CRESTON, population 832, the wooden sign read. 

Looking around, Everett wasn’t sure whether to be disappointed or relieved. 

It was definitely a big change in atmosphere, coming from Denver and Boulder. Denver and nearby towns had been bustling with the new prospect of gold; thousands of young men desperate to strike it rich. The air was fresh there. The excitement for a new opportunity, a new beginning, was infectious. It seemed to linger in the air.

Here, the only thing in the air was dust. Every time Everett ran his tongue along his teeth, he could feel the grittiness of sand that had somehow gotten through the bandana covering his mouth. He had to shield his eyes to survey his surroundings, and even then, everything was covered in a lazy, orange haze. He could only make out the dark outlines of buildings that grew as he drew closer. 

“Whoa, Ringo,” he called, tightening his grip on the reins and pulling back. Ringo slowed to an eventual stop, and Everett dismounted. 

Creston was supposed to be a relatively populated town, but Everett could only see a few people walking down the road. They gave him stares that he couldn’t quite read. Weariness? Curiosity? He sighed. This place wasn’t going to be great for business. And the heat— it was killing him. 

Everett walked further down the dirt road, with Ringo held by the reins. Everett squinted at the signs on the buildings. Molly’s Laundry. Creston Bank. Glenn’s General Store. Maybe he could sell there later. Everett pulled out a notepad and pen from the back pocket of his jeans. He jotted down:

Reminders

Glenn’s General Store 

He continued walking. The Silver Eagle Saloon. There were some posters pinned to the side of the building that caught his eye. “DON’T SAY OR DON’T STAY”, one read, with a picture of a man holding a finger to his lips. Another just had “STAY SILENT OR STARVE” filling the page. 

“Hey! Watch it!” 

Everett had been so busy reading the strange posters he hadn’t watched the path in front of him. It was a kid, standing in front of him with his hands on his hips. He couldn’t be older than ten, yet had a pistol holster attached to his belt. His pale face and dirty blonde hair were streaked with dirt. 

“Sorry, little fellah,” Everett apologized. He waited for the boy to move, but the kid didn’t budge. 

“Who are you?” the kid asked. “You’re new.” 

“I’m Everett,” Everett responded. “Who ar—” 

“Are you a greenhorn?” the kid interrupted. Everett paused, taken aback. Did he look like he was from the east? He smoothed down his messy red hair. 

“No, I’m not from the East.” 

“Are you a cowboy then? You don’t look like one.” The kid looked at him skeptically. 

Everett could understand why. His pale complexion made it seem like he hadn’t seen the sun in ages, despite the contrary. He traveled around the Great Plains often, but he never tanned. He just freckled. He freckled a lot. 

“No, I’m not,” Everett sighed.  “I’m a hardware merchant.” 

“Oh,” the kid replied, edging away from Everett as if he had suddenly lost interest in the conversation. 

“Do you want… to be a cowboy?” Everett asked. 

The boy’s eyes lit up. “Yes! Pa says when I turn sixteen I can leave this town and go explore the plains.” 

“Well, I’m sure you’ll make a great cowboy, uh—” Everett paused. 

“Cole.” 

“—Cole.” 

“Why’d you come here?” Cole kicked a pebble across the road. “There’s nothing to do in Creston.” 

“I was hoping to sell some goods. You want something?” 

“Can I have your horse? He looks mighty dandy,” Cole said wistfully. 

“Ringo? Sorry, been traveling with him for too long to give him up like that. He’s a very reliable business partner.” 

“Fineee,” Cole replied. “Wait.” He dashed into the house behind them. He emerged a couple seconds later, holding up something in his hand. “Is this worth anything?” 

Aqua and silver beads glinted in the sunlight as he handed a bracelet to Everett. It looked pretty, but there was no way it was worth more than a couple cents. 

“Where’d you get this from?” Everett asked. 

“A native named Kaya gave it to me. We were friends for a while, but that was back when her tribe and Creston got along. I wore it for a week but Pa got mad. Said I looked like a gal.” 

