Mystical, Mythical contest

Cabin 9

By: Monsterman







Hot tears burned down his cheeks in fear, he squeezed his eyes shut. Josh Butler rocked back and forth, head and base of his spine striking a sharp corner. Sweat spilled from every pore of his naked body. It dropped from his bloodied hair to the floor in large pink droplets. He interlocked long fingers over his eyes, extra protection against the sight. He'd already seen it enough in the past few hours. It was stalking the darkness outside of the bathroom, an impatient presence with a horrific voice. It was there now.

A floorboard creaked in front of him, on the other side of the closed door. It was loud, shredding the nerves of his soul, he shuddered violently, heart lurching. His mouth trembled in a silent prayer, hoping it will all be over soon. This was just a nightmare, an obsessively long and terrifying one. The floorboard was for the enjoyment for the presence, a tool for tormenting it's captive. Josh could feel the temperature drop substantially in the room, the screaming hinges of an ancient door being opened disturbed the air pressure. He felt the presence watching him with large red eyes, just floating high in the darkness. He stopped rocking against the wall.

"Open my eyes and see," the presence said, voice slithering through Josh's senses. It sounded like rock being scratched against metal.

"No," he said defiantly. Although absolutely terrified, he was rebellious and as persistent as the presence. He would keep his dignity, no matter the condition he was in.

"Open my eyes and see what I have become."

"No," Josh said, voice rising, "I don't talk to shadows."

"Open my eyes and see what I am," the presence's voice grew more guttural, less human, "now!"

"Or what?"

The presence didn't answer for a long moment. There was a scream, a high feminine scream of pain and pure terror. He heard it hours ago, while he was awake. It was Jenny, she let out the scream when Josh started removing her organs. Jenny was dead now, she was roasting in his oven. Hearing the sound sent hot pinpricks of fear up his spine.

"Don't give me this bulls***!" he screamed.

Iron fingers wrapped around his throat, lifted him to his feet. Kicking out, he struck a thick furry mass. Josh was shaken violently in the air, ankles cracking painfully against the toilet lid. Forcing out a gurgled scream, he tried to push the clawed hand away. It was in vain though, the beast grabbed his wrist and pulled. A bone snapped, his throat stretched in agony as he tried to scream louder against the pressure. The beast's palm was against his windpipe, thick claws drove into the base of his skull. Freezing breath assaulted his face, a stench of rotting flesh widening his nostrils. He opened his eyes, he needed to see to fight.

His heart almost lurched to a stop, he was being held high above the ground, looking into the face of death. It had no lips. Only a few dark violet strips of sinew hung from jagged, dirty jawbones. The remaining jowls that lined the black gums were flecked with bright spittle; reminding him of grub squirming in fresh loam. Seeing where the eyes were was far more terrifying than one when they were floating in the shadows. They spoke about horrific and painful actions against him.

Flaming orbs nestled deep into cracked sockets , perched atop either side of a long, wolfish muzzle. Spiny reptilian brows bridged the outer rims of the cavernous sockets. They rolled down to the base of the snout and accentuated the sharp needle fangs. The teeth were rotted and dark yellow, all had specks of blood dripping from the tips. It roared again, the roof of the mouth was jagged and a violet so dark it was almost black. He stared into the gaping pit and as golden spots appeared in his vision.

His body was being deprived of oxygen, he was too weak to react much to it. The beast stared into his eyes and released some of the pressure on his neck. Enough to let him gasp in sweet air; he sucked in fast, fearing it will be stolen from him. "What are you?" his voice was hardly a whisper. Satellite ears swiveled in his direction.

The creature cocked it's massive head. "I am the Wendigo," it spoke slowly.

Josh didn't want to believe this monster was the Wendigo. Nightmares were never supposed to be believed, they were fiction, just like the creature staring intently at him.

"Really," he answered sarcastically. A thought formed in his mind, he was trying to avoid it for the longest time. Yes, he was considered a cannibal now, but that didn't mean he was a Wendigo now. "I'm not you am I?" He had to ask it, he really hoped the stories weren't true.

