Wendigo Drawing Novels & Stories

Shifting back to our human form, we grabbed Axel's hands and tried to help him up when we heard another growl behind us. Aria screamed as the beats grabbed her and flung her away before grabbing Axel and I. The Wendigo, holding the both of us now, began to run deep into the woods. I Tried to hold onto a tree or anything strong but it was so f*cking strong. I couldn't hold onto anything for support and if I did, it quickly snapped because of its speed. Soon I could hear Aria's wolf running towards us from behind.

“Where’s this Wizard’s Tower?” There were no directions to the place where we were meant to find the man we had to kill. Dudley turned the paper over, and revealed a crude drawing. There was a wigwam of lines, presumably meant to represent our fire, and a tower that looked like a rook from a chessboard drawn by a child and stuck on a fridge out of sympathy. The only other landmark included in this work of art was a wiggly line between us and the tower. Presumably a river.

We are considering this one rather strongly, though we are left with two other options apart from this one. You shall find a monster that the Windchaser boys have defeated before, which they call a Wendigo. They are said to be cannibalistic creatures that possess humans, thus this one being our strongest contender from them all. Though the little problem with this one is that it has super speed, and they are immortal. Therefore you find that they are fast and very smart. I can honestly say that we all are hoping that it shall not be a Wendigo.

Jo accepted the paper gently, unfolding it with careful fingers. At first glance, it looked like a simple child’s drawing: messy lines, smudged colors. But the longer Jo stared, the colder her blood ran. It was a drawing of a massive wolf, dark and powerful, kneeling under a broken moon. Its silver eyes were hollow and sad, its paws chained to the ground by thick black tendrils. Beside it, a man, tall, crowned, broken, stood slumped over, clutching his chest as blood spilled from his side.

In the end, I think they turned out great. Not that I knew what the others were for but there was also a frog on a log, a humming bird and a fat Cardinal. The very last one I was drawing was for Arlo. He got those picture for us, or more for me. It was of a wolf. It’s head was downward with his teeth showing. The hair was standing straight up with a human skull under it’s paw. There wasn’t any flesh on it, just the bones. Originally, I was going to make it a dead rabbit or something but this seemed appropriate. Keeping this one black and white, kept some of the mystery alive. “Charlotte??” Waylon yelled as he was coming in.

"I’m sexy right?" The Wendigo growled at me as it leapt over the shredded woman incredibly fast. I crouched down ready for it, it clawed out at me and I raised my staff aiming for its chest. I growled, knocking it back with all my strength. I had the upper hand with it being a tight place, it couldn't manoeuvre as good as I could.

The way some of the quieter kids flinched when certain footsteps approached. I knew the signs. I’d lived them. My tail lashed once, sharp enough to make the nearest pup squeak and hide behind a stuffed wolf. “Miss Nyx?” The little bandaged girl was back, holding up her drawing from earlier. “For you. Because you have a tail like a dragon.” It was me—crude purple horns, red eyes, black wings I definitely didn’t have, and a long violet tail curled protectively around a circle of smaller wolves.

No one to soothe my back when I'm on edge. No one to tolerate all my bullshit, unconditionally. I struggle to my feet and head to the kitchen, looking for something to sober up. The moment I open the fridge, I freeze. Taped to the door is a crinkled drawing. A doodle Leo made when he was five. Three wolves. One big, one medium, one small. The big one is majestic and proud. The medium one is gentle and beautiful. The smallest one is hiding behind them. Underneath, in crooked letters: My Dad, Mom, and Me.

Whoever drew it had spent time on the hands, the fingers coming to points, too many knuckles in them, and I sat there on my husband's bed and could not stop looking at the hands. The head was the worst and I made myself go to it last. Long through the jaw, the skull pulled forward into something built around the mouth, and the mouth open in the drawing to show what it was for. This wasn’t a wolf. I want to call it a wolf because a wolf I could hold in my head, I've stood in a room with wolves, I'm married to the largest one alive, and I am one. This wasn't that. A wolf is an animal and knows it. This thing in the drawing had been made to know things, and the man who drew it had wanted you to

When she wrestled the bag around to the front, she unzipped it and triumphantly pulled out a rather rumpled looking piece of paper. Alice looked at the drawing and this time, a single tear escaped. It trickled down her cheek before she swiped it away with the back of her hand. “Adam, look,” she said, her voice choked. “It’s us.” I took the sheet of paper. It showed a family grouping drawn in colored crayon. A stick man, a stick woman with a chaotic corona of hair holding a bundle, and a little stick child standing in front. The child had a big smiley face.