“I’ll tell you what Cole,” Everett knelt down to look the kid in the eyes solemnly. “Let’s make a trade: I’ll take this bracelet and in return, I’ll give you a golden canteen a cowboy gave me. Does that sound like a deal?” 

“Yes!” Cole answered enthusiastically. They shook hands. 

“It’s a deal then,” Everett smiled. 

By candlelight, Everett had settled into Creston. He had dropped Ringo off at the stables and gotten a bite to eat at the saloon. Wandering around town, Everett realized Creston did have a lot of residents— they just spent most of their time inside. Probably because if they went outside they’d choke on dust.

The dust had settled now though. It was clear enough to see the streaks of pastel orange and pink painting the sky. A cooling breeze swept by every so often, whistling as it passed through windows. 

Bells jingled as Everett opened the door of Glenn’s General Store. A line of silver bells was strung on the door knob inside, and it jingled again as the door shut. 

“Evenin’, how can I help you?” a young lady inquired from behind the counter. She was pretty— with soft eyes and silky, light brown hair pulled together into a loose braid.  A man stood next to her, but he ignored Everett, busy smoking a cigar. 

The oak shelves of the store were covered in nothing but dust. The only reason the store was still open was the couple random items scattered on a shelf behind the counter. Nothing valuable, just some silverware and chow. 

Everett approached the counter. “Hello, would y’all be interested in some hardware?” 

The man next to the lady looked up. They had strikingly similar eyes— both had the same glassy shade of light blue. Siblings, maybe? 

“I’ll take this one, Margaret,” he told her. 

“Charlie,” Margaret began. She stopped as he blew smoke in her face, shaking her head and walking towards the other end of the counter. 

“What are you selling?” the man grinned, flashing yellow stained teeth. There was something gleaning in his eyes that made Everett uncomfortable. Or maybe it was the fact that the man couldn't be older than twenty and was already balding. 

“Any typa’ building materials you need,” Everett spoke up after a slight pause. “I’ll sell ten boxes of nails for 70 cents, five canteens for 50…” 

Charlie spit into a silver spittoon on the counter. “What are you, a merchant or a cheater? We’ll pay half those prices,” he demanded. 

“Now, Charlie…” Margaret protested, but he waved her off. Everett’s gaze drifted over the empty shelves again. 

“I’m sorry, the best I can do is lower everything by three cents,” he answered. “That’s a fine deal though!” 

There was a tense silence as Charlie looked Everett up and down, like he was sizing him up. 

“Are you heeled? Have any revolver on you?” the shopkeeper questioned Everett like he was talking to a small child. 

Everett knew where this was going, and he wanted no part of it. 

“Do you want to do business or not?” 

Charlie ignored him. “Now, I don’t think you are. I don’t see any holster for no revolver, and if you had one, you surely would’ve answered me.” A grin was spreading across Charlie’s face. 

“So, what type of items would you buy?” Everett started, trying to switch the conversation topic to a less deadly one. 

“We could really use more guns, but seeing that you don't have any on you…” Charlie sneered, reaching behind the counter. Everett sucked in a breath as a muzzle of the revolver emerged, pointing directly at him. Margaret averted her gaze to the floor.

“I don’t have any of my goods with me, you know. They’re locked up right now.” 

“I know,” Charlie snapped back. There was another tense silence, and all Everett could hear was his heart thumping. Every fiber of his body was screaming at him to run, to fight, to hide— but if he moved even an inch he’d be dead. 

“So…” he eventually broke the silence. “Do you usually greet your customers this way? Doesn’t seem like a very good business practice.” Charlie just cocked his head and continued smiling unsettinglingly.

 Everett just needed to stall until another unlucky person entered the store. 

