Sheriff Ron Hayes had never seen a night like this. The cold wasn’t the kind that crept into your bones; it was the kind that gnawed at your soul, biting through layers of clothing and leaving a biting chill that wouldn’t go away.

He’d been called out to the woods on a missing person report. But something told him it wasn’t a simple case of a lost hiker or someone stumbling off the trail. No, this was different. The air was too thick with the silence of the forest, as if nature itself was holding its breath.

Ron had been a sheriff in this part of northern Minnesota for over fifteen years, but this felt wrong from the start. The tracks in the snow led him deeper into the woods—tracks that started as human, then abruptly twisted into something unrecognizable. Something that dug into the earth with unnatural claws, tearing at the frozen ground like an animal hunting its prey.

He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it wasn’t something he could handle with the usual tools at his disposal. His flashlight seemed to falter against the night, and his heart skipped every time he thought he saw something in the periphery, moving too fast, too silently.

When he found the body, it wasn’t like the others. The flesh was torn apart, not by wild animals, but by something far more grotesque. Its eyes were wide open in terror, its mouth locked in a silent scream, as though whatever had done this had taken its time.

Ron took a breath, steadying himself. He could feel it now—the presence. Something was out there, watching him, waiting.

He wasn’t alone.

A rustling in the trees snapped him out of his thoughts. He spun around, his Glock drawn, but he saw nothing in the thick, icy woods. The air was heavier here, oppressive. The scent of rot and decay mixed with the sharp, cold bite of winter. And then, he heard it—a soft, guttural growl, echoing in the stillness. The ground beneath him seemed to tremble as something massive moved in the distance.

It wasn’t a bear. It wasn’t a wolf. It was something much older, much hungrier.

The Wendigo.

Ron had heard the stories. Old legends passed down by the Native tribes around here—tales of a creature that lurked in the forests, driven by an insatiable hunger for human flesh. A creature that could transform, that could blend into the wilderness itself. But stories were stories, right? There was always a kernel of truth, but he’d never believed in any of that. Until now.

The growl grew louder, and Ron’s grip tightened on his Glock. He didn’t know if a bullet would stop it, but it was all he had. His breath formed clouds in the freezing air as he stepped cautiously forward, trying to stay silent. He knew better than to rush into the unknown, especially when every part of him screamed to run.

A flash of movement—something tall, too tall—darted between the trees. Ron’s heart raced. He quickly reached into his jacket pocket, pulling out a flare. Without thinking, he tossed it onto the ice.

The flare flared up with a brilliant, fiery light that cut through the darkness like a knife. The Wendigo froze, its figure half-hidden in the shadows, its hollow eyes reflecting the sudden brightness. It recoiled, snarling, as if the light itself burned. For a brief moment, the creature seemed caught between its primal hunger and the instinctual fear of fire. Its movements faltered, its form twitching, uncertain.

Ron took the opportunity to draw his Glock, his hand shaking, though he tried to steady it. The creature’s gaze turned to him, its hunger palpable, its breath misting in the frigid air. Ron’s finger hovered over the trigger. He knew this would be his only shot.

With a growl that rattled his bones, the Wendigo lunged.

The flare sputtered, the light dimming. Ron fired.

The bullet hit, but the Wendigo didn’t fall. It staggered back, but its hunger had not been sated. It screeched, its mouth widening, revealing jagged teeth too many for any creature. Ron’s heart hammered in his chest as he scrambled back, keeping his pistol trained on the creature.

It wasn’t enough. The Wendigo advanced again, moving with unnatural speed. Ron could hear the faint whisper of its claws against the snow, its shadow shifting like smoke.

The forest was no longer still. It was alive, pressing in on him from all sides.

And then, in the distance, the sound of a truck’s engine. The sirens. A rescue team, maybe? A flash of hope surged through him.

He glanced back, but when he looked forward again, the Wendigo had vanished into the trees, like a phantom. Gone. Not defeated, just waiting, watching from the dark.

Ron stood frozen for a moment, his breath heavy in his chest. His heart didn’t stop pounding, but the creature was gone for now. It wasn’t over. Not yet.

The night was still, but the terror lingered. Somewhere, out there, the Wendigo waited. And it was hungry.