirping of birds, and the distant gurgle of a stream. It had taken some convincing, but Rody finally agreed to take his wife, Manon, and their two kids, Aimee and Jules, on a week-long camping trip. He needed the break anyway; between his relentless work schedule and the constant pressure to support his family, it felt like he hadn’t taken a breath in months.
“This will be good for us,” Manon had insisted, packing the car with gear and food. “The kids need some fresh air, and you need to unwind.”
Now, as Rody hammered the last peg into the ground to secure the tent, he wasn’t so sure. There was something about the woods, something off. It was too quiet, too still, like the trees were hiding something. His eyes darted through the dense line of pines that surrounded them, but nothing seemed out of place. Just trees. Just nature.
The kids, of course, didn’t notice anything amiss. Aimee, eight and full of boundless energy, and her younger brother Jules, who followed her everywhere, had already begun exploring the edges of the campsite. Their giggles and shouts echoed back to Rody, bringing a brief smile to his face.
“Stay where we can see you!” Manon called after them, her voice soft but firm.
“They’re fine,” Rody muttered, though his gaze still lingered on the trees.
—
The woods swallowed the children’s laughter as they ventured further away from the camp. Aimee led the way, her bright eyes wide with curiosity as she hopped over fallen logs and ducked beneath low-hanging branches. Jules struggled to keep up, panting slightly but determined not to fall behind.
They didn’t know how far they had gone when they first saw him.
At first, it was just a shadow among the trees, a tall, looming figure that moved too quickly for them to fully register. Aimee stopped in her tracks, squinting into the thick foliage. “Did you see that?” she whispered, her voice tinged with both fear and excitement.
Jules nodded, gripping her arm tightly. “What was it?”
Before Aimee could answer, the figure emerged from the shadows, stepping into the dim light that filtered through the trees. He-or *it*-was unlike anything the children had ever seen. Tall, impossibly tall, with limbs too long and too thin, pale skin stretched tightly over sharp bones. His face was gaunt, hollowed out like a corpse, and his eyes… his eyes were black, endless voids that seemed to swallow the light around them.
The children should have run. But they didn’t.
Aimee stared up at the figure, her small heart thudding in her chest. “Are you… lost?” she asked cautiously, her voice shaking slightly but still carrying the innocence only a child could muster.
The creature tilted his head, the sound of bones creaking echoing through the air. His mouth opened, revealing jagged, sharp teeth, but he did not speak. Instead, a low, guttural growl escaped his throat, more animal than human, though there was no aggression in the sound. He crouched down, folding his long limbs beneath him, as if trying to make himself smaller-less threatening.
Jules took a cautious step forward. “Do you… have a name?” he asked, his wide eyes locked on the creature.
The creature didn’t respond. His head twitched again, his eyes watching the children with an almost curious intensity. His fingers-long and skeletal-twitched in the dirt, as though he were contemplating something. The hunger gnawed at him, deep and primal, an insatiable urge to tear into flesh. But something stopped him.
*They were too small*.
His gaze softened, the hunger receding just enough to let another emotion creep in, something foreign but familiar. Affection? Or was it possessiveness? He didn’t know. He just knew he wouldn’t hurt them.
Aimee smiled suddenly. “I think we should call him Vincent. Doesn’t he look like a Vincent?”
Jules nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah! Vincent!”
The Wendigo-Vincent, as they named him-let out a low, rumbling growl that vibrated through the air, but he made no move to leave or to harm them. Instead, he stayed still, watching as the children grew comfortable in his presence. They reached out, touching his skeletal fingers, giggling as they looped flowers into his hair and climbed over his long limbs as if he were a jungle gym.
And for some reason, Vincent let them.
—
As the days passed, the children continued to sneak away from the camp, eager to spend time with their new friend. They never told Rody or Manon exactly where they were going, just that they were “playing in the woods.” And when they returned, their clothes dirty and their faces alight with joy, Rody tried to ignore the uneasy feeling creeping into his chest.