“Guns aren’t always the best option you know. Back in the day I had this friend — what was his name — Gary? A bit of a lunkhead, but we were close. But he was obsessed with guns. Always heeled. Anyways, one day he got into an argument at a bar with some random fellah. And man, he got mad as a march hare. Challenged the guy to a duel and everything,” Everett rambled on.  “Gary died. I was his right hand man at the duel, and I checked. Cold as a wagon tire. He was only fifteen too. That’s why I don’t carry. There are better ways to solve problems than just putting a bullet through it.” 

Charlie had stopped smiling, and Everett was half afraid that he would be shot right then and there. 

Charlie burst out laughing. “That was the funniest joke I’ve heard in a long time, carrot-top, I’ll give you that,” he snorted. His voice became more sinister as he said,

“Well, I’m sure we’ll find something useful to do with your dead body.” 

Everett took a cautious step back, and Margaret snapped, 

“Charlie!” 

The man began laughing again, then turned the revolver to the other shopkeeper. 

“You don’t like it, you can leave,” he told her. Everett decided that he didn’t like it, so he decided to leave. 

While the peacekeeper was pointed at Margaret, Everett bolted towards the exit, slamming into the wooden door, bells jingling violently as he ran through the doorway. He could hear shouting behind him as he veered around the corner of the building. He could hear the bells again in the distance. Charlie was chasing him.

It was fully night outside now, and the cool air whipped by his face as he sprinted. The street was barely lit by the yellow light from the windows of shops. It was all silent, until several loud pops rang from behind him. 

Everett flinched at each shot, beginning to zig zag as he ran. The pops were growing louder behind him. 

“You’re dead!” he heard Charlie shout, his voice echoing down the dark streets. “The Wend—” There was another loud pop, and Charlie suddenly stopped shouting. Everett didn’t even risk looking over his shoulder before making it to the other side of the building. He ducked behind a shrub, and crouched there, his heart pounding. He listened for Charlie, but there were no longer any gunshots or shouts. No footsteps either.

Did he just accidentally shoot himself? If there was a body, Everett wanted nothing to do with it. Everett let out a big sigh and reached for his notepad. He held it up towards the light and crossed off the first item of his list. 

Reminders

Glenn’s General Store 
The Silver Eagle Saloon
El Caballero Inn

The following day, Everett tried to avoid thinking about the incident. It wasn’t his fault if Charlie was hurt, was it? He wouldn’t get in trouble… right? Everett found himself pulling out his notepad several times, checking and rechecking what else he could do to keep the aggressive shopkeeper off his mind. Unfortunately, by noon, he had crossed everything off the list. 

So Everett found himself shuffling towards Glenn’s General Store once again. His feet dragged in the gravel as he made his way towards the side of the store from the night before. It looked completely different now, with everything well lit.  Everett scanned the ground for any signs that might explain what had happened last night. He could see where he had crouched down in the brush; the tall, yellow grass was flattened. Other than that though, nothing. There was no body, no gun, no trace, except…

Everett leaned down, touching a dark spot on the cracked, clay colored ground. It was wet. He examined his fingertips. Red. So Charlie had shot himself. But where was the body? 

Everett stood up abruptly, strolling back towards the entrance of the building. He paused as he reached for the doorknob before opening the door. 

“Howdy, how can I…” Margret trailed off as she met Everett’s eyes. “...help you?” 

“How’s Charlie doing?” he asked, making his way to the counter. 

The short woman stiffened. She glanced down at the floor and straightened her waist apron as she replied,

“Pardon?” 

“You know— Charlie? Your brother, maybe? A little taller than me, blue eyes, little to no hair.” 

Margaret continued avoiding eye contact. “I’m sorry, I’m not quite sure who you’re talking about?”
“Seriously?” Everett sighed. “The very friendly fellow that was working next to you yesterday.” 

Margaret pursed her lips. “There was no one working with me yesterday, I’m afraid. Are you sure you’re at the right place?” 

