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The Wendigo – Creepypasta

Nobody Lives Here But You

14 Aug The Wendigo

I’m hungry.

I don’t often wake up hungry. Often a post-sleep panic grips my abdomen and doesn’t let go for two or three hours. Five if I was consuming the night time before. Even if it was a bit bit, I gained’t tolerate breakfast.

At present was totally different. I received away from bed and searched the fridge for some eggs. I know I had them, however perhaps Frankie made off with a couple of…

After salvaging some from the underside drawer, I cooked them. I didn’t have work anyway, so I had time.

* * * * * *

Final night time Frankie and went out to dinner. For our six month anniversary. I used to be taking her out to the Thai restaurant we love, however she steered a new one.

“It’s not likely Thai, Burmese, I feel,” she stated over the telephone. “It just opened up. On Milton Ave, close to the Chase.”

“That’s not a very busy space though, is it?”

“No, nevertheless it’ll be quiet and romantic.” I might picture her half-smile as she stated it.

“All proper, positive, I’ll come by at-” I appeared on the clock. “Seven?”

“Seven thirty. I gotta get the gum out of Moxie’s fur before I shower.”

The restaurant was hidden, almost, between a nail studio with shiny pink awnings and a closed Jewish deli. The constructing was a skinny, four-story block with no single mild on in it. I checked out Frankie. “This..?”

“Down here,” she stated, somewhat exasperated. She led me down a set of slender, steep stairs on the left aspect of the building, over which the words ‘Pho Chop’ have been written.

“How’d you understand that?” I requested.

“Megan’s the one who advised me about it. She came here final night time with Rod.”

The restaurant itself was warm, snug. Tender lights hung on the walls. The ground was cushioned with maroon carpet. Fishtanks stood here and there between a collection of two-person tables.

The waiter hurried out to us from the kitchen.

“Ah, welcome sir and madam, welcome to Pho Chop. Please, sit.” He ushered us to the nearest desk. “To drink? You both have to be thirsty, you have to be hungry, please.” He pushed menus into our arms.

“Water’s high-quality for me,” I stated, taking a look at Frankie.

“Two waters.”

I scanned the menu as the waiter bustled off.

“That guy’s an actual go-getter,” I smiled.

“Shut up,” she laughed. “Critically, don’t embarrass me in all places.”

The waiter rushed again with two glasses.

“To eat, sir and madam?”

I scanned the menu. “Uh, I don’t actually…what do you recommend?”

“Ah, sir, properly it’s essential to attempt Mohinga. Burmese nationwide dish sir. Tender rice in fish soup. Onions, garlic, lemongrass, served with minced pork, sir,” he smiled. His tongue flicked out towards his upper lip.

“Positive, yes, I’ll have that,” I stated.

“Gyin thoke,” Frankie stated without missing a beat.

He whipped the menus from our palms. “Wonderful!” He stated loudly, and hurried again to the kitchen.

“A connoisseur, you,” I eyed her and sipped from the glass.

“It’s salad with ginger and beans. I had it once and I beloved it.”

It wasn’t Thai, nevertheless it wasn’t dangerous. The pork undoubtedly had a weird bitterness to it, but with enough soy sauce it was unnoticeable.

“Not dangerous huh?” Frankie stated as we mounted the steps.

“Exactly, it was not dangerous. There’s dangerous, and this was not.”

“Come on, it was all right at the very least?”

“We should always have gone to Sri Thai.”

“It was high-quality, shut up.”

* * * * * *

I solely had 4 eggs left this morning. 4 was all I might discover. Once I was cooking them, my stomach’s growls turned to pangs. It harm.

I ate all four. In underneath three minutes. I shredded cheddar cheese over them. I threw in peppers and onions and olives. I inhaled them, threw the napkin down. However I used to be still hungry.

But that didn’t make any sense. I ought to be on the level of throwing it all up right now. I seemed down at my plate, on the tiny flecks of egg on the nook of the desk (perhaps if I scraped these up) however those weren’t enough.

I headed to the couch to let myself digest. Perhaps it has to hit my abdomen, just give it some time (nonetheless hungry) then I’ll really feel full sufficient to put me back to mattress.

I waited.


My stomach growled.

* * * * * *

Three hours later, the fridge was empty. Greasy Tupperware lay on the floor. Tin foil with burn marks clinging to the rack in my range. I ate every slice of cheese, meatballs, Dutch chocolate ice cream, entire tomatoes, leftover steak, frozen burgers. I pulled down a tin of lasagna so onerous it flipped and splattered over the floor. I scooped it up with my arms, shoveled it into my mouth like a fucking animal. But I used to be nonetheless hungry.

I stumbled into the toilet, weak from starvation. Gripping the sink, I appeared into the mirror.

Anyone had taken my face and was sporting it as a masks.

My cheeks hung off the bone. The luggage beneath my eyes had gone from mild purple to pitch black. My pupils have been pinpricks, the eyes bloodshot. I used to be bleach-white, apart from the purple and brown streaks round my mouth from pasta and steak sauce. And my hair…was it…thinning?

Before I had time to take it in, I received distracted. My lips…have been pink. Very, splendidly pink.

I licked them. My stomach groaned once more. And I used to be…drooling.


It was Frankie. Earlier than I might swing the toilet door shut, she was there.