Something was out there with them, he could *feel* it. Every now and then, he’d catch a glimpse of movement between the trees, a flash of pale skin or the rustle of leaves in a place where there was no wind. He didn’t want to worry Manon, but the feeling gnawed at him like a persistent itch, one he couldn’t scratch away.
It wasn’t until the fifth night that things began to unravel.
—
“Where were you?” Manon demanded as Aimee and Jules returned to the campsite late in the evening. Her voice was stern, her eyes narrowed in that way only a mother’s could be. “You’ve been going off on your own every day, and we’ve barely seen you.”
“We were just playing, Mama,” Aimee said, her voice small as she twisted a piece of her shirt in her hands.
“With who?” Manon pressed. “There’s no one else out here.”
Jules fidgeted. “Vincent.”
Manon’s face softened for a brief second before hardening again. “Who’s Vincent? Aimee, Jules, you shouldn’t be talking to strangers, especially not in the woods.”
“But he’s our friend!” Aimee protested. “He doesn’t want to hurt us.”
Manon’s expression darkened. “That’s enough. I don’t want you going back into those woods, do you hear me? No more Vincent. No more running off.”
The children’s faces fell, their disappointment sharp and clear. Aimee’s lip quivered, and Jules clung to his sister, both of them on the verge of tears. The sight of them crying only seemed to steel Manon’s resolve.
“You’re not going back. That’s final,” she said, turning away from them.
The wind stirred the leaves in the trees, and from the darkness just beyond the firelight, *Vincent watched*.
He had followed the children to the campsite, his movements silent, his gaunt body blending into the night. He didn’t understand what the woman was saying-her voice was sharp, scolding-but he understood one thing: *She was hurting them*.
*She wanted to keep them away*.
A low growl escaped his throat, his chest vibrating with the sound. The children were his. They had named him, played with him, laughed with him. They were the only ones who had ever shown him kindness. And now this woman was taking them away.
His black eyes fixated on Manon, the hunger rising once again, more potent now, more *focused*. He couldn’t let her take them away from him.
—
It was late when Rody woke to the sound of shuffling. The fire had burned low, casting only faint light across the clearing. He sat up slowly, his eyes adjusting to the dimness, and that’s when he saw it.
*Him*.
Vincent stood over Manon, his towering figure hunched as he loomed over her sleeping form. His claws twitched, scraping against the ground, his hollow eyes locked on her with a predatory intensity.
Rody’s heart leapt into his throat. “No-“
He moved to get up, but it was too late. Vincent’s claws descended in a blur of motion, tearing into Manon’s body with a sickening crack of bone and flesh. Her eyes flew open in shock, her mouth forming a silent scream as blood bubbled up from her throat. Vincent’s teeth sank into her chest, ripping her apart with feral precision.
Rody couldn’t move. He couldn’t breathe.
Manon’s body convulsed once, twice, and then lay still, her lifeless eyes staring up at the dark canopy above. Blood pooled beneath her, soaking into the earth.
Vincent stood over her, his chest heaving with heavy, animalistic breaths. His black eyes shifted to Rody, who was frozen in horror.
For a moment, Rody thought the creature would come for him next. But Vincent didn’t move. Instead, he turned, his skeletal frame retreating into the shadows as quietly as he had come.
In the silence that followed, Rody’s mind spun. The horror of what had just happened was too much to process. His wife… she was gone. Killed. Devoured. By that horrific creature. What if it came for his children next?
The children.
Rody’s eyes snapped to the tent where Aimee and Jules were still sleeping, blissfully unaware of the nightmare that had just unfolded. He stumbled to his feet, his body trembling, and rushed to them, pulling them from the tent and into his arms.
He had to get them out of here.