Everett threw his hands up in frustration, then turned on his heels and stormed out of the store. He could hear the stupid bells jingle behind him as he paced down the road. What was the shopkeeper  expecting? For him to forget about a murder attempt if she pretended like it didn’t happen? Pretty messed up—

A loud clatter interrupted Everett’s thoughts. He glanced down in surprise to see that he had accidentally kicked a golden container on the ground. He picked it up. This was the canteen he had given the kid, Cole, yesterday. The lid was also on the ground, a few feet away from where the canteen had been. What was it doing in the middle of the road? 

Everett picked up the cap and screwed it back on the canteen, crossing the street towards Cole’s home. He knocked on the door, and almost immediately, it swung open. 

“Yes, have you seen—” the man stopped talking as he saw Everett. 

“Uh, hello,” Everett said awkwardly. “Your son left this on the road, I thought he might want to have it.” Behind the man, he saw Cole’s mother, a lady wearing a yellow sundress that matched her frizzy, light blonde hair. Her eyes were red and puffy though, and she held a tissue in her hand. Everett got a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. 

“You’re at the wrong house, son,” the man answered gruffly. “We don’t have a son.” Behind him, the woman choked back a sob. 

Everett blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Now, my wife is quite upset right now, I’m going to need you to—”

“But, your son, Cole…”
“Leave. Now,” the man demanded.

Everett stared at him incredulously. The man’s arms were crossed and his blonde bushy eyebrows were knit together.

“So you’re telling me that you don’t have a son named Cole?” 

“No! Now, leave before I get my rifle!” the man roared. 

“I hate this town,” Everett muttered under his breath as he turned around. The door slammed shut behind him. 

The following day, Everett had a new goal in mind. 

Reminders

Glenn’s Goods 
The Silver Eagle Saloon
El Caballero Inn
Go check up on Ringo
Buy a new map
Leave Creston
Leave Creston
Leave Creston
Find Cole? 

That was a lie. He had two goals in mind. Everett was on his way towards Nahale forest, where he had been told an Algonquin tribe lived. He could sell hardware there, but could also talk to Kaya, the native gal Cole had mentioned. Maybe she knew where Cole was.

Sunlight flooded through the trees in front of him as he approached a grassy clearing. In the distance, domed, birch bark structures dotted the clearing. Everett could see figures, tiny from afar, moving between them. Great, I’m not lost.

The moment Everett stepped foot into the sunlight, he noticed something flash towards him.

THUD.

 Suddenly an impact jerked his shoulder back. He tugged at his arm before realizing his sleeve was pinned to a tree behind him by an arrow. 

“Peace!” he shouted in a panic. “I come in peace!” 

Everett wasn’t sure who he was talking to. He was surrounded by an empty field. Slowly though, the shadows in the trees around him seemed to grow, elongating until the shadows seemed to separate completely, revealing five or six figures. They were definitely Algonquin tribe members. Each of them had long, black hair and caramel colored skin.  They wore thick, brown coats made out of some sort of animal hide, fastened at the waist by black belts. 

They walked towards Everett, loaded bows trained directly at him. He scrambled to pull something out of his trouser pocket. 

“Here!” he called hastily. “From Kaya!” Everett held up the beaded bracelet that Cole had given to him. The Algonquins glanced at each other silently, gazes shifting like they were conversing with their eyes. Finally, one tribe member lowered his bow and hurried away. A tense minute later, he returned with a small girl behind him. She gazed at Everett shyly, her wide eyes like two deep pools of chocolate. 

“Kaya?” Everett said, but it sounded more like a question than a greeting. 

“Hello,” Kaya answered, peeking at him from behind the man.

Her eyes fixated on the bracelet in his hand and she frowned. “Why do you have Cole’s gift? Did you hurt him?”

“No!” Everett reassured her. “I came for help because he’s missing. Cole mentioned your name, so I came to ask if you know where he is.” The girl paused a minute, analyzing his sage green eyes, like she was deciding whether she could trust him or not solely based on his gaze. Eventually, Kaya whispered something to the man next to her, and slowly, he nodded. 

