literature

Deceiving the Demon

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Jacques escaped from his nightmare by waking into a dream. The sky was dark, the stars were out, and the wind bit into his bones. He shivered and rubbed his hands together, then gasped when he saw what he was wearing. How many years had passed since he owned the woolen capote and canvas pants? The nostalgia for a time when he could be considered truly human hit harder than the bitter cold.

A distant glow caught his attention. He wove his way through the trees toward it, shoeless feet leaving bloody footprints in the snow. They were so numb he did not notice.

The forest opened into a clearing, where a man stood beside a fire. He looked like one of the natives, and had a heavy coat and pants typical of those worn by people in current times. Jacques scratched his head with clawless fingers. He could not remember a time since the curse when a lucid dream did not take place in a memory from his human life. The thought that he could have regained the ability to have normal dreams confused him, but it was too pleasant a possibility to question. Nothing that restored his life to normalcy could be a bad thing.

He sat beside the fire and held his hands up to it. The wind condensed around him, kicking up flurries of snow and beating back the flames. He shivered and leaned closer, but could not seem to get any warmer.

"So, what's your story? Have anything important to tell me before you pass on?"

Jacques snapped his head up and focused on the native man. He had forgotten he was still standing there. "Pass on? To where?"

The man sat on a rock and gave a casual smile. He looked to be in his twenties, a child by Jacques' standards. "To wherever it is the dead go." His expression grew concerned. "You do know you're dead, right?"

Jacques tilted his head and narrowed his eyes. "If only that were so. Why would you think such a thing?"

"I only have lucid dreams when some dead person wants to talk to me. Can't usually do anything to help them, but that doesn't stop them from bothering me. Sorry if this shatters some lie you've constructed to deny it. Maybe that's what you need to pass on."

Jacques huddled so close to the fire that it singed the tip of his beard. "Well, you are wrong. I am not dead. My soul is merely more loosely attached to my body than it ought to be. Being possessed by a demon does that to you."

"Is that why you look like that?"

Jacques ran his tongue over his teeth. No fangs. He put a hand to his face and traced the contours of his skull poking though his pale skin. "No. This is just how I was when Wendigo found me."

The man fixed him with such a scrutinizing stare that he lowered his eyes, too unnerved to look back. "You're a wendigo? I thought that didn't happen to… you know… white guys."

Jacques flashed his fangless teeth and gave a sound that could be interpreted as a growl. "No! I am not a demon! The demon is the demon. And why should a demon be picky about who it decides to attack?"

The man threw his arms back. "I don't know! That's just how grandpa always told the stories. Why am I even debating this? You're either a delusional ghost, or a figment of my imagination. Either way, this is stupid. I'm going to wake myself up now."

Jacques forced himself to meet the man's eyes. "Wait! Do not do that! I… I think I understand what is happening. Wendigo… my body… is sleeping. You are sleeping. Where are you right now?"

"I'm camped somewhere off Georgian Bay. Don't know where exactly. I hate sticking to maps."

Jacques grimaced. "He must be close. If you are not gone before he wakes, he may smell you. You must leave. I do not want to know the taste of your blood."

The man folded his arms and smirked. "You're quite the innocent one. Why would a wendigo want to scare his victim off? I thought you guys were supposed to do anything for a little taste of human flesh."

Jacques dug his fingers into his scalp and rocked back and forth. "Stop it! That is not me! I am no demon!"

"OK, possessed, whatever. You must have done it at least once though, right? That is how the curse works, isn't it? I'm not exactly thrilled with the idea of listening to a cannibal's advice."

Jacques leapt up and howled, voice merging with the wind that rose around him. The man jerked away and landed on his backside behind the rock. "I did what I thought was best! I have seen that fever before. No one in his condition could have survived it." He paced, wringing his hands and staring at something the man could not see. "I did it for you, Raymond. You would have let yourself die, just let yourself… I could not let that happen. If it was not for me you would be… Oh, Raymond, it was not me! I did not do it! The demon made me, I would never…"

He covered his face with his hands and started crying.

The man got to his feet and walked around the fire. "Hey, hey, it's all right! I'm sorry I said that. I didn't mean to upset you."

Jacques stopped crying, lowered his hands, and tilted his head. "Are you still here?"

The man rolled his eyes. "I should think so. This is my dream, after all."

Jacques stared at some point over his head. "Oh. Say, you do not happen to have a gun in the waking world, do you?"

"Sorry, that's a no-go."

Jacques began pacing again, chewing his nails and staring at the ground. "Pity. It would have been nice of you to shoot my head off, if you could find me." He turned to the man and grabbed his arm, eliciting a flinch. "Quick! Can you think of a way to kill me?"