—
The forest was oppressively quiet, the air thick with tension as Rody hurried his children along the narrow path. His mind was racing, his pulse pounding in his ears. The image of Manon’s lifeless body still haunted him-her blood pooling beneath her, her face twisted in terror.
He couldn’t process it fully, but one thing was clear: they had to get out of the forest. Whatever killed her might come for them next.
“Daddy?” Aimee’s voice was small and calm, a stark contrast to the chaos in Rody’s mind. “Why are we running? Is it a game?”
He forced himself to look at her, his heart breaking at how innocent she sounded. “No, sweetheart,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady. “We just… we need to leave, okay? We have to get home.”
Aimee frowned, looking over her shoulder toward the trees. “But we didn’t say goodbye to Vincent.”
Rody’s blood ran cold at the mention of that name again. His mouth went dry, and he crouched down, forcing a calmness he didn’t feel as he spoke to her. “Who’s Vincent, honey?”
Aimee’s eyes lit up with a smile. “He’s our friend. He plays with us in the woods.” Jules nodded enthusiastically beside her, clearly excited to talk about their secret friend.
Rody’s heart hammered in his chest. “Plays with you?” he repeated, trying to keep his tone light even though every muscle in his body tensed. “When did you meet him?”
“We see him all the time!” Jules piped up, his voice bright and cheerful. “He’s really tall, and he moves funny, but he’s nice. He doesn’t talk, but we can tell he likes playing hide and seek with us.”
Rody felt his stomach churn. A strange, tall figure? It had to be the same creature he had seen over Manon’s body. The one that had *killed her*. The one his kids thought was their *friend*.
“What does he look like?” Rody asked, forcing the words out past the lump in his throat.
“He’s pale and thin,” Aimee said, her voice dropping into a conspiratorial whisper as if she was sharing a delightful secret. “He likes to stay in the shadows, but we see him. His eyes are really dark, like the night.”
Jules tugged on Rody’s sleeve. “Mommy didn’t like him,” he added, looking confused. “She said we couldn’t play with him anymore. She said we shouldn’t talk to him”
Rody’s heart raced. That was it. Manon must’ve known. She had tried to protect them. She must have seen the creature too-the same one that had ripped her apart. His stomach lurched at the thought of what might have happened if she hadn’t stepped in. And now, *it was after them*.
He grabbed Aimee and Jules’ hands, gripping them tight. “We’re leaving, now,” he said firmly. His voice cracked with urgency, his terror barely concealed. “We have to get away from here. No more playing with Vincent.”
“But why?” Aimee pouted, her eyes filling with confusion. “Vincent isn’t bad. He’s our friend.”
Rody’s breath hitched. “No, sweetheart, he’s not your friend. You can’t see him again.”
Aimee’s eyes welled up with tears. “But why? He never hurts us.”
Before Rody could answer, the forest around them seemed to stir. The wind picked up, rustling the leaves, and he heard it-soft footsteps, deliberate and slow, coming from behind them.
Rody turned, his breath catching in his throat as he saw a tall figure standing just beyond the line of trees. It was him. The same gaunt, shadowy figure that had been with his children, watching from the darkness.
His blood ran cold.
“Aimee, Jules,” he whispered, his voice low and trembling. “Stay close to me.”
The children didn’t seem to understand the danger, their small hands still warm in his. Aimee smiled brightly, waving toward the figure. “Vincent!” she called out. “There you are!”
Rody felt his stomach lurch. The figure didn’t move. It just stood there, watching them, its dark eyes locked on the children.
“We need to go,” Rody said, his voice tight as he pulled them back. His heart raced with panic. Whatever this thing was, it wasn’t just a harmless figure. It was *dangerous*, and it had been following his kids.
“No!” Jules protested, trying to pull his hand free. “We wanna stay with Vincent! He’s not scary!”
Rody didn’t let go. “No, we’re leaving now,” he said, the fear creeping into his voice. His eyes never left the figure, watching its movements-or lack thereof.