“Yes,” she finally spoke up. “My father says to follow us.” 

“This is our— how do you say— Shaman,” Kaya introduced Everett to the man he now sat across from. They were in a wigwam, which he had been told were the name of the domed structures that the Algonquins lived in. From the outside, they looked a bit cramped, but they were surprisingly spacious from the inside. It was big enough to fit the large wooden table that Everett sat at now, Kaya and the shaman facing him. 

“Shamans can speak with the spirits,” Kaya elaborated. Everett nodded seriously, as if he knew what that meant. In the background, a kettle on a stovetop began to make a whining noise. 

“You do not understand,” the Shaman chuckled. Everett turned towards him in surprise. The man had warm, light brown eyes and porcupine quills that stuck out of his hair like a crown. 

“You speak English?”

“Shaman Chogan is the only other person that knows English in my tribe,” Kaya explained, “besides me.” 

The shaman smiled, revealing dimples, which made Everett realize how young the man actually was.

“You say that Cole is gone?” the Shaman asked him. Everett had already filled them in on the strange disappearance and Cole’s parents denying his existence. 

“Yes,” Everett answered. “Do you know where he is?” 

Kaya and Shaman Chogan exchanged a worried look. 

“No,” the Shaman replied, “but also yes.” Everett raised an eyebrow.

“Our previous shaman… was not good. He worked with evil spirits to curse his wife, so we cast him out. That made him furious, and he released a curse onto all of us. The Wendigo. The spirit of hunger and greed.” 

“The Wendigo is an evil beast that feeds on people and always craves more,” Kaya continued. “So it often drags fresh meat into the forest to eat.” 

“What do you mean by ‘drags in’ meat?” Everett questioned her. 

Kaya opened her mouth but paused before speaking, as if worried that Everett wouldn’t be able to handle what she was about to say. I’m five times your age, he wanted to tell her. 

“It mostly eats people in Creston,” Kaya admitted. 

Everything was starting to make sense. 

“So if people are disappearing in Creston… This — Wendigo — was killing people and bringing them back into the forest to eat?” 

The Algonquins nodded. 

“How is this related to Cole?” 

As soon as he said it aloud, Everett’s eyes widened. 

“No— you’re saying Cole is dead?” he exclaimed. 

Shaman Chogan looked at the table glumly. “There’s a big chance that—”
“No!” Kaya interrupted. “The Wendigo often brings people in while they are still alive, then kills them when it feels like eating. We can hear people screaming as they are taken into the woods.” 

“Kaya,” the shaman spoke gently. “You must accept—”

“No!” Kaya shouted, shaking her head stubbornly. Her eyes welled with tears, and her tiny body was shaking. “No, Cole can’t be dead. You’re wrong!” She turned to Everett. “You must go find him.”
“It is too dangerous,” Chogan warned. “We’ve sent hunters to kill the Wendigo, but only one has returned, and he lost an arm.” 

“From his fight with the Wendigo?” Everett asked. 

“We think so, but we can’t be sure, because he can’t remember anything he did in the cursed lands.” 

“What cursed lands?”

“There is a part of the forest no one goes to. We used to live there, but had to move because the curse was… too thick there. Too much. Causes people to lose their memories and act strange. The Wendigo lives there,” Chogan explained, his forehead crinkled with worry. 

“Wait, what do you mean by losing memories?” 

“Please go help him!” Kaya burst out. “If Cole is there, he will not be there long, he will—” She couldn’t finish the sentence. The shaman put a comforting arm around her shoulders, hugging her close to him as she began to sob uncontrollably. 

Everett felt the smooth, beaded bracelet in his hand and gripped it tightly. “I’ll go,” he decided. 

“You really shouldn’t,” the shaman told him. Chogan’s tone was reluctant, but Everett could see a spark of hope in his eyes. “You won’t listen to me though, because like every white man, you think you know better. So we will arm you with a gun with silver bullets, you will need it to kill the Wendigo. You are lucky you weren’t carrying a pistol when you arrived here, our hunters would have killed you immediately.” 