The man's eyes widened and he squirmed free. "No! I don't just sit around thinking about stuff like that. What do you want me to do, beat you to death with my fishing gear?"

"Well, I advise you to think of something. If you meet me in the waking world, it will not really be me. It will be some creature that wears my body and is almost impossible to kill. Except with fire. Could you set me on fire? That would do nicely."

The man stepped back. "I… what? No. How would I even do that?"

Jacques sighed. "Very well. If you cannot do it yourself, you can still tell someone who can to come find me and end this bloodshed."

"How? How am I supposed to get anyone to believe this? I'm still not sure I believe this!"

The wind rose again, though it sounded more like a moan than a howl. "Please believe me. You must be careful. If he finds you and you cannot kill him, you must think of some way to frighten or distract him. Threaten him with fire, or talk to him. Maybe when you see him, tell him, 'Good hunting, friend.'"

The man gave him a questioning look. "'Good hunting, friend?' What's that supposed to mean?"

Jacques shrugged. "It is how the demons greet each other. What it really means is, 'I mean you no harm please do not eat me!'"

He trembled and his voice rose to a screech. He thought it was a pretty good impression of the feelings he sensed from Wendigo when he ran into other demon-possessed people. Against his hopes they appeared to not want to treat each other like prey, and the gesture of appeasement always worked.

The man's eye twitched. "Uh… yeah, I'll be sure to remember that. Thanks."

Jacques could not contain the relief that poured from his heart. He embraced the stranger in a hug, marveling at how real everything felt. It was so good to be in control again, even for a little while. "Thank you. Thank you. I wish you the best of luck. Go home and send help. I am not alone out here. The others need you, too."

He felt a sharp tug at the back of his mind. Wendigo was waking up, trying to drag him back into his body. He struggled to hold on to his connection to the other man. Dream senses faded and regrouped in the waking world. His eyes opened and he could not help but look through them.

***


Early next morning found Wendigo investigating a set of tracks. He knelt on his hands and knees, buried his face in the snow, and sniffed enthusiastically. When he got the information he wanted from the footprints he rose and followed them.

Jacques would never get used to the sensation of the entity controlling his limbs, guiding his body through the forest with strength and speed unimaginable to more fortunate men. He seethed with impotent rage. How dare you? That is the closest thing to a friend I have had since you did this to me! Do not even think of laying a hand on him!

The demon ran on, oblivious as always. Did it count as talking to yourself when you were trying to speak to a being that had evicted you from your body and could not hear you? Jacques did not know, but he worried that it would not say good things about the deteriorating state of his mental health. He restrained himself from continuing his ranting.

Wendigo stalked his prey until he found the man at the lakeshore, packing his things into a small boat. He looked himself over, frowning at suspicious stains and tears in his clothing.

Jacques groaned inwardly. The demon was going to do it again. Somehow he had gotten it into his head that an outfit cobbled together from the clothing of formerly living people and an awkward smile were all that one needed to make introductions with unfamiliar humans. The imitation made watching what happened when he grew tired of them even more disturbing.

Wendigo tried a new tactic this time, walking out of the cover of the trees with his hands in his pockets and a smile on his face. He waited until the man looked up from his work, then raised an arm over his head and waved. "Hello!"

Jacques had never seen such large eyes before. They looked like they would swallow up the man's face. He dropped a backpack on the rocks at the water's edge and stared. It took his voice several moments to emerge from an unintelligible stutter. "G… go… good hunting, friend."

Wendigo froze and his own eyes widened. He sniffed at the air. "Good hunting, friend?"

The man flashed a forced grin and nodded. "Yes! Good hunting. I'm going to hunt over there now so we don't have to worry about, uh, wanting to eat each other. Goodbye!"

He edged his way toward the boat.

Wendigo lowered to a crouch and closed the remaining distance between them. He moved in a deceptively awkward way, sometimes slinking close to the ground on two legs and sometimes supporting himself on his hands as well. He stopped at the man's feet and tilted his head back, showing his throat.

The man's eyes bugged even further.

Wendigo held the pose until even his powerful muscles could not avoid developing a cramp. He rose with a huff and wrapped his thin, clawed fingers around the human's throat. Jacques winced in anticipation of the man's bloody demise, but found himself being pulled out of his body instead.

The man's panicky voice came to him. Where am I? What's happening?

He blocked it out, trying to focus on making sense of the new development. He felt like he was floating in the dark, a being of pure thought with no body to anchor it. The memory of Wendigo's recent behavior tied it all together. He tried to direct comforting feelings to the other consciousness in the void. Be calm. You are not yet dead. The demon is attempting to identify another demon which you do not have inside of you. He may become angry when he does not find it. Be prepared to defend yourself when he closes the connection between us.

