//------------------------------// // 9 // Story: The Windigo // by -Hidden Identity- //------------------------------// Day 9: I burnt the rest of the “bark” or whatever it is; I have a bad feeling about it though. Doesn’t bode well me, and having thought more about it, I’m even less sure about any of this than I was before. What was that supposed to mean? I told Peers that I was burning the rest, and his only response was that it might have been good to save some to burn later. He wasn’t even fazed that it was our only food. I don’t dare confront him with my suspicions, but I feel that I will have to keep a closer watch on him. I figured at one point that if any of us would be able to survive this, he would; and that may well be the case, but not how I originally thought. I have spent as much time as I can outside of the cabin as the days have been getting much warmer. The snow is starting to melt, but there is just too much of it to have hopes of seeing grass again anytime soon. That is unless we can find a way out; I stated yesterday that we would be searching in the wooded area of the Sanctum, and I will not go back on any chance to escape this nightmare. I finally got Peers to go outside and run about a bit, it was a bit tricky as he kept claiming that he has had enough time running about, and that sleep is the only thing needed for him. Mainly I needed him out of the cabin so he would look at what I am writing, as I have found he keeps trying to do. Even though my suspicions did not truly exist until last night, I feel that ponies don’t trust me if they have to know what I am writing, and that I potentially shouldn’t trust them if they are trying to spy. It seems that perhaps that thought is not as crazy as all the ponies back home told me it was. Every time he passes the window, he looks in directly at me. Either he suspects that I suspect, or he is losing his mind. I fear for my own sanity if this continues in the manner in which it has been progressing. Oh, he’s coming back in, time to stop for the moment. The day is warm enough to go out into the woods, as we are just about to do. Peers is currently packing some equipment, Peers, there is a reason you can’t find that hunting knife of yours. I told him that he gave me permission to use it to help bury Wymble, which was true, and that I accidentally lost it, which was false. I know exactly where it is, ready for me to use should it come to that. I had originally put it there as a defense against the creature which keeps eating my friends. I don’t want to take my suspicions to that extreme yet though, I have no proof, nor should I have any reason to think that he is the same as the creature. It’s true that there have been no tracks besides ours, but it could be a tree-dwelling beast. If the bark is what I suspected it is, and there really is no way of telling besides my long-shot guesses, then perhaps I should look into that possibility. I pray that it would not come to that circumstance though. The thought borders on being too horrible to comprehend, and in civilized Equestria, it would be too horrible to imagine. I have brought the journal with me into the woods, where we now are, and I am observing Peers, as he is acting even more peculiar here. He’s looking at the trees in familiarity, but when I ask him whether he recognizes them as one of his landmarks, he replies with “no”, but still looks as if he is visiting a place full of memory. He can move very silently through the woods, I’ve noticed, hardly disturbing anything. I know that he has had a great deal of practice when it comes to walking through heavily wooded areas with ease and a certain degree of grace, but even then it is eerie how silent he is. I don’t think that when we first came into this place that he moved that quietly. Maybe it’s just my imagination, but at this point nothing should go understated until proven otherwise. We’re still in the woods and it is now warm enough now to walk about, even in these cool shadows, for a long time. Better than being cooped up inside that cabin without any room to live. Probably what drove Cross over the edge and killed Wymble. I’m hoping that that’s what it was anyway. There could be other factors that don’t relate to what is now a constant fear of mine, my thoughts being related almost exclusively to that dreadful topic. We have pressed as far as I dare today though, no sense in becoming even more lost. It’s odd, I remember the Briar Sanctum being just about the most revolting and overall foreboding place I had ever been, but it doesn’t seem so bad now; the spines on the plants don’t bother my hooves as much, and I am starting to think that I could potentially eat some of these things if we could rid them of their spines. Perhaps these thoughts only exist from the fact that we have been here for what seems like an eternity. How long has it been now? A week and two days, which could never be considered a long time back home. Hard to believe that all this has happened in such a short span; it’s almost like I have lived (if that is a way to describe this experience) longer this week than I have in years. Does that even make sense? Back at the cabin now, Peers returned about twenty minutes before me. I am now certain that something is very much wrong with him, and it’s not just this place; his mind is bedeviled or broken. He somehow found the hunting knife over by Wymble’s grave and brought it back. How did he walk all the way over there without me noticing? I am now fearful of my life. If he can slip past me in an extraordinarily thick forest off, while I was trying to keep an eye on him, hide that he found it from me, and return in enough time to carve a second “Windigo” into the door… that doesn’t exactly sit well with me. What does “Windigo” mean anyway? Why is he drawn to that word enough that he is possessed to carve it into a door twice? I don’t want to know what this thing is, as it is a fair bet that it is the reason for his almost insane behavior and potential nightmarish actions. Above that, his eyes have been wide open for quite a while now and I don’t even think I’ve seen him blink recently. They look distant and alone. I’ve known ponies with odd quirks and features about them that fit along with a strange personality, but this is something new. The way I see it, I have three choices: stay with him, strike him first (but only once I am certain that he is both guilty and that something is seriously wrong with him, and that he is beyond help), or run. Cath Amber ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Something peculiar about this particular entry is that Cath has signed his last name as well; it is a fair bet that he was trying to keep a grasp on his own mind, and not be pulled into what was happening around him.