The jowls twitched, lifted high into the cheekbones, a satisfied grin. It nodded slowly. Josh shook his head against the opposing fingers. He wished it wasn't holding him above the toilet, he was starting to get queasy.

"No, you aren't real."

"If I was not real, I wouldn't be here. Accept what I am. It is a reward."

"Being a f***ing monster is not a reward!" The Wendigo forced it's jowls down again, snarling into a bestial scowl.

It squeezed his throat again, tighter than before. He felt his body fly through the air, across the bathroom and against the bath tub walls. A rib cracked loudly, speared the upper section of his right lung. Josh, wheezed and grabbed his chest, coughed up bloody phlegm into a shaking fist. He tried to get up but only succeeded in his legs sliding on the against the wet floor. The Wendigo wasn't in the room anymore. He focused his mind on his surroundings, he needed to get up.

On the second try, Josh dragged himself up by using the rim of the tub with his uninjured hand. Wincing and hissing in pain, he stood straighter, using the high edge of the tub for balance. He looked around the room, it truly was a nightmare realm. He couldn't believe the amount of blood in the room, it obviously wasn't his. He didn't pay too much attention to colors until now. The scarlet painting most of the room was settling though, it didn't frighten him at all.

Black, dried blood arced across the ceiling from the door to the halfway mark in intertwining strips of lightning. The triplet of forty watt bulbs over the vanity mirror were dotted with thick blood, forcing a heated orange aura into the room. The mirror itself was cracked, light splatters of the red emphasizing a spider web in the glass. He leaned closer towards the bowl of the sink, of course there was blood, filled halfway with it. Josh cocked his eyebrow warily at it; he thought the faucet would spew more of the redness.

Lastly was the tub he was standing over. He turned around, glared into the unit of hygiene, nothing was cleansing about it. Bodies, they were always in the damn tub, filled to the brim in thick blood, such as the one below him. The blood he didn't mind, it was finding a mutilated body that sickened him. He shuddered at the thought, coughed more of his scarlet fluids at the wall above the tub. Severe doubts that he was going to leave the dream alive floated through his head.

It's just a nightmare, nothing more! Yes, he was just scaring himself, the stories were coming back to him. He will wake up soon, ignore the nightmare even happened and finish disposing of the body. All he needed to do was cook Jenny for dinner, the day was still young, whenever he woke up. Josh didn't have to worry about anyone looking for a long time, not many people stopped by for a visit. He also lived in the middle of the forest, in an almost recluse life style, alone. Until the Wendigo appeared.

Memory of what happened flowed into his brain, he stood in a stupor, staring into the tub. While chewing on a succulent piece of Jenny's thigh in the kitchen, a loud knock shook his window. Startled, he stared up, into blackness. It was a deep pit of nothingness right out of his window. He put down the thick strip of flesh with a splat and stood. Heart fluttering like his stomach, he stepped closer, he knew it was a stupid decision, but it was so compelling. The darkness was so unique, and unexpected that curiosity took over his systems. Curiosity killed the cat, he knew what it meant now.

As he pressed his face close to the window, freezing air seeped in. His breath created steam on the glass, it disappeared rapidly. He smiled warily and backed his head away. No reflection of passed through, something else did. Josh didn't notice it at first, but there was something staring in at him. A subtle movement on the other side, he reeled back when he finally saw it. Condensation on the window, the fingerprint of hot breath in the cold air. It formed an oval of ghostly white splattered against the darkness.

Red orbs appeared, out of thin air. It was so quick and instant, he leaped back with a gasp. Slipped on thick blood on the floor, his arms splayed out as he struck the corner of the counter. The last thing he felt was his skull cracking viciously against the corner of the counter. And then the blackness from the window swarmed towards him, a thunderous pounding.

