Everyone fought their demons a little closer during the height of the pandemic. Some went home to their family to save money, some dug in their heels to find what they were made of. Everyone learned about themselves, forced into the isolation that global sickness wrought.

For each of us that used it for self-improvement, for a glow-up, there’s an inspirational story or two. Stories always start before chapter one. What led to it? What brought the pen to paper? What started the conclusion?

When I was six years old, I had a nightmare, of a creature I had never seen. Hollowed skull on a withered frame, charred flesh on stretching limbs. Sinewy arms to reach anyone it hungers for, furry hooves on its hind legs, to chase silently through the snow. This beast, the Wendigo, I had never known by name, never seen in person, haunted my nightmares every two years for twenty years. Then, why was it a beast others had known in the north? Was it real? How did I come across it in my nightmares when its description matches perfectly? Well, it may be just a coincidence.

Coincidence or not, I needed it out of my life. Never to stalk me again with its gluttony, its terror. I was but one man to fend off a mythical beast. So I went to the one place where all insane stories find their shape, to find an unusual weapon for my quarry.

Once home that night, I unpacked the acquired tool, lay it beside my pillow, and drifted to the horrible woods where it could be found. Landing among the faded moss and fallen snow, not as alone as I’d rather be, I walked slowly. Starting in complete silence, the wind picked up steadily until I couldn’t see more than five feet ahead of me. How was I to know where it was? I was in its home territory, with a small blade for my defense. I couldn’t– wouldn’t give up. Then, a whisper in the howling wind…

“All you can do is move forward.”

Eyes struck wide, I whipped around and thrust at the darkness. By the time I realized what I had done, it was standing right there, with my blade past its sternum. Its blood reaching to my fingers, it stopped moving. “Keep it. I can always get another like it. It’s just a wood chisel from the mart. If you plan on coming back, remember. I will be ready. I don’t like waiting.”