(CCHWC) Night of the Wendigo

The reddish sun fell below the horizon, and darkness settled over the Northern California Redwoods. In the moonless night all was still, save for the sound of footsteps along a winding mountain trail. As the footsteps came to a halt, the silence was again broken by the sound of voices - the voices of the three most powerful men of earth...”

“Keep looking,” ordered the Bildeburger King. “I need one that’s flat and smooth.”

“There’s no way we’ll find another one without a flashlight,” the Trilateral Commissioner replied in a thick British accent. “And honestly, I don’t see what the point of this is. How does drawing a meaningless symbol on some rocks help us find our way back to the Bohemian Grove? We should stick to the trail and once we find a stream or a...”

“Meaningless symbol?” interrupted the Bildeburger King. “You think an eye in the middle of a pyramid is a meaningless symbol? He pointed the black permanent marker at the Trilateral Commissioner accusingly.”It’s the most secret and sacred symbol known to mankind: the symbol of unlimited power over the destiny of humanity. Isn’t that right, Nick?”

Mason Nick Lodge thought for a minute and said, “I’ve never heard of that particular...”

The King interrupted him, “So all we have to do is draw the symbol on the stones and keep setting them along the trail. Anyone who finds it will know we’re lost, and they’ll send a rescue party.”

“We’ve been at it since noon,” argued the Trilateral Commissioner. “So where’s the rescue party?”

“They’re probably looking for us right now.”

“Actually,” said Mason Nick Lodge. “The standard distress signal is three rocks, placed alongside each other.”

Hearing this, the King put his hands on his hips and shook his head. “Nick, don’t you think that would’ve been a good thing to mention...I don’t know, four hours ago!”

“I thought you knew,” Lodge replied innocently. “They told us about that yesterday, during wilderness survival training.”

The Commissioner nodded in agreement. “I believe he’s right, we did learn that in wilderness survival.”

“I wasn’t there,” the King said.

“You weren’t there?” asked the Commissioner.

“I wasn’t there.”

“And why not?”

“I dropped it for basket-weaving.”

At this, the Trilateral Commissioner chuckled. “Basket weaving? The most powerful banker on earth is taking basket weaving?”

“It’s a useful skill.”

“Well it’s not very useful right now, is it?”

“Guys,” Nick Lodge asked, stepping between them. “Can we please just keep moving?”

The trio continued on down the narrow path, which became harder to see with every passing minute. To make matters worse, they had lost their sense of direction. What had started out as a simple scavenger hunt in order to win points for their camp was turning into a worrisome situation. The Bildeburger King’s stomach growled from hunger. “Are you guys sure you don’t have a granola bar or a beef stick on you?” he pleaded once again. “I’d make it worth your while. Seriously, I’m talking ownership of the World Bank right now.”

“I don’t think it would hurt for you to lose a few pounds,” replied the Commissioner. “We’d probably have made it back to camp by now if you’d been in better shape.”

“Don’t start, Commish...”

“Oh come on, guys,” interjected Lodge. “Rule number one in survival: keep a positive mental attitude. Let’s practice our skit.”

“I don’t think that’s appropriate right now, Nick,” the Commissioner said. “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to be late for the campfire tonight.”

“No we won’t,” argued the King. “I promised Nick we’d get back in time for the campfire, and we’re gonna get there. I don’t want him to miss the sacrifice.”

The Commissioner stopped in his tracks. “The what?”

“The sacrifice!” Nick Lodge said, excitedly.

“That’s right,” added the King. He leaned toward the Commissioner, winking. “The virgin sacrifice..”

“What in the bloody hell...,”the Commissioner started to ask, but the King nudged him silently in the rib with his elbow.

“At the Owl Shrine,” whispered the King. “At midnight..

The Commissioner rolled his eyes.”There are no virgin sacrifices as the Bohemian Grove.”

“None?” inquired Lodge.

“It’s rubbish, propagated by conspiracy websites like AboveTopSecret.com. No truth to it whatsoever.”

“There you go, ruining everything!” The King threw his hat onto the ground in anger. “Don’t you remember? This is Nick’s first visit to the Grove! This is how we initiate..,”

“This is nothing but stupidity, that’s what this is! I’d much rather concentrate on getting back to camp instead of playing juvenile tricks on first-time campers.” The Commissioner’s face became flushed, his fists clenched in frustration.

“Actually, guys, it’s okay...I knew it all along.” said Lodge.

“No, it’s not okay,” growled the King. He stepped up to the Commissioner. “We wouldn’t even be here if you’d brought the map like I told you.”

“And now this is all my fault, is it? I should remind you that you’re the one who chose to leave the camp boundaries, and forgot to bring a flashlight, and...”

“Now hold on just a minute...”