Now he was standing in the bathroom, staring into an endless pit of scarlet liquid. Blinking, shaking his head, he looked away. There was nothing in the tub, if there was, it would have killed him by now. Just grab him by the legs, pull him down, and drown him; it was far easier with a shredded lung. Pure and simple, it didn't happen. A quick giggle escaped his pierced lung, inducing another fit of bloody coughs. Movement caught his eye, a quick blur in the side of his vision. He whirled around, hands clenching into fists, expecting a fight with the Wendigo.

It was nothing, just air. More movement, to his left, near the door. He snapped his body around, sure something was there this time. "Show yourself you bastard," he limped towards the door. He would have to fight the Wendigo soon enough, stand up and show what dignity he had left as a human.

"My death will be quick." The Wendigo answered from the darkness. It stepped out, and Josh saw the full glory of the beast. It's ribs protruded far from emancipation, sticking out like a lid. The rail thin lower body was covered in thick white fur; supported by muscular legs. They were frostbite, gruesomely wrinkled like a raisin, and the color of coal. Not much fur reigned on its hideously long legs, pinning the true height of the monster to at least fifteen feet.

"Your going to kill a defenseless man?" Josh rasped, backing up a step.

"I will waste no more time," it started, ducking low with a growl. Jowls shaking from an earsplitting scream, it lunged. Josh didn't see it, he immediately dove to the side. Almost too late, a claw caught his right arm, grabbing as it went. He gasped as the Wendigo slipped on the blood, momentum too high, and crashed into the bathtub. It was fast; in one instant he was looking at the beast, and the next he was on the ground. The walls of the tub imploded with a tremendous crack.

He saw it in a hazy slow motion as his shoulder blades rubbed tautly together under his weight. The Wendigo grunted over the fountain of red blood spilling over its ankles, unfazed. It splashed onto and around him in cascading waves. He flipped over slowly, rested his upper body on weak arms, and looked up at the Wendigo. It shook itself, glared accusingly at him. It crouched like a bowler before throwing, Josh didn't see the open palm that planted across his face. A sickening crunch snapped his nose and jaw bones; he screamed, throat sore and lungs screaming. He needed to get up, start moving away from it.

Pain was all he felt as the task of standing was acted upon. He only got to his knees before the Wendigo began the real torture. It swiped at his knee, tearing off a large chunk of cartilage. Heat roared up his legs as the Wendigo wrapped it's meaty fingers around the leg, over the wound. Snorting, it yanked back hard, his joints and bones snapped, shredding the muscle in a burst of blood. Josh was screaming through clenched teeth, a million curses filtering through his brain. His throat was bleeding from the inside, he coughed it up; or he could drown in it. That would take to long, he knew he was going to die. All through his life he asked God to make his death quick, he was being f***ed with, ignored.

Adrenaline surged through his body, the pain as the beast tore the rest of his leg off almost made him pass out. He could feel the tear of tendons and the skin stretching like rubber. Why didn't it just end? Why did it feel so real, wasn't this just a dream? Maybe he was never in the kitchen at all, most likely he ate Jenny in the bathroom. Privacy was a prime factor in the heinous acts he committed on her. He shook his head, weaker, eyes drooping to slits, his vision was blackening. His body fell backwards, he hardly felt it. Josh's heartbeat slowed drastically as the blood needed was rapidly depleted. A squishy munching noise, it was chewing on the removed limb. Luckily he was too weak to lift his head and look, he didn't want to see.

Quickly he felt a tug at his abdomen, but the nerves weren't registering the sensations. Soon afterwards, Josh felt nothing. Dead eyes stared blankly at the sand orange ceiling. Finally he was dead, but the Wendigo was very much alive. The feast began.



Screaming, Josh awoke in a pool of wetness, wincing at the brightness. Heart beating thunderously, he heaved for air, staring up at the kitchen ceiling. Coughing, with no blood, he lifted himself up. He was still naked though, all the better to enjoy Jenny. He was done with the rape long ago, he just loved the sensation of her sweet life fluids rubbing against his skin. The only regret he had was that dream. It was only a nightmare though, because he wasn't dead. No matter how realistic it was.

