Chasing the Wendigo (excerpt)

Justin Case’s latest offering due out soon.

The night was alive with a cacophony of countless crickets chaotically chirping, the indecipherable high pitched chatter of the wood frog, sounding like some unknown alien creature, the bullfrogs’ deep bass voices and  the low, intense hum of the beating wings of legions of tiny ravenous vampires sounding akin to the drone of high-voltage power lines. Silence fell momentarily as the night was split by the blood curdling howl of the apex predator, canus lupus better known as timber wolves, on the hunt.

A solitary figure stood as if transfixed by the radiance from a cold, opalescent orb perched on the tree tops like a mystic’s crystal globe. Its reflection shimmering on the shiny black surface of Welcome Lake. Its brilliance illuminating the rocks and trees along the shoreline barely penetrating the wall of trees by more than two or three trees deep. Even the simple process of breathing took extra effort in the oppressive steaminess rising from the damp, rich black earth of the woodland and lush undergrowth.

Beads of sweat stood out on a forehead covered with dull, grey dust while cold droplets fell from sodden dishevelled hair to a bare grimy neck and rounded shoulders. A tiny rivulet of blood trickled from one nostril as one eye engorged with blood until it could no longer be opened. Silver flashes like white hot sparks from a Canada Day sparkler flickered amid an ethereal greenish glow emanating from head to toe of the otherworldly being.

Soft whispering and shuffling sounds could be heard then suddenly, like the tiny sparks from the campfire, his light was extinguished and darkness fell over the campsite once again.