The creature didn’t respond. It stood eerily still, too still for something alive, almost like it was waiting for something.
A deep chill settled into Rody’s bones, and then, in an instant, the figure moved. Not toward them, but sideways, slipping back into the shadows with an unnatural grace. The forest seemed to swallow it whole.
For a moment, everything was still again, and Rody’s pulse hammered in his ears. He knew it hadn’t gone far. It was still watching. Waiting.
“We have to run,” he whispered, scooping Jules into his arms. He grabbed Aimee’s hand, pulling her close. “Now, Aimee. Run.”
—
Rody ran harder than he ever had in his life, his legs burning, his breath ragged as he clutched his children close. Behind him, the forest seemed to come alive with sound-branches cracking, leaves rustling-but he didn’t dare look back.
Aimee kept glancing over her shoulder, calling out for Vincent, her voice full of hurt and confusion. “Vincent! Why aren’t you coming?”
Jules clung tightly to Rody’s neck, sobbing now, too scared to understand what was happening. Rody’s heart ached with fear and frustration. The kids still didn’t know, couldn’t *understand* that Vincent wasn’t their friend.
Vincent was a monster. And he wasn’t going to stop.
Rody didn’t stop running until the edge of the forest was behind them. They stumbled into the clearing where their car sat parked, the sight of it like a lifeline to sanity. He threw open the door, practically tossing Jules into the backseat before scrambling to get Aimee in as well. His heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline pumping through his veins as he slammed the door shut and fumbled for the keys.
“Daddy, stop!” Aimee cried, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face. “We can’t leave Vincent!”
“We have to!” Rody barked, not even caring how harsh he sounded. His hands shook as he shoved the key into the ignition, turning it with a jerky motion. The engine roared to life, but in the backseat, the kids continued to protest.
“He’s our friend!” Jules whimpered. “He’ll be sad if we leave him!”
Rody felt a deep, rising panic gnaw at his insides. “He’s *not* your friend. He’s dangerous!” He put the car in gear and floored the gas, the tires kicking up dirt and gravel as they sped away from the campsite.
As the trees thinned, Rody dared to glance into the rearview mirror. The dark figure was there, standing at the tree line, watching them. Even though Vincent couldn’t have eyes like a human, Rody *felt* the creature’s gaze burning through him.
He forced his attention back on the road, determined to put as much distance between them and that… *thing* as possible.
But Vincent didn’t want to be left behind.
—
They drove for hours, not stopping until the lights of the nearest town flickered on the horizon. By the time Rody parked in front of their house, night had fallen, and exhaustion weighed heavily on him. He glanced at the kids in the backseat, both of them quiet now, worn out from the chaos and tears.
“Come on,” he muttered, his voice hoarse. “Let’s get inside.”
He ushered Aimee and Jules out of the car, his eyes darting around nervously as if he expected to see Vincent lurking in the shadows. The town was far from the woods, far enough that Rody hoped they’d lost him.
But deep down, something gnawed at him. Vincent wasn’t just a creature bound to the woods. He had followed them once; there was no reason he wouldn’t again.
The kids were uncharacteristically quiet as they entered the house, their energy completely drained. They had stopped asking about Vincent, but the tension lingered in their small faces. Aimee’s eyes were still puffy from crying, and Jules clung to Rody’s leg, confused and scared in a way that made Rody’s heart ache.
Rody tried to breathe. Manon was dead. His mind hadn’t processed that fully yet, but he couldn’t let himself break down. Not when his kids needed him.
He got them settled into bed, reassuring them with soft lies that everything was fine. That they were safe now. But when he finally closed their bedroom door, the weight of everything came crashing down on him. He slumped against the wall, his body trembling with exhaustion and fear.
For a moment, the house was quiet.
Then, he heard it.
The soft, scraping sound of claws against wood.
Rody’s heart stopped. He stood, frozen in place, his breath catching in his throat. It couldn’t be. They were too far from the forest. They were safe here.
