The Sick; Part 3-The Windigo

The woman listens to her favorite song,
Wrapping up the day which has been long,
Lonely wondering in her living room,
Not suspecting the incoming doom,
She walks from corner to corner,
Being watched by the wandering mourner,
Inside.

The creature stares under darkness’ shade,
Inside the house where he strayed,
Hungry for revenge,
And a stomach he tries to clench,
The voice said the woman was involved,
From taking the man he loved,
Outside.

The chimes outside sounds of a lovely church bell,
She almost discards the noise, until she catches the scent of a rotting smell,
She makes her way to the next room, looking for the foul stench,
“Follow the wench!”
The woman jumps as she hears the bushes rustling,
A quiet night begins bustling,
Inside.

The voice spoke loud and clear,
Her end is near,
The creature jumps to the porch, then through the door,
And lets out a loud roar,
But the woman is nowhere to be seen,
It seems her intelligence is bright and keen,
Lost.

She has smelled this before,
She knew of the gore,
Her whole family was gone,
Tore apart by another’s brawn,
She learned of the demon and its destruction,
Also, of its seduction,
Strong.

He scours the area,
Trying to catch the scent of her hysteria,
She has disappeared into thin air,
The house is bare,
Where can she go?
Where is the killer of his beau?
Bewildered.

She knows of the creature with so much hunger,
He tore up her family with so much sunder,
But now she knows how to be protected,
To keep hidden from the infected,
Now she has to sit and be patient,
An incontrollable fear becomes nascent,
fear.

The creature turns to leave,
She sighs too loud, so naïve,
He turns towards the noise in the kitchen floor,
There beneath a hidden door,
She watches in horror as the creature looks back,
His pupils are yellow, and the eyes are black,
Found.

Teeth kept human, but very jagged,
Never weak, never fagged,
Always hungry for human flesh and blood,
Very fast, very scud,
The skin is pale, like having Vitiligo,
She always recognizes what is the Windigo,
Death.

Only within seconds does he drag her out,
She tries so hard to scream and shout,
But he is too quick,
The blood runs thick,
Her death is very close,
The smell of musk and blood seeps into her nose,
Death.

The Windigo claims another victim,
Hunger is his vicious symptom,
No use hiding when you hear his distinct roar,
Or when you feel his stare through the window or your door,
His yellow pupils and black eyes,
Musky smell, jagged teeth, and a heart cold as ice,
He’s watching.