Wendigo Dreams
Page 1
Wendigo Dreams
A Short Horror Story by
J. Leigh Bailey
Copyright 2013
Wendigo Dreams
“So, what brings you here today, Bethany? Your grandmother said you needed to see me. It’s not every day a young woman such as you stops by my shop.”
“Well, it’s just I think I might be going crazy. At first it was just dreams—nasty nightmares, actually—but lately I’ve started to see things. Hallucinations, you know? I can’t eat, I’m afraid to sleep. I’m losing it and I don’t know how to fix it. Please, Mr. Shiriki. I can’t keep living like this.”
“Why not go to a psychologist or psychiatrist? I just sell used books and knick-knacks—Native American cultural memorabilia.”
“My Nana—Gladys Smallwood—is Ojibwe and said that you are a midi… meddi… uh, medicine man—“
“Midewinin.”
“Yeah, that, and that you’d be able to help me. She thought that if I told you about them you could help me figure out what they mean and then maybe they’d go away.”
“I know you grandmother well. She’s a member of the Midewinin with me. She talks about you sometimes. She says you don’t consider yourself to be Ojibwe?”
“Not really. I mean, this is the twenty-first century. We have advanced technology and medicine. So much of Nana’s beliefs are, I don’t know, kind of primitive. It’s just silly superstitions, you know?”
“I see.”
“Oh, man, I’m sorry, Mr. Shiriki. I didn’t mean any offense. I mean, I’m pretty open-minded. People can believe whatever they want.”
“I’m not offended, Bethany. I have grandchildren your age and I’m sure they feel exactly the same way. I do the best to teach them the Ojibwe culture, but they’re not always receptive. I’m curious, though. Why would you come to me, when what I do is rooted completely in the spiritual, in a belief system you find primitive?”
“To be honest, I’m so freaked out right now that I’m willing to try anything to get back to normal. And Nana said you were really powerful—something about being a stage four Mide?—I don’t know what that means, but she made it sound important.”
“The Midewinin is sorted into four distinct groups, depending on the degree of power attained by the Mide. I’ve reached the highest level. Of course, I’m also very old, as my grandchildren can attest, so I’ve had more time to learn and experience.”
“Well these nightmares are driving me crazy. And recently, I’ve started seeing things that aren’t there and I’m having memory lapses and blackouts. I’m terrified that I’m going to hurt myself. Or hurt someone else. And my parents don’t believe me; they think I’m just trying to get more attention. Like I want this kind of attention. Nana says she believes me. Since I know I’m not making this stuff up, and she believes me, I should believe her. Which means I’m willing dip into more… traditional methods. That make sense?”
“It makes perfect sense. I think, though, that your grandmother was more interested in my role as Wabeno.”
“Wabeno?”
“It translates into something like ‘man of the dawn sky.’ Traditionally the Wabeno of the Midewinin uses fire to interpret dreams and heal the sick, which is why I think your grandmother sent you to me.”
“Does that mean you’ll help me?”
“I’ll do my best. I think we can leave the fire out of it, but I’m certainly willing to do what I can. Sometimes just talking through dreams and exploring the possible symbols is enough to take away the power of a disturbing dream or nightmare, to give your subconscious a chance to work out whatever is causing the dreams in the first place.”
“Thank you, Mr. Shiriki. Even if it doesn’t help, the fact that you are willing to help me means a lot to me.”
“Think nothing of it, Bethany. Bring that stool over here and tell me of these nightmares you are having.”
“Well, they always start the same. I’m walking across a desolate area. Kind of barren, like the desert in those old Road Runner commercials. I don’t know where it is, but it’s really cold. So cold. My bones ache I don’t think I’ll ever get warm again. There are no bushes or grasses or trees—just flat, dirt-packed land. There are a few big rocks, well, boulders I guess, and a couple of monster ant hills and things that look like those termite mounds they have in Africa. I’m scared as I walk. My heart beats really fast and hard and I’m almost hyperventilating. I look around, desperately searching for something familiar, some sign of where I am and how to get back where I belong. The loud caw of some kind of bird--like a crow or a raven--echoes through the empty landscape. I look up and don’t see anything, but before I can move forward a large shape--a frickin’ huge bird--swoops past my head. This wingspan of this bird is crazy--easily double the stretch of my own arms, and the rush of air makes me take a step back.”