“Bring back my friend, please,” Kaya sniffled. 

“I will,” Everett assured her. It felt more like he was assuring himself though. 

Everett’s foot caught on a tree root and he stumbled forward, hands barely stopping him from landing face first in a pile of leaves. He stood up slowly, staring down at his dirty, scraped up palms. They blurred in and out of focus in front of him. Disoriented, he glanced up at his surroundings. Dark trees seem to stretch upwards endlessly, and the forest was so dense all the tree trunks seemed to blend together. It was eerily silent for a forest, no sound of birds or animals. Where was he? What was he doing here? 

A loud crack split the air. Everett spun around in a panic to face the noise. More loud cracks and crunches followed, growing louder and louder by the second. The trees shook around him, dry brown leaves showering down on his head. 

What was happening? Should he run? Lost, Everett reached into his pocket for his notepad, only to touch cool metal on his belt. A revolver. Why’d he have a gun? He was never armed. He pulled his notepad out. 

CURSE = MEMORY IN AND OUT

KILL WENDIGO WITH REVOLVER 

FIND COLE 

ONLY 3 BULLETS 2 BULLETS

That’s right— Cole. The boy who’d gone missing. Who was Wendigo though? And what curse? 

A creaking noise filled his ears, and Everett quickly stepped to the side as a tree toppled to the ground beside him. The forest went silent again after it fell. Then one small snap. Another. It was coming from the direction of the tree that had fallen, like something was climbing over it. Everett slowly reached for the holster on his belt. 

That’s when he saw it. A figure slightly too tall to be human, with skin so thin that it was see-through, stretched over bones that jutted out. The skin was an ashy grey tone, matching the blank eyes sunken into its head. Its lips were torn, and its mouth hung open, revealing a large set of jagged, crooked teeth. It was like a really tall, rotting corpse had been reanimated. It definitely smelled like one. 

Everett gagged at the stench and took a step backwards, but his back hit a tree. He pulled the revolver from his belt, his hands shaking as he aimed it at the creature’s head.

Everett was running. He didn’t know why, but the adrenaline pushed him to keep going. Why couldn’t he remember where he was? He shoved his way through tree branches, leaving cuts on his arms and face. Distracted by running, it took him a few seconds to realize that he was grasping a notepad tightly in his hand.

CURSE = MEMORY IN AND OUT

KILL WENDIGO WITH REVOLVER 

FIND COLE 

ONLY 3 BULLETS 2 BULLETS 1 BULLET

BULLETS DON’T WORK ON WENDIGO
JUST RESCUE COLE

Cole… the name was familiar. Wait, he was the kid—

“Everett!” a high pitched, familiar voice screamed. 

“Cole?” Everett called, running towards the voice. “What’s going on?” 

He heard Cole shout,

“Fire! Use fire!” 

“What?” Everett shouted back. “Why?” And why are you in the middle of a forest?, Cole wanted to add. 

There was a loud crash in front of Everett, and he stopped in tracks, peering into the thick line of trees. Nothing. 

USE FIRE, Everett quickly scribbled down. He didn’t know what that meant, but if his memory was being faulty, maybe his future self would.
Suddenly, a blur of bony limbs lunged towards Everett, and he dodged to the side instinctively. The creature landed behind him on all fours. Its head swiveled back a hundred and eighty degrees to fix its sunken eyes on him, and he recoiled. There was a bullet-sized hole that went all the way through the creature's forehead, but it seemed to be functioning fine. Bullets don’t work on Wendigo, Everett remembered. That’s what the notepad said. Was this the Wendigo? 

The Wendigo let out an ear splitting shriek and charged Everett again. He dove to the side, avoiding the creature but landing directly on his shoulder. He grit his teeth as a jolt of pain shot up his left arm. He used his right arm to prop himself up as he scrambled to his feet in a panic. Everett ducked under a branch before he began spriting away, narrowly avoiding trees in his way. 

