Alice felt a sense of uneasiness as she stepped through the forest. She didn't quite understand it, she never had these feelings on her previous excursions. She blamed it on the different setting. She had always wandered the forest since she was young. She never quite fell in with the crowd of similar aged girls in her small town in France. She enjoyed the peace and subtleness of the forest. She would find herself walking the wooded fields every week, sometimes with a purpose, mostly without one. Her friends, though very few, talked about her with a sense of mystery. Her parents didn't understand the behavior either. They never thought too deeply of it either, the small town had gotten used to it. 

It was on this day where Alice decided on a new location for her usual excursion. She hadn't been somewhere new since she was first born and she discovered these woods. She was about a mile and a half down the dirt road that led to her suburban town. She immediately noticed a plethora of ruins and cracked stone to the east of the road. She heard about the ruins a few times before, it was seldom talked about in the town. She knew that it was once a mighty city, until invaders struck it with a force greater than anything the world had seen. All that was left was an abysmal set of broken buildings and ruined architecture. She walked off the road where she saw a small tombstone on the ground. It read; "HERE LIES, AMADEUS THE KILLER, 1432" Alice was intrigued when she read it. This must be from when the city was still around. That was nearly 50 years ago from the moment Alice saw it. She regarded the stone and moved on for her normal hike.

She noticed an extremely quiet, humid, and foggy atmosphere in the woods. No birds were singing, no wind was blowing, absolutely emptiness, like these woods haven't been inhabited for decades by creatures or man. This filled Alice with a sense of uneasiness and impending fear. She felt like there was something behind every tree watching her movements, creeping through the fog that covered the ground, and stalking her every step. She trudged wearily through the woods, her steps making no sounds on the damp, soft leaves. she considered turning back but something kept pulling her through the woods. She didn't know if it was sheer curiosity or something malevolent. 

Alice stopped dead in her tracks when she saw the cabin in the distance. The fog had rolled back to reveal a small tattered cottage in a clearing in the forest. She wearily approached the sad structure. Its appearance radiated sheer, abysmal dread. It was unlike any structure Alice had seen. It was made of tattered wood planks and a wood roof, all of which was rotting with age. She came close enough to see a small wooden cross made out of short limbs to the side of the shack. She kneeled down and inspected the sticks. "Jackson" Was carved into one of the sticks. She pulled herself from her knees and walked around to the entrance of a shack. She stepped inside with a sense of fear and curiosity washing over her. She looked around to see a small cloth on the ground, and a desk with a singular notebook and quill on. dust had covered both the book and the tattered furniture which it laid on. She picked up the small leather book and opened it, to find the dreadful contents.

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“It was after dark when they burst through my door. Three men all wielding swords. I rushed to protect my children but to no avail. I was beaten with the flat end of their swords until I piled to the floor, my vision turning red. I felt my forehead, blood was streaming down, stinging my eyes. I looked back to see my wife screaming, tears running down her face and my children whimpering in the corner. That was the last time I ever saw him. I woke up in the dungeons in the sewers under the city. It must have been at least two weeks. Two weeks of despair, confusion, and pain. Rats bit me night and day, turning me violently ill. The poor soul in the cell next to me died within 3 days from dehydration. They never took away the body. The same guards who took me from my family thrust me to my bleeding feet and brought me to the surface of the city again. The sunlight burned my eyes as I was dragged through the courtyard and into the Hall of Elders. 

I couldn't remember much of the trial. I do remember the Elders being extremely thorough with their punishment. They had taken me for an account of murder in which I was suspected. I'm nothing but a humble carpenter with no need or desire to kill, but the Elders didn't listen. They were vile, cruel tyrants with a hunger for suffering. The last soul who was condemned by the Elders suffered punishment so immense, it drove the guards to insanity. They were known for their extravagant torture and punishment. They used Black Magic and ancient power to do their bidding, leading to an utmost terror of them known by nations. They wouldn't simply hurt and kill you, no, they would ensure that you suffered immensely until you end your own life and simply go stark mad. Sometimes we heard counts of random citizens being taken and tested and practiced upon. Sick bastards, they were. 

I remember waking up on the damp leaves of the forest. It was night and stars flecked the abysmal sky of what would be my home. You might incur that I could simply leave the forest and start a new life in the neighboring villages, but no, as I stated, the Elders were beyond thorough. My first attempt at leaving resulted in extreme burning of my foot as soon as I stepped into the grass by the dirt road, rendering my foot all but incapacitated for what felt like an eternity, I tried several days after but to find my hands covered in burns and boils as soon as they departed past the tree line.

The first month was the worst. I managed to clear the bark of a tree and count the days with crude notches. That very tree has fallen from age now. I creeped around the forest, gathering what food I could find. I became emaciated and dehydrated, though It would never kill me. The Elders made sure of that. They had made me immortal to further accentuate the suffering. At first the punishment felt somewhat tolerable. My days consisted of hunting, gathering, and constructing crude fires in caves. That was until the boils arrived.

I had built a small cabin about a year in. It was a small abode but fitting nonetheless. At least I felt normal. Though the fangs protruding from my mouth and the claws upon my fingertips said otherwise. That was a part I must have missed In the sentencing. After about six months my body began to descend into some kind of monstrosity. My hair began to slowly fall out and boils covered my body. I felt any fat on my body fade away. I could no longer eat the food of a human. Every attempt at consuming a rabbit or fish would result in violent convulsions and vomiting. It came with spots of violence and anger within me. Total loss of control. I killed anything that walked with whatever instrument I could find. 