Another scrape. This time, it came from the back door.
*No.*
Rody moved slowly, his legs heavy with dread as he approached the window. He didn’t want to look, but he had to. He had to know.
He pulled back the curtain just enough to peer outside, his breath fogging up the glass. The backyard was dark, the dim light from the kitchen casting long shadows over the grass.
At first, there was nothing.
But then, he saw it.
A shape, hulking and unnaturally tall, just beyond the reach of the light.
Vincent.
He was there, standing at the edge of the yard, his body impossibly still. His dark eyes-or whatever he had for eyes-were fixed on the house.
On the children.
Rody staggered back from the window, his mind racing. How had he followed them? How was he *here*?
The answer didn’t matter. What mattered was keeping him away from the kids.
Rody grabbed a kitchen knife, his hand trembling as he held it up defensively. He didn’t know what good it would do against something like Vincent, but it was all he had. He couldn’t let that creature inside. He couldn’t let it get to his kids.
He crept toward the back door, his eyes wide and alert, every nerve in his body on edge. Outside, the scraping stopped. The air grew still.
And then-*tap, tap, tap.*
Rody’s blood turned to ice. He froze in place, his breath caught in his throat.
Vincent was at the window. His long, thin fingers tapped softly against the glass, as if he were asking to be let in.
Rody didn’t move. He could feel the weight of the creature’s gaze, like a predator watching its prey. Vincent wasn’t trying to break in. He was *waiting*.
Waiting for Rody to do something.
Waiting for the children to wake up.
—
The next morning, Rody tried to act normal, but the tension in his body was impossible to hide. He hurried through breakfast, avoiding the windows, keeping the curtains tightly drawn. The kids noticed, but they didn’t say much, still confused by their sudden departure from the campsite.
“Is Vincent coming today?” Aimee asked innocently, her voice cutting through the tense silence like a knife.
Rody felt a lump form in his throat. He didn’t answer. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her the truth.
But Aimee frowned, clearly not satisfied with his silence. “I don’t like this game,” she muttered, pushing her cereal around with her spoon. “Vincent is probably sad because we didn’t say goodbye.”
Jules nodded in agreement. “Yeah, he’s our friend, Daddy. Why can’t we see him?”
Rody swallowed hard, his pulse quickening. “We’re not going back to the woods,” he said, his voice sharp and final. “You can’t see Vincent again. Ever.”
Aimee’s lip quivered, tears welling in her eyes. “But why? He’s not bad! He’s our friend!”
“He’s *not* your friend!” Rody snapped, his voice louder than he intended. “He’s dangerous, and I’m trying to protect you!”
The room went quiet. Aimee and Jules stared at him, their faces pale with shock. Rody took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair. He hated yelling at them, hated that they didn’t understand.
He hated that Vincent wouldn’t let them go.
As he stood there, trying to regain control, a soft knock echoed from the front door.
Rody’s blood turned to ice.
—
Vincent had followed them. He didn’t care how far they had gone from the forest. He didn’t want to be away from the children. To him, they were his now.
The knocking grew louder.
Rody felt the crushing weight of fear settle over him. The creature wasn’t just after them. It had already decided the children were his.
And it wasn’t leaving.
—
Rody stood frozen, his mind racing, heart pounding. The sight of *it*-of *him*-towering in the doorway, felt like a nightmare he couldn’t wake from. The creature’s antlers brushed the top of the frame, its empty, hollow eyes focusing not on him, but on the children behind him.
Vincent. The Wendigo.
Rody’s gut twisted with rage and fear. This *thing* had killed Manon. Had torn her apart like she was nothing. And yet here he was, standing before them, calm, not baring its fangs or claws. His presence was almost gentle, a sharp contrast to the violence Rody had witnessed.
The children didn’t know. They couldn’t know. They were staring up at Vincent with the same innocent smiles as always, oblivious to the blood that stained his claws-*their mother’s* blood.
