Prologue

"Are you sure it's a wendigo?" A nervous female voice asked in a faint whisper as pine needles crackled under two pairs of feet. Undergrowth rustled, and two figures lit by the bright moon stepped through. The first one, a hunched old man in a tattered fishing cap, straightened up and scanned the clearing. Despite his age, his bright blue-green eyes were alert and cautious, as if his mind had yet to catch up to his body. In his hands, a bright red flare gun was held pointed to the forest floor with a knobby, liver-spotted finger hovering over the trigger.

Behind him, the second figure stepped forward. A teen girl wearing a stained baseball cap rose from within the bushes, shakily looking up to the clearing they stood in. "Grampa?" she spoke again, slightly louder than before, in hopes the old man could hear her.

The old man turned to look at her, his eyes practically glowing in the silvery moonlight, and placed a finger to his lips.

"Sshhh!" he hissed aggressively, louder than both times his granddaughter spoke. "Keep quiet! You're gonna wake up the whole forest!" The old man's voice was ragged and cracked with age, but still seemed to echo through the silent pine trees that surrounded the pair.

The girl shied away, ducking her head so the brim of her hat hid his face from her line of sight. The loud, harshly toned words sent a cringe through her body, making her curl her hands into fists. "Sorry," she whispered, feeling guilty.

The old man put his hand back on the handle of his flare gun and began to walk deeper into the clearing, his heavy hiking boots made gentle footsteps as he tried his best to move silently. There once was a time he had steps like velvet, but that was years ago. Now, the old man couldn't hear as well as he used to, and he didn't realize the noise his boots were making.

The teen hesitantly followed him. Her own feet were significantly quieter than her grandfather's, but with her inexperience, she had yet to perfect the soundless walk.

Wind faintly whistled through the treetops overhead, and the pine trees rattled. A small burst of wind hit the two, tugging at their flannel shirts and denim jackets, and the girl's eyes narrowed in thought.

"Grampa?" she whispered softly to the old man.

He sighed, and turned to look at her. "What?"

"I don't think this is a wendigo we're hunting," she said, chewing on her lip nervously.

The old man snorted. "Of course it's a wendigo. What else could it be?"

Biting her bottom lip, the teen didn't answer. Instead, she gave a hesitant shrug, and the old man rolled his eyes.

"Listen, kiddo. Who has the decades of knowledge and experience here?"

She ducked her head down and stared guiltily at the hiking boots identical to her grandfather's. "You."

"That's right. Now let's get this job done and go home." His hand slid off the handle of his flare gun and he reached over to readjust her cap by the brim. The cap was lifted, and identical sets of blue-green eyes met. "Do you have your flare gun?" he asked, removing his hand and giving her a pointed look.

She nodded, then pulled out the bright red gun from her belt, easily displaying the fact that she had it. Her grandfather gave her a small nod of approval, then turned his back to her, returning to the hunt once more.

Before he could take another step, a sudden monstrous cry echoed over the faint wind and through the trees, making the both of them freeze. Silence fell over the woods for a few short moments, when the same roar sounded again, only significantly closer.

The old man narrowed his eyes in thought, then took a small step back so he stood directly in front of his granddaughter. "That's not right," he muttered. Quickly, he shoved his flare gun back in a homemade holster on his belt, and pulled out a handgun from another.

"Grampa?" The girl gasped, clutching her flare gun tightly with both hands. She watched as he stepped into a defensive stance while lifting his gun in the direction the cry had come from.

Then, an indistinct sound hit her ears. The wind in the trees barely masked it, but as seconds passed, the noise quickly turned to a quiet whistling, not unlike the wind. She rose her eyes up to the tops of the trees; at the same moment, she felt her stomach drop.

Black streaks like arrows were flying in an arch over the trees, heading straight for them. A loud gasp escaped her lips, and the old man glanced over his shoulder to look at her.

At the exact same time, the black arrows landed, peppering the forest floor around them in puffs of black vapor. The girl's gasp turned into a scream, and the old man staggered back. One of the bolts barely missed his nose when he turned, and landed next to a mossy rock halfway buried in the ground.

"Run!" The old man shouted.

The pair spun to the direction they came from and took off to the edge of the clearing. In the same moment, the distant whistling of more incoming black spikes began to catch in their ears, signalling the new wave.

The teen let out a scream of terror when a spike landed in front of her, and she froze. Her grandfather reached out to push her shoulder, when he let out a yell of his own.

A black spike protruded out of his shoulder with the black mist billowing from the wound. Grimacing, the old man reached up and yanked the spike out with a shaking hand.

There was a crash of cracking wood and the pair spun around to direction of the sound. A tremendous roar filled the woods, and at the same time, the teen girl let out an ear-piercing scream of terror.