Wendigo in Maine

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I have always been an avid outdoorsman and have been hunting in the woods of Maine, with my grandfather, since the age of 10.

In January of 2016 I picked up a Mosin-Nagant 91/30 Rifle at a gunshow. This was the standard service rifle of the Red Army during the second World War. I have always been a history nut and this was my chance to combine my love of hunting with my love of history.

I cleaned it up and got it sighted in and ready for November.

One day that November my grandfather gave me a call and said “meet me at our usual spot and we’ll head in for a half day hunt”.

I was ecstatic, my first available day out in the woods and a chance to drag out my “new” rifle. Snow had fallen the previous night and was forecast for that day.

As I pulled my jeep up to the edge of the woods I parked and got out to meet my grandfather. “I have a good feeling about today” he said to me as we got loaded up. “Were going to see something”, he said, and for once I wish he was wrong.

The day started off slow enough and by noon we had seen several deer but neither had a chance for a clear shot.

We discussed sticking with our half day hunting plan but decided that due to the sightings we would stay the rest of the day. We split up and I headed deeper into the property.

Another hour passes and it begins to snow, I set my rifle aside as I reposition under the trees.

As I get situated I notice how absolutely silent the woods had become. Anyone familiar with the woods knows that they are never truly silent, there are always birds chirping or squirrels running about or something like that.

But, nothing…

I got an uneasy feeling in my stomach and checked to make sure my rifle was still loaded and began to scan the trees. That’s when I heard it, this terrible screech off in the distance.

I called my grandfather on my phone, “did you hear that?” I asked. “Hear what?” he responded, “I only saw those two deer run by like something spooked them something awful”. We hung up and that’s when I saw it, a tall pale white emaciated thing in the woods about 150 feet away from me, downhill.

It had silently appeared out of nowhere and it appeared to be devouring something small like a squirrel, streaks of red covering its front and the snow around it. I raised my rifle, taking aim on this… this thing.. and tried to keep steady.

As I adjusted to a kneeling position my rifle which was almost 50 inches long got caught in the low hanging branches, causing one to crack slightly.

The thing turned completely to face me, cocking its head to the side in curiosity.

As it took a step towards me, I fired. The creature screeched the same noise I had heard earlier in the day and went crashing back towards the swamp, quickly disappearing into the woods and now heavily falling snow

I quickly cycled the bolt, loading another round, and called my grandfather to tell him I was leaving for the day. He said he was going to be leaving too and insisted that I wait for him at the spot we met for lunch. I was horrified at the thought of having to stay in these woods for another second but I waited and soon met up with him.

As we walked out I noticed the sound in the woods had returned and that put me at ease a bit. I never told him about what I saw, and I still hunt those woods to this day and I’ve never seen any sign of that creature again, but I always make sure I’m out of the woods WELL before sundown.

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