What?! I was just doing what you told me to! Are you saying all I did was give him more reason to want to kill me?

Jacques could feel Wendigo's mental probe withdrawing. Stay focused! You can do this. He is strong, but he is also an imbecile. People have fooled him before.

The connection ended and Jacques was wrenched back into the sensation of possessing a body without having any say in what it did.

Wendigo tightened his grip on the man's throat, bared his yellow fangs, and growled. "You are not kin. You are human liar. I eat you now."

The man held a hand up and gestured frantically. "Wait! What about gkkk last wishes?"

Wendigo tilted his head to the side. "What is 'last wishes?'"

"It means that akkk I get to do one more fun thing, then you kill me."

Wendigo lowered his eyes and fiddled with his beard. He looked up at the man again and smiled. "All right."

He let go and the man collapsed at his feet, clutching the bloody scratches on his throat. Jacques was impressed by the determination that rose in his voice. "My backpack. Let me have my backpack. I want to get something to eat from it before I die."

Wendigo snatched the pack and took a step back. "Food?"

"Yeah, there's food in there. Let me have the white canister, please."

Wendigo grabbed hold of two handfuls of cloth and ripped the backpack apart. His eyes focused on the white cylinder that bounced off a rock and rolled toward the man. He pounced on it. "Mine!"

"Hey, you said I could eat it! There's not enough left in there to share."

Wendigo sat and studied the canister. It was made of metal and there was a picture of a bear painted on it. He gave it a sniff, then grimaced. "This is food?"

The man crawled forward a step and reached out. "Yes. It's the best tasting kind of food I know of. Come on, you said you'd let me have it."

Wendigo leaned away and hugged the canister to his chest. After a few moments' worth of reconsideration, he let the man take it. "How you eat it?"

"Like this." The man removed a lid and placed a finger on a button hidden beneath it.

Wendigo snatched it away and bounced around the man, grinning. "You lie, I lie! Is mine now!"

"No. Give it back. Do not eat that."

Wendigo opened his mouth wide, held the canister to it, and squeezed the button. His world became pain. The fog that shot from the canister clung like liquid fire, burning his eyes and nose and throat. He roared in agony and launched straight into the air, landing without his usual grace in a sprawl of gangly limbs. Prey forgotten, he writhed on the ground.

Jacques relished every moment of it. Despite sharing Wendigo's pain, it was nothing compared to the mental torture the demon had put him through. He could no longer see or smell or even hear well enough to determine what his would-be victim was up to, but he had high hopes for him now.

After some of the shock had worn off Wendigo rose and shook his head. Tears and snot and drool dripped down his face. He scanned with bleary eyes until he located an area of clear snow farther up from the lakeshore. He threw himself onto this and rubbed every bit of aching flesh against it.

When he was finished he propped himself up on his elbows and panted. Strength replaced his exhaustion, but his senses were slower in recovering. He scented the air, but found his prey's trail masked by the smell of burning fog. He stood and made his way back to the lakeshore.

At the halfway point the canister waited where he had dropped it. He tensed at the sight of it and bared his teeth. "Hsssss!"

Jacques laughed to himself. Wendigo paced on the lakeshore, unable to see where the boat had gone or track it by scent, and too afraid of the water to feel it was worth striking out blindly in search of it.

For the first time in a long time Jacques dared to feel good about himself. How many people could say they had succeeded in stealing the Devil's supper?
Dialogue prompt for :iconyouasthenarrator:
“You’re quite the innocent one,” said with a smirk.
Characters used- The Guilty Host, the Curious Cannibal, and nameless lucky one-shot guy YouAsTheNarrator Character Bio - Wendigo/JacquesWENDIGO (PRANKSTER)
The Curious Cannibal
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■ Winter spirit possessing a human ■ Immortal ■ Hunter
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Spirit and Host by Leonca
Word count- 2,818

I decided to finally try writing a full story from Jacques’ POV. Even someone as pathetic as him deserves to catch a break every once and a while. Stories about tricking the Devil are common in folklore, and while Wendigo is really more of a nature spirit than a demon I thought it would be an interesting theme to explore.

Poor Wendigo, unable to resist the allure of reverse psychology. =p
© 2012 - 2024 Leonca
Comments21
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RasgarBlue's avatar
Loved it :) I am always amused by descriptions of objects that are common knowledge to everyone but the main character (in this case, the bear spray).

Caught a couple of typos, if that is the right word. I can't remember where exactly they were, but you wrote "formally" instead of "formerly" and "wretched" instead of "wrenched".