Panic gripped her as she staggered up the steep, rocky incline, breath coming in jagged, shallow gasps. Sweat streamed down her face in torrents, her hair clinging to her forehead and cheeks in disheveled clumps. Her legs trembled with exhaustion, molten fire surging through her muscles, her heart hammering thunderously in her chest.
Tracy swiped at her eyes, vision blurring as her foot caught on a loose boulder. Her ankle twisted with an audible crack, and a bolt of lightning shot up her leg.
"Fuck!" she cried, falling hard onto the ground with a sickening thud—then she began sliding backward down the mountain trail toward its edge. Gravel tore at her skin. The edge was coming fast.
Frantic, Tracy flailed her arms, panic seizing her like icy fingers wrapping around her spine. She teetered on the edge of losing control. Just as she was sure she’d tumble down the side of the mountain to her death, Tracy’s fingers brushed against a small tree. She latched onto it with every ounce of strength she had left. It held. Panting, she rolled onto her back and stared up at the sky, her eyes stinging with sweat and tears. She wiped them furiously with the sleeve of her jacket, and a sob escaped her lips—raw, unrestrained, and heavy with despair. Tracy stayed there for as long as she dared, tears soaking her face as she wept.
How had it come to this?
She had been careful. She knew these trails. Hell, she’d hiked them dozens of times before. But that thing—it wasn’t just an animal. It was something else entirely. And it was hungry.
Crack!
The noise came from behind her, down the hill to her left—the way she had come. Tracy’s breath hitched in her throat. Her body froze. The shadows between the trees had darkened to a bruised purple, making it impossible to see what had caused the sound.
But she knew.
It was big. Ravenous.
“No,” she moaned, her voice trembling.
She glanced down at her throbbing ankle—it had already swollen to twice its normal size.
“Motherfucker,” she seethed, the weight of her helplessness crashing down on her like a landslide.
Desperation clawed at her. Tracy gritted her teeth against the pain and ripped her backpack off, her ankle screaming in protest. She fumbled through it, her fingers clumsy and shaking. For a horrible moment, she thought the first aid kit wasn’t there. Her heart sank further into the pit of fear. Then, she saw it—the white cross. Relief momentarily washed over her. She yanked it out, but her hands trembled too much to unzip it.
She looked back down the hill.
Darkness was settling in, and the air thickened with a heavy, suffocating stillness. The thing chasing her had stopped, but she knew it was still out there—watching. It couldn’t be more than thirty metres away.
Thirty metres.
Tracy’s hands spasmed as she frantically wrapped her ankle with a makeshift splint, the pain almost too much to bear. The process was rushed and far from perfect, but it would have to do. She shoved the first aid supplies back into her bag, secured her headlamp, and threw the backpack over her shoulders. Every movement shot pain up her leg, but she bit down hard, fighting through it.
She leaned against the tree and hauled herself to her feet.
Tentatively, Tracy attempted to put weight on her injured ankle and immediately saw stars. She squeezed her eyes shut and bit her lip so hard it drew blood—the new pain a welcome distraction from the horror gnawing at her ankle.
She took a slow, steadying breath and forced herself to open her eyes.
She looked behind her.
Nothing.
Okay. She could do this.
Tracy looked ahead. It was too dark to tell, but she knew base camp had to be within a half-kilometre. It had to be.
“Okay. You got this, Trace,” she whispered to herself, though her voice sounded hollow. “You’ve been through worse. You can do this.”
But what's worse? Her mind went blank.What came to mind, instead, were the faces of her niece and nephew as they opened their Christmas presents. The twins had looked so small on the screen, but she could still hear their delighted laughter, feel their joy as they unwrapped the gifts she’d sent.
She owed it to them.
She owed it to her brother.
Get going.
Get going.
Get the fuck going!
Her brother’s voice echoed in her mind, clear as if he stood right beside her, encouraging her just like he always had when they were kids. She had never quit because of him. He had been more than a rock—he’d been her saviour.
Tracy looked around, and—
Snap!
“Shit!” she hissed. Her headlamp flicked to the side as she frantically whipped her head around, illuminating a thick branch about three metres away—solid enough to use as a crutch. Tracy staggered toward it, her breath hitching as sharp pain knifed through her ankle with each movement. She bent down awkwardly to grab the branch, its prickly surface scratching against her hand. She cursed under her breath.
This would have to do.
If only she had hiking poles.
But of course, they were up at base camp with everything else.
All she had was what was in her daypack.
Not even bear spray.
She shoved the branch roughly under her armpit, using it to hobble forward at a snail’s pace, every step a torment as loose rocks slid under her weight. Each movement brought a fresh wave of agony, but she kept moving, pushing through, driven by some primal instinct.
#
Minutes passed—each one longer than the last. Tracy moved with a strength she didn’t know she had. Maybe it was the thought of the twins. Perhaps it was the haunting memory of her brother pulling her from the brink of death when she was homeless, drowning in a suffocating darkness of suicidal despair, with a needle still trembling in her arm. Her heart hammered in her chest, but she couldn’t stop. Every muscle screamed at her to stop, to rest, but she couldn’t. She wouldn’t.
A gust of wind slapped her face, nearly knocking her to the ground. And with it, a foul stench—a rotting, pungent mix of rotten meat and skunk cabbage—filled her nose. Tracy gagged. The smell was unmistakable. It was the thing following her.
She hurried forward, thrusting her crutch between two small boulders, but it cracked under her weight. Tracy hit the ground with an anguished shriek, pounding her fists into the jagged earth. Her body shook, muscles seizing as the pain surged.
“Fuuuckkkk!” Tracy screamed, desperate to move—but everything was working against her. Every inch felt impossible.
Crack!
This time, the noise came from in front of her. She looked up, her eyes blurry with tears, and through the haze of exhaustion, saw a light coming toward her—a flashlight.
“Tracy! What’s going on?”
“Oh my god, Victor!” she screamed, her voice raw. “Help me! It’s after me… it’s after—”
A shadow moved quickly from behind Victor.
It was massive.
Suddenly, something heavy settled on her shoulder.
Tracy screamed in terror.
“Found you, two-legged,” The Wendigo's voice rumbled in her ear.
Bio:
Shawn K. Carpenter (Mihko Askiweno) is a Cree-Métis writer and artist living on Vancouver Island, BC. His work weaves together Indigenous horror, spirituality, and emotional truth, often drawing from his ceremonial life and ancestral memory. A former therapeutic coach, Mihko now devotes his time to writing, painting, and reclaiming language and culture alongside his children. His stories often centre around trauma, transformation, and the thin veil between the living and the spirit world. He is a veteran sun dancer, sacred pipe carrier, and lifelong student of the unseen. When not writing, he’s in the woods, on the canvas, or in ceremony.