Gangrel: Isaiah

Mormon boys are supposed to be in control. We are supposed to know everything that happens on the farm. And especially, Mormon boys aren't supposed to believe in vampires. But something kept getting our cows. Killing them. We thought it might have been a wolf or a fox. But the creature never ate the meat of the animal – only drinking the blood. Father and I became very worried. The cows were our livelihood. Apart from milk, they were food. They were everything. Without our cows, we could possibly starve. Mama told me we would stop it. That we would find what spawn of Satan was eating our cows. That God would stop it. Because God is good.

But it didn't stop. The cows were dying with teeth marks around their hooves. The animal, whatever it was that was killing them, was chasing them away from the rest of the herd, and then killing them after wearing them out. These new lands in the West were strange and foreign. There could be all kinds of monsters out here. All kinds of demons. There were already the natives who would attack us at any given chance. They probably summed these demons to kill our cows.

"Isaiah!" My father shouted. "Tonight you're gonna go down by the cows and find whatever thing is eatin' 'em, and you're gonna shoot it dead!"

"Papa no!" Cried my younger sister Rachel, a small girl of twelve. "Don't kill the animal!"

"It's evil, Rachel! Go help your mother in the kitchen, mind your place!"

Rachel turned away. Poor girl. Terrified of Father. Mormon girls are to know their inferiority in the family. The men are the ones with control, just like the Heavenly Father over all of mankind.

"Kill it, Father?" I asked. Although I was trained with how to catch small animals like rabbits and squirrels, I had never once killed

"Take my rifle. Go down there after dark, and wait. It's probably a wolf or something."

His words were harsh. I didn't want to have to go face the wolf. If it could take down something as big as a cow, there was a big chance that it could take me down. But I had God on my side. God wouldn't let some wolf kill me. And I didn't want to disappoint my father.

And I serve God. And if that means killing a wolf, then the wolf I shall kill.

At night fall, I picked up my father's rifle and trudged down to the fields where the herd of cows stood in a lopsided circle, calves about their mothers legs for protection from the night around them. I took my roost on the stump of a tree that we hacked down in order to build our home. Now I just had to wait.

About half an hour passed, and although the sun disappeared behind the horizon and the stars showed their twinkling eyes, there was no sign of the wolf. I grew bored, though I knew I had to keep myself alert. But just as I could feel myself drifting off, I heard something from a patch of tall grass to my side. "Psst! Boy!"

Startled at first and shaken out of my sleepy daze, I turned to see a girl crouched down among the grasses that were able to grow among the dry soil. She was one of the natives here. Her clay-colored skin and obsidian hair and eyes made her blend in to the very earth around her. Father told us that these people were of Satan. Savage demons who would do nothing but destroy us and our mission from God. But it seemed rather odd that all of that manifested itself in this beautiful young woman. She smiled a bit when she saw how badly she startled me. She seemed about my age. And although I would repent to God time and time again for thinking this—but she was the prettiest girl that I have ever seen. Prettier than any of the Mormon girls.

She took a small step closer to me, but kept her crouched position. I saw the moonlight glisten over her clothes, which were tanned animal pelts adorned with beads and fringe. "I know what has been killing your animals!"

My first flaw was thinking she was beautiful and sweet.

My second flaw was never stopping to ask why she knew English. Something should have tipped me off that something about her was very very wrong.

"You do?" I asked.

She nodded. She took another step closer and whispered: "The Wendigo."

"The…Wendigo?"

"It is a story of Native peoples to the East. It comes here. It is a monster that looks like both a man and a deer. It possesses. It makes you crave blood and flesh."

"So that's what's been killing my cows? My father told me it was a wolf. I was sent out here to kill it."

She looked pained and shook her head, her black hair falling about her shoulders. "You cannot kill the Wendigo. The Wendigo is an ancient spirit much, much stronger than you or I. I am a student of a very wise Native man from the East. He taught me of the Wendigo and it's horrible tale."

"What is your name?" I asked.

"That is not important," she replied. "The Wendigo is impossible to escape. But your father will never believe it. You are Mormon, yes?"

"Yes," I replied.

"You come here and steal land from our people. The Wendigo is mad. It demands sacrifice."

"So it's eating my cows?"

"That is just the start," she said, growing visibly concerned. "The Wendigo wants human blood. Human flesh to bleed for the transgressions of your people and your faith."

"It wants to kill us because we are Mormons?"

"You disrespect the land. The people. I am warning you, Boy. The Cult of the Wendigo is large."

"CULT?" I asked, terrified. Maybe Father was right. These people were demonic! Practicing cult things!

"Spans whole nations of Native peoples. My teacher, the Man of the East, comes from a land where the lakes are so big you cannot see across them! He told me the tale of the Wendigo. And I knew that one day, it would be my duty to pass it on to someone else. The Wendigo demands blood and flesh. It cannot be avoided."

"Then how do I stop it from killing my cows?"

"You must provide it some other form of sacrifice," the Native girl replied. "Let me show you."

I remember her rushing at me. Faster than I had ever seen anything move in my life. She knocked me off of my tree-stump, and pinned me to the ground. But it was when she dug her teeth into my neck that I finally understood the horrible creature that is the Wendigo.

Because the Wendigo flows through my veins now, too.

I left home. I left the Mormon church. It took every piece of strength of my being. After the embrace I went back home and tried to live life normally. But every time I came in contact with a cross, or a Bible, or the Book of Mormon itself, I would wince. It brought pain throughout my entire body until I couldn't stand to even look at them. And I knew that the Native girl was out there. Watching me. Every night. She was watching. Waiting. She knew I couldn't resist finding her again, and deep down, I knew it too. I felt like I needed her beside me. Especially as the hunger gradually grew more and more, until I was desperate for the vitae of another creature. The thought of it sickened me. I had become one of these horrible demons that Father always talked about. The Wendigo possessed me, too.

So I ran away. I told Mother and Father I needed to go back East to look for work. The homesickness was too much for me. But it was a lie. I was really going with the Native girl. My sire. There was much more I needed to learn about my new life as a demon. Prowling for others. Even physically becoming an animal. The Wendigo manifested.

But all Father cared about was that the cows were no longer dying.