Aimee ran forward, breaking past Rody’s grasp, reaching out toward Vincent. Rody’s breath caught in his throat, fear spiking as her small hand made contact with Vincent’s clawed one. But the Wendigo didn’t react violently. Instead, Vincent lowered his head, the monstrous form bending to make itself small before the children.
“Vincent!” Aimee’s voice was gleeful. “You came back!”
Rody’s fists clenched, nails digging into his palms. He had to get the kids away. He had to protect them. But… Vincent wasn’t attacking. He was just… watching them, listening to their voices, acting as though the children were all that mattered.
The Wendigo wasn’t a mindless beast. Rody could see that now, as much as it horrified him. It had made a decision. It had chosen to kill Manon-because she had tried to take the kids away from the woods, from *him*. Rody’s stomach churned as the realization hit him.
Vincent *loved* the kids.
In some twisted, primal way, the creature cared for them, followed them, wanted to be near them. And now, with Manon gone, he had decided to stay.
Jules came up behind Aimee, placing his small hand on Vincent’s arm, and the creature let out a soft, low sound-almost a hum, like a parent soothing a child. It mimicked sounds, echoes of what it had heard, but there was something affectionate about the way it responded to the children. It wasn’t the monster Rody had feared would devour them. At least, not now.
It wouldn’t harm them. Not the children.
But Rody?
Vincent’s gaze flickered over to Rody, the hollow eyes assessing him in a way that sent a chill down his spine. The creature’s posture shifted slightly, more tense. Protective.
The kids seemed to like their father. But he wasn’t *necessary*. Not like they were.
Rody swallowed hard, his heart hammering in his chest. Vincent wouldn’t kill him, at least not yet. But the Wendigo’s attachment to the children was suffocating, dangerous. If Rody tried to take them away, if he tried to protect them from the woods-from *him*-Vincent wouldn’t hesitate to do to Rody what he had done to Manon.
Rody’s mind raced, desperately searching for a way out. How could he protect his children when the monster loved them? When it had latched onto them so deeply that it had followed them away from the woods, into their home? Rody knew he couldn’t fight Vincent. The creature was too strong, too driven by its obsession.
But maybe… maybe he didn’t have to fight.
Rody took a shaky breath, stepping forward, closer to the kids. His eyes met Vincent’s, and for a moment, they stood in a tense silence, two beings locked in a fragile understanding. Vincent’s head tilted slightly, the movement slow and deliberate, as if acknowledging Rody’s presence-*and his role*.
Rody was their father. The children liked him, so for now, Vincent tolerated him.
Jules looked up at Rody, his bright eyes wide with innocence. “Daddy, Vincent’s our friend. He just wants to stay with us. Can he stay?”
Rody’s heart twisted painfully. How could he explain this to them? How could he tell them that the creature they adored had killed their mother? That it was a monster, not a friend?
But he couldn’t. Not yet. Not with Vincent watching him so closely, so intently.
“Yeah,” Rody whispered, his throat tight. “He can stay.”
The kids cheered, their faces lighting up with joy, and Vincent’s form relaxed, his massive body settling down at the doorway, as if he were satisfied. Rody swallowed his fear, forcing himself to keep calm.
Vincent loved the children. That much was clear. He wouldn’t harm them. But Rody knew better than to trust a monster. He had seen what Vincent was capable of, and he had no doubt that the creature could-and would-turn on him the moment he became a threat to its twisted bond with the kids.
For now, all Rody could do was play along. Keep the kids safe by keeping the Wendigo calm, by pretending that everything was fine. But he knew, deep down, that this wasn’t over.
Not by a long shot.
Vincent’s empty gaze remained on Rody, as if to remind him: *I’m here for them. But I’m watching you too.*
And Rody, despite the terror clawing at his chest, nodded. He understood.
The monster wasn’t going anywhere.
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