“No!” interjected the Commissioner. “I’m tired of taking the blame for everything. You want to know why we’re behind all the other camps in points? I’ll tell you why. It’s because of you. It’s always you, and that’s why next year I’m signing up with Illuminati camp, if they’ll take me! Because I’m sick of it.” The Commissioner’s breath heaved with anger as he jabbed his finger onto the King’s chest. “I’m sick of your arrogance, and your stupidity. I’m sick of your messy habits, your slovenly appearance, and your filthy stinking cigars! And most of all, I’m sick and tired of your putrid, disgusting flatulence!”

“My what?” asked the shocked King.

“Your flatulence!”

“Let me get this straight - are you accusing me of breaking wind?”


“No,” replied the Commissioner, arms folded over his chest. “No King, I’m accusing you of breaking wind every FIFTEEN BLOODY MINUTES!!”

“All right that’s it, I’m gonna break your neck!” In the darkness the King lunged forward, but the Commissioner easily side-stepped the assault. The move sent the King flying into the branches of a nearby pine, but in seconds he was back up and managed to grab the Commissioner by the throat. Both men went down onto the trail in a desperate wrestling match until Nick pulled them apart.

“Stop fighting, both of you, and listen!”

From somewhere in the forest, there came a slight rustling noise. The three companions held still for several seconds, listening. “Is it an animal?” Lodge asked, his voice quivering.

“It could be a raccoon. Or a coyote,” the King whispered.

“Or something worse,” the Commissioner added. At that very moment, all three of them heard the sound of a large branch snap. The noise sent them scampering blindly down the forest trail, their screams of terror echoing into the night.


A few minutes later they saw a light dancing through the trees just off the trail ahead. By this time Lodge had fallen twice, skinning his knees badly, and all three were nearly exhausted from running. Yet toward the light they ran, and finally emerged into a small clearing. As the light approached, they saw it was carried by a familiar face. The man holding the flashlight stepped over to them, an orange placard with the words “Associate Camp Counseling Staff” hanging from his neck. In his other hand he held a shotgun.“Look at you,” the former Vice-President Dick Cheney said, grinning. “Like a bunch of scared little girls!”

The King pointed back at the trail, in the direction they had come, “Something’s after us!”

“Something horrible,” added Lodge. “A huge bear, I think. Or a wolf!”

Hearing this, Cheney laughed. “I doubt that. There hasn’t been a bear sighting in these parts for twenty years. What are you doing out here, anyway? This area is out of bounds.”

The Commissioner, who was still catching his breath, leaned against a nearby tree. “Because someone had the brilliant idea that it would better our chances in the scavenger hunt.” He eyed the King with contempt.

“We did find a live snail,” Lodge added, and dug into his knapsack. “It’s on the list and...eeeww!” He withdrew his hand, wincing. “Not anymore.”

“You can forget about the scavenger hunt,” Cheney replied. “CFR camp won it three hours ago.”

“I’m telling you, something’s out there!” said the King.

Cheney chuckled, shook his head, and said, “It’s probably just a deer.” He started to walk toward the trail, but then stopped and turned back toward them. “Or...it could be the Wendigo.”

“The what?” asked the King. Lodge and the Commissioner eyed him expectantly. Cheney stepped between the three of them, and motioned for them to sit down. Each man found a place to sit down among the pine needles, and once they were comfortable Cheney turned off the flashlight. In complete darkness, his shotgun resting on his lap, Cheney addressed the small gathering.

“This forest is a special place. It’s big, beautiful, and best of all, private. It’s a place that’s known only to the privileged few - a secret retreat for those of us who’ve attained great power or notoriety, or both.” Lowering his head slightly, he looked each of them in the eye. “But let me tell you this: there are some secrets in this forest that even we don’t fully comprehend. I’m talking about the old legends. Stories passed down by the Native Americans who once roamed this land.”

Neither the King, nor Commissioner, nor Lodge made a sound, for their ears were eager to hear more. Cheney continued, “They once spoke of a strange being - a demonic creature that lurked among the trees, something so horrible that the mere sight of it would cause a man to drop dead of fear. It was called the Wendigo, and it was said to walk the earth as the living dead, barely more that a skeleton covered by decomposing skin. I say living dead because, well...it couldn’t die. It’s hunger for flesh - human flesh - drove it ever onward, searching for it’s next victim.”

“That’s just ghastly,” said the Commissioner. “Who on earth would dream up such a legend?”

“Ah,” Cheney replied with a grin. “But there’s more. You see, these woods have a lot of history too, going back to the days of the pioneers. Many a wagon-train rolled along this very spot on the way to Oregon. Sadly, not all of them arrived at their destination. Some were never heard of again. And the same goers for the gold miners who worked the river that runs through our very own Bohemian Grove.”

“In the spring of 1859 a supply train made their way up these parts, bringing provisions for a mining camp called Desperation Gulch. Image their surprise when they found the entire town empty; not a soul remained. None of those miners were ever heard from again.”


