The Horror of Weasels

Hungry He awoke to the scent of smoke. Saliva beaded at the corners of his mouth. His head rose from the branch and dislodged a blanket of snow. A thin black line rose above the treetops into the pale winter sky. After a quick stretch he leaped from his perch, landed on his feet, and broke into an effortless trot. He followed the smoke by scent until he reached a familiar clearing and discovered a campsite. A boy and a girl sat beside a fire.

He hunched his back and hugged himself before approaching them, as if bracing against the cold. He stumbled into the clearing. Both pairs of eyes turned in unison. The girl lowered hers with a blush. The boy The Flying Machine Wendigo did not bother to sneak up on the herd after he pinpointed its location. The deer caught his scent and ran before he could see them, but it only added to the fun of the chase. He dodged trees and sprinted over the snow with grace and speed that rivaled their own. He leapt onto the back of the nearest. With claws anchoring him to the hide of the doe he bit into the base of its skull and shook his head until he felt the creak-pop of vertebra dislocating. The doe's legs buckled. He jumped off and landed beside its body.

It was not enough. He knew every time he hunted it would never be enough, but the compulsion to banish that hunger w

As gruesome as this myth is, I can’t stop finding ways to make it silly.

Many monsters have a weird weakness you can use to defeat them. The wendigo has weasels. There are many Cree stories I read where a wendigo is harassing someone, so they either call for a weasel or shapeshift into one (wereweasel! ). The weasel then crawls down the wendigo’s throat and chews its frozen heart until it dies. What a horrible way to go.

JacquesWendigo’s scruffy little beard is so fun to draw.