I never knew that the human brain could contemplate and inflict such mortal suffering and terror in one's soul. It plagued my mind day and night as I watched myself turn from senseable young man to a violent, revolting beast, all while confined in the solitary forest. At least I had my shack. At least I have this book to write in. They made sure to give me a small amount of comfort just to remind me how agonizing my existence was compared to those outside. Somedays I would call out to the sky and beg for mercy, for death, or for peace but to no avail. No righteous god would inflict such suffering.

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 I remember vividly when the hunger set in. I felt a strange craving flood over my emotions like a waterfall. It clouded my mind and judgment. I tried eating the usual berries and fish but it came back up. I needed the flesh of a conscious soul. That was another part of the Elder's cruel device. The need to consume the flesh of a human. I knew the Elders wouldn't let me die but the nourishment of my emaciated body would make my pitiful existence slightly more tolerable. 

Over the course of the next 6 months I became rather adept in the art of hunting, luring, and capturing persons. I will not go into detail about my processes of consumption for the simple sake of the reader. I would sit behind a bush or tree, quite as ever. I would watch the person as they walk down the road. Stalk their movement, their personality, and other details of their demeanor. Sometimes I would make a shrill cry for help or a simple cat call depending on the demeanor of the victim. My vocal chords were perfectly attuned to match the sounds I desired. A strange yet interesting change by the Elders. The victim would enter my domain and they would cease to exist. It was simple, crude, and violent but it gave me a purpose. That was until Jackson came along. 

Jackson was the first bit of joy I had experienced in two decades. I lured out into the woods one day. He came with no fear and kindness in his heart. There was something that nagged me to spare him, which I did. He was a short boy at the young age of six. He had red hair and a face full of freckles. He always came in a tattered pair of overalls with leather sandals. I have no idea why he was compelled to visit my forest every day, my demeanor was beyond repulsive. But I did not complain. He reminded me of my own children and made me feel ever so slightly human again.

We went fishing on occasions, and hunting when there were birds migrating. But above all he loved to draw. He would draw assorted pictures of me from the ashes of my previous fires. His art was quite unflattering but I praised it nonetheless. He was the only thing keeping my sanity. Without Jacky I would be nothing. He would become ill or injured quite often with no parents to care for him. I would often find myself nursing his health to the best of my abilities. We would often go fishing, hunting, or skipping rocks. I showed him around the forest which I had come to know so well. It was quite the feeling to have a friend again. I taught him about the world. I taught him carpentry and the art of hunting. We would sit for long periods watching the sunset as Jacky would work on his art. I would tell him stories of the Kingdom and the dungeons. This bliss continued for about a year until the Elders cursed me yet again.

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My brain has deteriorated beyond reckoning, but I can still vividly recall the day Jackson died. I was feeling one of the usual monstrous fits come upon me. I fought it to the best of my ability but to no avail. One of the last things I saw before I went unconscious was the small figure of Jackson looking upon my mangled body in confusion. I woke up to find his body a few feet away from my shack. 

"No." I thought to myself as I sprinted toward him on the emaciated, skeletal claws that were once my feet. 

"No! Jacky, No!" Tears filled my eyes as I fell to my knees before his lifeless structure. His chest bore the marks of massive claws, still bleeding. I looked down to see the remnants of my hands stained with blood. Those cruel bastards in the Kingdom couldn't even do me the pleasure of killing him themselves. They were sick enough to force me to slaughter him in the most painful way I could.

"Jacky, don't leave! You can't leave! Your all I have!" I was sobbing uncontrollably at his point. The one love I had left, the one hope I had left was taken from me. I shut his eyes and carried him to the side of the cabin. I buried him with a few of his drawings along with a makeshift cross to mark his grave. I cursed the Elders. I screamed out the most vile curses upon them. I felt them laughing at me. I was hopeless now. Not to mention the transformation of my body had become worse. I was nearly unrecognizable. Fangs were starting to grow, along with antlers and my hands were completely traded for a set of skeletal claws along with my feet. my skin has shriveled away to reveal nothing but a ribcage. My legs have been turned into that of deer but just solid bone. I was nothing but a monstrosity. But the Elders had left my mind intact so I can witness this vile transformation with full consciousness. They wanted me to see the creature I had become just as they would. 

It's been about three years since my last entry. I am losing my ability to write in this notebook. My hands can no longer grip the utensils and my eyesight is almost gone. I refuse to eat. I refuse to kill anyone else since Jacky left me. I am nothing but a monstrosity. The locals now call me The Wendigo. I have become some kind of folk tale at this point. I have digressed into something parents tell their children to keep them in bed. The Elders are long dead but their curse remains strong. Unlike them, I was never forgotten yet remained known as a monster lurking in the forest. I doubt anyone will read this but this journal has guided me and given me purpose. This is my final documented entry in my pathetic existence. I hope whoever read this will remember how cruel humans can be to one another. Please never put anyone that cruel into power. Goodbye.

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Alice closed the worn notebook and stood up. She didn't know how to feel. A sense of sorrow and melancholic dread filled her every inch. She noticed a slip of paper protruding from the book and pulled it out. It was a childrens pencil drawing that depicted some form of monstrous man with a smile. She came to the realization that it was Jacksons. She felt a tear roll down her cheek as she looked upon the drawing. 

As she looked up she could see him. A tall skeletal creature at least ten feet tall bearing antlers, fangs, and voracious claws. It was Amadeus. Except no trace of Amadeus was left. All that remained was the Wendigo. Alice looked at him without fear, without panic, but with pure sympathy and love. Alice smiled and reached out a hand. The creature matched her movements. 

"Je suis desole." Said Alice with pure empathy in her heart.

Amadeus nodded and kindly accepted.