A laugh bubbled up from his chest, as he leaned back against the oven door. He looked out the window warily though, just in case. "See, your not real! A f***ing monster that's too afraid to show itself, your bulls***!" he screamed, lifting his arms in a taunt. He then looked down at the blood soaked linoleum and kept the smile plastered, following the short trail into the adjoining hallway with his eyes. All he could see were her feet. He'll start on those later, for dinner or dessert.

Pain immediately stabbed every millimeter of his brain. Vision swimming, he doubled over in nausea. The contents of his stomach roiling into his throat and expelling from his disgusted tongue. With two more jerks of his stomach, chunks of Jenny spattered against the ground, adding to the pile of vomit at his feet. A familiar taste lapped at his taste buds, blood. He hadn't noticed it was mixing with his heaved meals. He couldn't move his eyes or head; each slight movement brought an assault of nausea up his body. Even still, it came out of him in panting breaths, splattering across the wall now to. The stench was horrible, bile and blood did not mix. For a long time he huddled against the oven, expelling his guts.

A rock grinding laughter filled his head. The Wendigo was laughing at him, most likely watching from another dimension; malicious glee twisting its imaginary lips. The lunch loss finally ended. It left him clinging with a death grip to the edge of the counter, slicked with blood. How could this be possible, it was just a myth! He tried running it through his head, drawing blanks. There was no way to prevent it, then a memory floated in on the laughter. The nerve wracking noise told him gladly. The transformation was next, myth spoke of indescribable pain and inevitable death.

"Please, save me," he spoke, "I won't kill again God, I swear." Risking the nausea, he craned his neck to the dark hallway a few feet beside him. Anger suddenly rose through his body like a great blizzard. Gaze flitting to the feet again, he didn't dare go closer. "It was your fault bitch," he glared at the insignificant limbs, eyes narrowed. He really wasn't, if Jenny wasn't so irresistible, he wouldn't have lusted for her. He was lonely, an outcast, and the woman was a great relief to his stress. Besides, it was only one citizen, not the entire town.

Enough of this, he thought sternly, you have to get rid of her.

On the first lift of his right leg, the muscle tore and stretched. He screamed, gripping his leg in both hands and falling to the side; pain sparked in his shoulder and lingered. He rubbed it furiously, groaning into the linoleum, teeth grinding against the floor. A scream, ragged and deep, split through his throat as the veins in his legs started popping. Both legs violently convulsed, he tried to stop them, but in vain. Torture in Hell was an understatement, this was thousand- fold. Legs flopping in the rancid mess of vomit and blood, his scream continued. It was loud, he was sure the entire forest could hear him.

Joints in every section of body wrenched out to accommodate the growth. His muscles bulged, stretching and growing larger. The scream grew louder when his skin ripped from the expanding mass. Josh lay there in agony, convulsions warping his body. Another wave of nausea assaulted him when his nose and jaw dislocated with a sickening crunch. His forehead also bulged outward in a strange pop, sinking his eye sockets. The massive shadow returned in a flash, he wriggled a few inches away, heart pounding. Every pore on his body was overflowing with blood and sweat. There was a loud shattering of glass, immediately a howling chilled wind blew over his body. The convulsions were too violent for him to worry about shivering though.

His scream escalated in a crescendo, echoing eerily through the large kitchen. The muzzle stretched from his face, ears growing to long and triangular atop his head. His teeth widened at the canal and grew to the sharp points. Lastly, white fur sprouted from his skin in large, various patches. It wasn't painful, compared to everything else, it was a reprieve. He couldn't scream anymore, even though he felt like it; his voice box was torn. The new fur did nothing against the icy wind squeezing over his naked limbs; freezing the exposed bones and veins, coursing to his heart.

Josh was oblivious to the fact that he wasn't convulsing anymore. The freezing sensation slowed the flow of whatever blood was left in his body, almost to a standstill. Lying on his stomach, staring at the wall in front of him, he heard only his heartbeat. It was intolerably slow, as if lazy during a heat wave. His eyes drifted shut, sight rolling into the blackness of his head. Three beats... two beats.... one beat, the last.

The Wendigo died.