Ch. 4
"Man, the traffic on this highway is unreal, even after morning rush hour!" Scott mutters to himself. The highway is Highway 18, leading from Portland to the Oregon Coast, and passing through Grand Ronde. The paranormalist had taken his own car and left Ecto-A with Phil. The slow pace of Tigard traffic allows Scott's mind to wander back to his encounter and the creature called Wendigo. 'What if this thing comes about and we're too late; what if all our gear is insufficient to stop it? I suppose we could bring a priest with us to perform an exorcism… The original New York office – the "pros" – almost didn't survive their first big test either. And if we get killed it won't even be as funny. Being killed by a giant marshmallow man is hilarious, not so much by a cold demon… I'm sorta' showing up cold turkey. What if no one in the tribal council wants to talk to a paranormal investigator, or worse, what if no one remembers legend of a creature called Wendigo? Yet, someone has to know something…' Right there in the car, Scott prays to God about the situation. Then he plays a tape. The song happens to be Judas Priest's "Night Crawler." Fitting. Eventually the traffic thins out and he reaches Grand Ronde before three o'clock.
The day is Wednesday and so the tribal council is meeting at five. That leaves Scott just enough time to get familiar with the town and pop into a few little shops and the casino. He uses the time well, and asks shop clerks, barbers, doctors, postal workers, librarians, teachers, and even the staff in the casino about a spirit called Wendigo. No one knows much, except that Wendigo was used in scary stories many of them were told as children, and that one police officer had a family dog named Wendigo. When the time comes for the meeting he heads over to city hall. He talks with the council elders and receives permission to be a guest at the meeting. For most of the meeting he listens quietly. Near the end of the meeting he is given time to present his case, which amuses some of the council members. But one elder is not amused at all. After the meeting, this man pulls Scott aside and introduces himself as Thomas Helms, a senior on the council. He mentions that his family knows of the legend of Wendigo very well.
"My lineage is that of the tribal healers; the shamans. A story has been passed down that my forefathers were responsible for warding off the creature known as Wendigo. When you began talking, I wasn't sure at all that the creature you spoke of was Wendigo. But the more you described your case the more it sounded like an accurate identification of the demon. But this thing has never before attacked white people, only folks like myself. My forefathers were able to contain it, and they left notes behind. Unfortunately time and weather have not been kind to those notes. I am slightly psychic and sensed that something big was on the way. I alerted the churches in town and expected an attack that has not come, yet I still can't shake the bad vibes I have."
Mr. Helms explains everything he knows about Wendigo over dinner. Afterward, Scott thanks him and give him a business card. Scott doesn't leave Grand Ronde until almost seven o'clock. Thankfully traffic is light back home and Scott gets home before nine. The sight of snow in the higher elevations of the Coast Mountain Range is alarming. Equally shocking is the rapid onset of colder temperatures. But the biggest shock is the snow beginning to fall in the city of Portland when he gets back home. He finds Phil and Daryn waiting for him.
Daryn starts, "I checked over the university library's database two or three times and came up empty."
"Dude, I found nothing at all, and I checked both local newspapers," says Phil. "You come up with anything?"
"You bet I did," starts Scott. "I was able to meet with a tribal council elder whose lineage included shamans. He showed me notes that his forefathers had left behind. And he told me a lot. He said,
'Wendigo only comes around once every two hundred years to the Pacific Northwest. It is strongly attracted to high concentrations of bad spirit aura, or negative vibes. Its first form is a big black amorphous blob with skeletal hands. In this form it chooses a bride of "fair skin" and "pure blood" in order to bond with her at the chosen time—the beginning of the new moon, and experience rebirth. The closer the occasion draws, the colder and snowier the weather becomes. On the eve of the chosen day, a day of a full moon, after the sunset, the dead begin rising from their graves and attacking people. By then the snow is several feet deep, making it difficult to get around. Anyone who dies in the frigid weather becomes a zombie. When the clock strikes midnight, Wendigo absorbs the last of the life essence of its bride, and comes back as a thirty-foot tall white demon with a star in the middle of its forehead. Legend states that in this form the demon is invincible. The only decipherable hint of the ancestors' notes was that burning the eye of Wendigo will expose its heart; only then will it be vulnerable.'
When is the next full moon?"
"It's tonight," states Daryn.
"Then by my watch we have a little over three hours to figure out where this thing is manifesting and destroy it," says Phil.
A knock at the door interrupts their proceedings. A short, stocky man in a fedora and brown jacket barges in, accompanied by two burly police officers.
"Hello, gentlemen – and lady. I am Detective Frank Moose of the Portland Police Bureau of Kidnapping Investigations. And you all are under arrest on suspicion of the kidnapping of one Raiza Trebenov."
"Sonovabitch," sighs Phil.