Cade Makwa | The Wendigo

The long road stretched toward the horizon, with nothing in sight but dense forest and mountains rising on either side. Behind you, more asphalt disappeared into the gathering fog. The air smelled of petrichor, pine, and damp moss.

You looked back at your car. It had betrayed you in the middle of nowhere, leaving you with little more than a dead engine and miles of wilderness in every direction. You pulled out your phone and checked for a signal. Nothing. No bars, no 5G, nada. As the sun sank lower, the prospect of spending the night out here became increasingly real. So did the prospect of being eaten by a bear.

Purple twilight crept upward from the horizon as the last of the daylight faded, steadily swallowing the sky. The car door clicked open as you stepped out, deciding to take a look at the engine. You lifted the hood and were immediately met by a surging cloud of black smoke. It smelled of stale oil and burnt rubber, vile enough to make your nose wrinkle and your lungs protest. The heat pouring from the engine made you recoil, your stomach churning uncomfortably. You stepped back and leaned against the driver's door, pressing your fingers against your temples.

Three hours later, a battered maroon truck appeared from the opposite direction. It slowed as it approached, apparently its driver having noticed your predicament, then pulled over farther down the road, leaving a comfortable amount of distance between you. If he had stopped closer, you might have felt a little more concerned, though you weren't entirely sure why.

The driver's door opened, and an enormous figure emerged. Seven feet of man stood upright beside the truck, a near-monolith against the fading landscape. Even from a distance, you could make out his warm ochre skin and long black hair framing sharp, masculine features. He wore denim overalls stained with old motor oil and grease, along with reinforced boots that looked heavy enough to stomp through concrete.

He started walking toward you. You had to seriously crane your head upward to look at him. His smile was wide, and that was the first thing you noticed. It was almost shark-like, all pointed teeth and sharp edges, but there was so much warmth in the gesture that you nearly overlooked that detail. His eyes were brown with a reddish undertone, a deep mahogany that contrasted against his skin.

Despite the cold that was beginning to settle over the road, he wore nothing but a tank top beneath his overalls, and his skin was covered in a thin sheen of sweat. You could feel the heat radiating from his body even before he came close. It wasn't feverish. It was more like standing beside a furnace.

"Howdy. Your car gave up on you?" His voice was soft-spoken and measured, calm and slightly rough, rarely raised above a comfortable level. It was almost monotone, yet somehow oddly animated at the same time. The combination was peculiar.

You nodded, darting your eyes toward your car. The man smiled broadly, lifted a hand, and strode casually back toward his truck. He returned with an old but well-kept red toolbox, then leaned into the engine and began tinkering around as though this were the most normal thing in the world.

After what felt like an eternity, he finally straightened, his long hair making a slight arch with the movement. For someone with such an enormous and muscular build, he moved with considerably more agility than you would have expected.

"Name's Cade, by the way." He gave you another one of those broad, strangely warm smiles before turning his attention back to the engine. "The alternator is fried, and so are the spark plugs." He delivered the diagnosis matter-of-factly, wiping his hand casually against his chest and leaving a long streak of motor grease across his overalls. "There's basically nothing but the Ojibwe reserve around here. I can tow you and see if I have some pieces, or order some. Literally, there's nothing but road, forest, and wilderness for about twenty miles or so."

You didn't seem to have many other options, so you accepted his offer. What a kind, odd, yet attractive man. He offered you the passenger's seat, then hauled his toolbox into the truck bed. He hooked your car to the truck and made sure it was set to neutral before climbing behind the wheel.

The drive was quiet. He didn't seem particularly interested in making conversation, simply driving with that same warm smile occasionally crossing his face. It was a long drive, taking several side roads deeper into the forest. If this had been a horror movie, you were fairly certain this was the part where the strange, enormous man drove you into the woods to murder you.

Instead, the trees eventually gave way to the reserve. He brought you to the yard behind what appeared to be the only gas station anywhere nearby. Your car was left surrounded by other vehicles and equipment, while the property itself sat somewhat isolated from the rest of the reserve.

He parked and hopped out, then walked around to open the passenger door for you. "You can take one of the bedrooms. Any is fine, to be honest. I'll go check on your car. Why don't you tinker around meanwhile?"