Chapter 14.2

December 22, 1879

Fifth entry. I am awake again. I am not sure I had even fallen asleep yet when something hit the chimney, shaking the stovepipe all the way down to the stove. I made sure the fire was good and hot before I laid down, so whatever hit it got burned, or at least it was uncomfortable for it. At least, I hope so.

I did not dream of Jim again, which makes me happy. I never thought I would say that. I miss him so much, and the first dreams I had of him made me feel better. They made me feel as if he was still with me, watching over me like he did. The last one I had did the opposite. It was terrifying, and I never want to have another one like that again.

I am going to try again to sleep. If the monster on the roof and the nightmares hold off, I might be able to get some rest. I need rest more than I need food right now. 

December 23, 1879

Jim came to me in another dream this morning, and this time he was himself. He told me to pay no attention to the alternate version of him because that is the wendigo putting things in my head. He said he knows I am strong enough to resist it and to continue doing what I have to do to survive until I can get out of this cabin. 

In the dream, Jim also told me about something he had hidden from me and had intended to give me before he died. That son of a gun said he had a bag with spices of some kind in it hidden in his pack. He told me to use them on his flesh to make it easier to eat. I looked in his bag, and sure enough, there was a leather pouch with a few small glass jars in it. Each one had a different spice in it. Jim is still watching after me even from the grave.

December 23, 1879

Second entry. I did what Jim told me to do and cooked the flesh using the spices he had hidden. It did make it easier to eat, which is good. I do not know how much longer the flour will last. Being able to make less bread to choke down the flesh will mean the food will last longer. 

I will be bringing in more firewood in a few minutes. I am letting my breakfast settle for a bit before I start work again. I am packing the snow and trying to clear steps to get out of here as I uncover the wood. 

I feel like I am in a snow cave as I work. The drifts on and around the cabin are well over my head now. I can break through right above my head at the doorway with the stove poker, just enough to see the sky and know if it is cloudy, sunny, day, or night. Other than that, I can only dig and pack the snow in small sections, and only having one arm I can use makes it very slow going. 

The snow I am digging out is either being put into the pots to melt for drinking water, or I am packing it around Jim to keep him cold. You would think that I would have already cleared out all of it by now, but the way the snow and wind keep going, it just fills everything I clear back up. It looks like I have never done a thing by the time it is done.

December 23, 1879

Third entry. When I came inside to rest from clearing snow, I put my head down on the table, and I must have dozed off. Jim came to me again and yelled at me to eat more. That I had to eat more if I want to survive. I tried to explain to him how difficult it is for me to do what he wants, but that made him angrier. I don’t think I ever saw him furious like that when he was alive. It is beyond disturbing to see him like that now. I miss his kind and peaceful demeanor.

When I woke up, I immediately cut off more flesh, and I am cooking it the way Jim told me. I don’t know what else to do. It seems like he is going to haunt my dreams until I have gotten us both out of this place. It is strange how, even though the dreams are sometimes disturbing, I find comfort in them. I know Jim is still here with me. I hope that does not change after I bury him. I might be selfish for feeling that way, but I want him to stay with me. I missed having a friend and a brother until I met him, and now I miss it again. Perhaps more acutely than I ever have.

Sara marked her spot in the journal and set it aside. She looked at the shelves and became curious. She grabbed her flashlight, walked over to them, and started looking in the boxes again.  In the third wooden crate, Sara saw a small leather bag and smiled.

“Huh? Well, I wonder if that is the magical spice pouch.” Sara mused.

Sara picked it up and felt several items inside of it. She took it back to the table, carefully opened it, and dumped out the contents. Six small glass jars rolled out of the pouch and onto the table, each containing a small amount of ground plants or seeds.

“Jim, you sneaky son of a gun. No wonder Herschel could ever make anything he cooked taste the same as when you cooked it,” Sara said as she laughed. 

Sara began to open each jar and sniff them. She was curious about the contents and what spices Jim had been so protective over that he hid them from Herschel. As Sara smelled them, she became even more filled with questions. She did not recognize the aroma of any of the jars. 

“Well, Jim, it looks like this will be a secret that you get to keep for now. I have no idea what these spices are,” Sara said.

Sara took the pouch back to the shelf and gently tucked it back into the wooden box where she had found it. She was chuckling to herself as she went back to the table and sat down. 

Her grandmother was fiercely protective of recipes, treats, and secret concoctions that came out of her kitchen.  When Sara’s birthday was celebrated months earlier at her mother’s home, her grandmother chased everyone out of the kitchen while she finished one of her famous dishes. Jim appeared to be the same way.

Sara thought about eating something before she went back to reading and decided not to. As a trauma nurse, she was used to all manner of injuries and events bringing people into the emergency room. It had never affected her ability to eat. Reading the journal and what Herschel and Jim were going through made her lose her appetite.  

Sara got up and made herself a cup of coffee before settling back in at the table. She picked up the journal and took a deep, slow breath in preparation for continuing to read. She gently opened the book back up to where she had left off.

December 23, 1879

Fourth entry. I went back to bringing in more firewood while the flesh cooked. I wasn’t at it very long before the wind kicked up, and I had to quit. The snow began blowing down into the opening I had made and right into my face, blinding me while I tried to work.

This confounded snow and wind are like nothing I have ever seen before. Even in all the years I have been trapping here in this forest, I have never seen its likes. I can hear the wind outside now.

Now I sit at the table with the flesh on my plate, cooling until I can eat it. I still do not like it, but thanks to those spices and herbs Jim had hidden, it is far better than it was. It takes away that metallic copper taste that was overpowering and so repulsive.

The flesh has cooled enough now that I can eat it. I will have my meal and then get back to the firewood. I will if the wind and snow allow it, that is.

December 23, 1879

Fifth entry. While I brought in wood and cleared snow, I began to hear howls off in the distance. At first, I thought they were from the wolves, and then I listened closer. It was something far more immense than a wolf. The howl was deep and resonating. I could feel it in my chest, even from the distance away that it was. I fear it was that monstrosity that Jim and me saw in the forest while checking our traps. 

I can still hear it while I sit here in the cabin with the door barred. It is keeping its distance, which is some comfort, not much, but some. I don’t know if I will sleep tonight if that thing continues with its ungodly howls; I fear I won’t.

I am going to rest and eat a little while I wait for that thing to leave. It is getting close to dark, so I will be done for the day if it does not go soon. I guess I will know when it happens.

December 23, 1879

Sixth entry. The howling never stopped. I had given up on doing more work and had gone to bed. Then that abomination returned, stomping around outside and on the roof. It was stomping so hard that it made the lantern hanging from the ceiling swing back and forth. I want to know what it is, and yet, I do not.