Cole said to use fire, Everett thought. Did he mean against the Wendigo? He couldn't think of any better plan—

The world was on fire. Everett stumbled back, flames licking at his feet. Where was he? Why’d his left arm hurt so bad? He was in some sort of forest fire; smoldering trees fell to the ground all around him. He was holding a matchbox in his right hand. Had he done this? 

A loud shriek split the air. It sounded like a human, but there was something off about it that made him back away. 

“Come on!” a familiar voice behind him shouted over the crackling fire. Someone tugged on his arm. He turned around to see a young boy covered in ash. It took him a moment to remember his name. 

“Cole?” Everett said, turning around to face the boy. “What’s happening?” 

Out of the corner of his eye, Everett spotted something ghostly grey hurtling towards them. 

“Run!” Cole shouted, pulling his arm more urgently now. “Or burn it!” 

As it approached, Everett could see it more clearly. The creature was staggering towards them, its jaw hanging unnaturally low as it shrieked. 

“Everett! You need to do something now!” 

Everett snapped out of his trance. He hastily lit a match with the matchbox and held it up in his hand, ready to throw it. Cole had run away, but Everett stood his ground as the creature drew nearer and nearer. It got so close he could smell its breath, which smelled like rot. Then, at the last minute, Everett tossed the matchstick at the creature and slid to the side. He wasn’t fast enough though, and with inhuman strength, the creature sent him flying back. 

Everett hit the ground so hard a flash of white lit up his vision. The creature was letting out a human-sounding wail from behind him. He pulled himself up slowly, staggering back towards Cole. The creature was on fire, flailing its limbs and running around desperately as it screamed. 

Eventually, the creature seemed to be entirely consumed by flames. When the fire died down, all remnants of the creature were gone. 

“Come on,” Cole told him. “Let’s go.”
Everett didn’t need to think twice about getting out of there. He followed the kid away from the fire, and towards the edge of the forest, where the trees were beginning to thin. The movement he took a step out into the clearing, memories began flooding back. Creston. People missing. Cole. The Wendigo. Losing his memories in the cursed area. Setting the Wendigo on fire. 

It was over. 

“Cole!” Cole’s mother cried, racing towards the doorway. She pulled her son into a tight hug, sobbing into his shoulder.

“Mom!” Cole complained.

“So I guess you do have a son,” Everett smiled. 

“We’re sorry about that,” the father apologized. “There’s just this rule in town. We have to keep quiet about the… you know what.” 

“You knew about the Wendigo?” Everett asked. 

“Of course,” Cole’s mother chimed in. “That’s why we were so scared when Cole disappeared.” 

“Why didn’t you say anything?”

Cole’s father looked nervously around the street. “You have to be more quiet. We’re not allowed to say anything; travelers aren’t supposed to know. The mayor said no one would come to trade supplies that we need, like food. He said we’d starve. So anyone who mentions it gets thrown in lock-up.” 

Everett shook his head in disbelief. 

“But thank you,” Cole’s mother told him. “For bringing him home. If there’s anything we ca—”

“Everett can stay with us for a while!” Cole suggested. 

“Yes, of course,” she agreed. 

“It’s alright,” Cole answered. “I ought to be moving on to the next town by now, I’ve spent enough time here in Creston.”

He glanced back, where Ringo was tethered to a mailbox. “Speaking of, I ought to get going now. It was nice meeting you!” 

Everett waved goodbye as he walked back down the dirt path. He mounted his horse and called, 

“Come on, Ringo.” Ringo began trotting down the road towards the main highway. 

He could hear Cole cry, 

“Bye!” Everett glanced behind him to see the boy waving, with his parents by his side. Smiling, Everett waved back. Soon, he was out of the town, with Ringo kicking up dust on the dirt highway. He gazed up at the horizon, where he could see a wooden sign swinging in the breeze.

CRESTON, population 832, the wooden sign read.