“Birds are usually interpreted as a symbol of the future or some future change. Crows in particular, though, are more specifically an omen of danger to come or a major decision to that needs to be made.”
“Like what?”
“I couldn’t even begin to speculate with the details you’ve shared so far. Keep going. What time of day is it?”
“Not quite night. You know, that time of day when the sun has mostly set, but it’s not really dark yet.”
“Twilight?”
“Yeah. The sun has just dipped below the horizon and the boulders and hills create these long shadows. Then the shadows start to move and grow, but the things that created the shadow, they’re not moving. Nothing is moving except the shadows. And then suddenly the shadows sort of solidify, getting thicker and denser, the edges getting sharper. And…and—“
“It’s all right Bethany. Breathe. You’re safe here. Take a deep breath. Are you okay to continue?”
“Yeah, I’m okay. It’s just that it’s so… creepy. I can still feel it, even awake and here in your shop, my skin just crawls.”
“With what? What happens next?”
“Well the shadows suddenly explode into ants, millions of ants. Big ones. Red ones. Black ones. Brown ones. The shadows aren’t shadows at all, they’re huge clouds of ants that roll towards me in dark waves and I know, I just know that I’m going to drown in these waves of ants. I want to get away, but I can’t move. I’m frozen in place. Oh, God, then they’re on me and I’m buried. I can’t… I can’t….”
“You’re safe here, Bethany. Remember that you’re safe. And don’t forget to breathe.”
“Oh, God, it hurts. It’s so cold I should be completely numb, but I can’t even begin explain how much it hurts. Thousands, maybe millions of ants biting and pinching scream, but the sound is muffled by the writhing mass of bugs. I swear I can feel every leg of every bug as it crawls over my skin and into my mouth and nose and ears. I’m being eaten alive, from the inside out, one tiny, burning bite at a time. It’s like acid all over my body. I’m screaming, screaming, screaming, but only in my head. And then it’s over, the ants are just gone and I’m just there. I get up, every nerve in my body blazing in agony. They might come back, so I’ve got to go. I don’t know where I am and I don’t know where to go, but I’ve got to get away.
“I take two staggering steps and suddenly I’m standing at the side of lake surrounded by trees. It’s morning and icicles and frost glitter on the gnarled, bare branches. The water is smooth, flat, glowing silver in the dawn light. A perfect mirror. I’m compelled to see what I look like, to see the damage caused by the ants. I lean over the water… Oh, God, I think I’m going to be sick.”
“Take a minute. Remember you’re safe. Ants in dreams usually symbolize issues of conformity, linking to the pressure to conform. Maybe something inside of you is fighting that part of you that tries to fit in. Teenagers, girls esp
ecially, try so hard to fit in, to not stand out. You’re Ojibwe, but you don’t acknowledge or celebrate it because to do so would set you apart from the other girls at school. You try your best to fit in, right?”
“Yeah, kind of. I mean, kids can be cruel. If I went all native or whatever, I’d get made fun of. When I was little they used to call me Tiger Lily, you know, from Peter Pan? Sacajawea . Tonto. I got tired of it. So, yeah, I did my best to be just another girl like all the other girls.”
“It’s possible that your subconscious mind is trying to tell you by conforming, by being something you’re not, you’re hurting yourself.”
“You think?”
“I can’t say for sure, not knowing the rest of what happens in your nightmare, but I’d say there’s certain logic to it. If you’re ready, why don’t you go on with what happens in your dream.”
“Okay. Um, yeah, so I’m looking down into the lake and I see a clear reflection of myself and the pain I’m feeling doesn’t even come close to how bad I look. I’m not even sure it is me. I’m like a zombie or something. It looks like the ants have eaten away a lot of skin and the rest of me has started to rot. What skin there is is a sickly shade of grey, and the patches where the flesh was eaten away is a putrid yellow color and leaking thick grey-green pus. My