Wendigo (Mountain Spirit)

For the third day, the blizzard has been battering the cabin window. An old emergency shelter far off the hiking trail. The firewood has almost burned out, and the wrapper of the last energy bar in your backpack was already empty yesterday. In the corner by the door, James lies covered with a blanket. Since he lost his body heat two nights ago, he hasn't moved again. The last thing to come out of the radio was a crackling voice saying the rescue helicopter couldn't fly for another two days because of the weather. Since that day, every night, a sound like a low moan rises from your stomach. Tonight, another voice mingles with that sound. A voice that begins like the wind and, before you know it, falls into the same rhythm as your breathing. On the frost clouding the window, a shadow resembling your own outline faintly spreads. It doesn't come closer. It just waits, like someone you've known for a long time.