“Of course, there were plenty of theories to explain the disappearances. Some said it was an Indian attack, others thought it was disease and the bodies had been carried away by scavenging animals. Still others think it was foul play. But if you ask me, I think it was....THE WENDIGO!!!” As he said it, Cheney flipped on the flashlight and pointed it in the direction of a nearby tree, causing everyone to jump and scream in fear. He picked up his shotgun and laughed. “Like a bunch of little girls! Come on, let’s get back to camp. It’s just over...”

A sudden rustling sound amid the forest caught his attention. “Hold on a minute,” he said while raising his shotgun. “There might be something out there after all.” Lodge, The King, and the Commissioner held close behind Cheney, afraid to make a sound. “Who goes there?” Cheney asked while directing the flashlight beam into the trees. The rustling sound got louder, and all four men backed up a few steps.

Suddenly, a figure dressed in green camouflage and covered in branches and leaves burst through the foliage, startling them. “Hey do you guys know where...”

KABOOOM!!

Cheney’s shotgun blast echoed into the night, and the figure fell to the ground. Everyone screamed.

“What was that?” shouted the King, and Cheney warned him to stay back.

“I don’t know. Maybe a bear, or a coyote. God I hope it wasn’t a person.” Focusing the flashlight beam forward, Cheney took a few steps toward the mysterious figure which now lay silently on the ground. “Either way, it’s dead for sure.” Cautiously they approached, until they were nearly standing over it. Cheney shined the flashlight beam on the figure’s head, and whispered, “Uh oh. Oh no...”

At that moment the figure sat completely upright, and let loose a ear-piercing scream. Everyone jumped backward and cried out in terror. “IT’S THE WENDIGO!” shouted Lodge, and the four men darted into the forest, running for their lives. Cheney went in one direction - Lodge, the Commissioner, and the King went in another.

Through the pine branches and bushes they tore, making their way blindly through the darkness, until the Commissioner blocked their path. “Stop!” he shouted, and Lodge and the King held still in their tracks.. “Listen.”

“I don’t want to be within a hundred miles of that thing!” panted the King. “Get out of my way!”

“No,” replied Lodge, holding him back. “Listen!”

From where they had come drifted a sound - a muffled cry. Someone was calling for help.

“Forget about it!” the King said. “I’ve had enough for one night.” He tried to step forward again, but the Commissioner held firm.

“You cannot leave an injured person to die, King. You just can’t.”

“He’s right,” said Lodge. “I didn’t take First Aid readiness for nothing.”

“Oh...all right,” conceded the King. “But we have to be careful. And quiet.” He jabbed the Commissioner in the chest with his finger. “You go first.”



Several minutes of groping and stumbling through the darkness elapsed before they managed to find their way back to the clearing. They approached slowly and silently, listening to the moaning sounds which got louder with every step. The wounded figure lay in the same place as before, and the Commissioner called out to it.

“H...h...hello?”


The figure fell silent for a moment, and then spoke in a gravelly voice, “I need help.”

“Who are you?” the Commissioner asked.

“Alex Jones.”

“What?” shouted the King. He stepped forward. “What are you even doing here?”

“Never mind him. How badly are you injured?” inquired Lodge.

“I’ve got a sprained ankle. Maybe broken, even.”

“You mean you weren’t shot?” asked the Commissioner.


“Shot? No.”

The King stepped over to Jones and repeated his question, “What are you doing here? This place is for members only!”

“I come here all the time,” Jones replied. “I’m a journalist. And I’ve been collecting these.” He brought forward a small backpack, opened the zipper, and emptied it. Several small, flat rocks fell onto the ground at their feet. “Someone’s been leaving these rocks along the trail.”

The Commissioner rolled his eyes. “We know.”

“They’ve been marked with an ancient, cryptic symbol - an all-seeing eye within a pyramid!”

“Of course they have,” the Commissioner replied.

“You guys ever hear of the New World Order?”

“Yes, we’ve heard of it.”

“I’ve been lost for the past four hours. Hey, if one of you has a flashlight I can show these to you. They’re amazing!”

“Wait a minute...” said the King. “You mean you don’t have a flashlight either?”

“Nope,” replied Jones.

The King looked about in the darkness. Cheney and his flashlight were nowhere to be found. “So we’re still in the dark, and just as lost as we were before.”

“That would appear to be the case,” said the Commissioner. No one spoke for several minutes as they group of men contemplated their situation. The night sky was clear, and millions of stars shined brightly above the still pines. Not a sound could be heard, until Alex Jones finally broke the silence:

“Who just farted?”


[edit on 8-11-2009 by Flatwoods]

I loved the humor, Flatwoods, and I think this is the first story I read that was about multiple monsters!! Great job as always.

That was delightful. A nice little twist to the halloween contest. Good job; very funny.

Glad I read your story. Fantastic dialogue! Great humor. I was so hoping Bush, Jr. was the one who caught Cheney's blast! Oh well, great story!

I'm laughing so hard right now.
This like finding the best monty python of all time
hidden in Howard Huges vault. I can hear the voices,
and the accents. This is a masterpiece. Well done, it's hurts.


:ROFL:


David Grouchy