“You realize you left your door open so if I needed to hack you up into items I might probably-” She had come across the nook. She dropped a plastic grocery store bag and introduced her arms up to her mouth.

“My G-what…what occurred?”

“I don’t-don’t know,” I stated. “I’m so…so…I’m ravenous.”

She seemed again over on the kitchen, and the overturned containers and flecks of food on the counter and flooring, at the drawers ripped out of the fridge. “You ate all that?”

“Yes-well…I don’t know…perhaps it’s meals pois-”

“This is the other of food poisoning,” she despatched again. “You may need to go see a physician.”

However I had remembered something. I remembered the dinner we had last night time. The meals…one thing was not proper concerning the food…the…pork.” On the considered the pork, I started salivating. Spit crammed my mouth, ran down my chin onto my shirt.

“What the fuck-I’m not even joking I’m calling 9-11”

“What’s Megan’s tackle..”

“I-what?” she stammered.

“Megan!” I roared, finger tearing at my abdomen, “She went there! To Pho Chop! I want her tackle! I’m dying!”

I didn’t even understand how shut I had gotten to her. She backed towards the counter, her fingers gripped the edge. I might see the inexperienced irises in her broad eyes, might see her cheeks…her…scrumptious…cheeks…

“I-I-don’t-um” She closed her eyes, making an attempt to recollect. I stepped in the direction of her, taking a look at these cheeks, puffing in and out together with her heaving breath, if I might simply taste-

“One six six Woodhaven Street,” she spluttered, opening her eyes. She screamed when she saw my proximity, pushed me exhausting within the chest, and sprinted out of the house.

* * * * * *

I sprinted four miles to Megan’s house. I burst into the lobby, scanned the listing for ‘Connelly’, and ran up the steps four at a time to the third flooring.

“MEGAN!” I bellowed, pounding the door. “MEGAN OPEN UP-”

It had swung open on the first knock.

A wave of warm air hit me. It carried the sickly candy odor of stagnant rotting, of street kill left in a garbage bag. I gagged.

“M-Megan?” No answer.

I stepped into the condo. All of the lights have been on. “Megan!” I walked down the corridor past the kitchen, overlaying my mouth. Her fridge hung open, empty. It’s contents have been scattered alongside each floor. Butter and packets of turkey bacon and yogurts apparently flung at the partitions, pans on the stove filled with hen and rice, sitting in a layer of chilly oil. The ground was coated in milk and onions and dressing and damaged eggs and blood from roast beef-

However that was numerous blood. And @[email protected] too dark for beef.

“Megan? Megan! I do know you’re in right here! Let’s go, come out and inform me what the fuck’s happened!”

However I had turned the nook to the lounge. Once I registered what I saw, I half-screamed and fell backward. If I hadn’t fell the stench certainly would have knocked me down.

Megan was kneeling in the center, on a carpet saturated with blood. Flies numbering in the lots of coated the ground, the walls, the television display, in all places there was blood. The lamp close to the window sizzled the dried blood caught to it.

Rod was on the couch to my proper. He was face down. His head, torn almost off, hung off the aspect of the sofa by a flap of pores and skin. His back was opened up. Like someone had put a shovel in and popped it up in both instructions. I might see proper into the cavity. It was empty apart from perhaps a bit of his lung. His intestines have been clumped at the flooring, one lengthy strand still operating again inside him like an umbilical twine. His calves have been carved right down to the bone. Maggots poked their heads out of the shredded meat in his thighs. The top stared, the the wrong way up, eyeless, lipless factor grinned over at me, still on the floor.

“M-m-m-” I shook. “M-Megan…w-what did y-you d-d-do…”

She wasn’t listening. She was ripping at a thick hunk of meat in her palms, eating with heavy, guttural sounds.

I crawled over. “M-Megan…Megan…answer m-me please…” I touched her shoulder.

A clawed hand flew up, fingers hooked into the aspect of my face.


“IT’S US!” she shrieked, whipping around onto all fours. Her face was gaunt, hollow, white. “IT’S US!” She was grinning, slivers of Rod hanging from between her tooth. She wheezed amusing, her tiny pupils fixated on mine. “NOTHING TO EAT BUT PEOPLE! NOTHING ELSE WILL DO!” She laughed again wildly, blood or mucus rattling in her throat.

I couldn’t answer. I used to be backing away on all fours, scrabbling to get away. My eyes appeared right into hers. There was a lifeless, animal look in them.

My gaze trailed downward. Her cheeks have been gaunt…but still…sufficient meat on there…be fairly good…

I ended considering. I only watched. Watched myself rise up over her, watched myself dive at her hunched body, watched myself pin her to the ground.

I felt my mouth open and my tooth sink into the aspect of her face, closing, tooth grinding, her scorching blood squirting down my throat. She cried out, grabbing at my arms, my arms. I couldn’t have observed. A tender, warm consolation flowed from my mouth outward as I swallowed. My abdomen churned its appreciation.

I took another chew, this time I found my method right down to her throat. Out of the nook of my eye, I might see her molars from the opening I’d left. As I pulled again, I felt tendons pop, muscle mass tear. Scorching, sticky blood soaked my face, my eyes, showered down over me, and I swallowed entire, laughing, guffawing with the feeling of real meals, savory, healing meat. I heard Megan gurgle out of the opening in her throat.

I appeared up, closed my eyes, breathed in deep, letting the fetid stink of the room flood into my lungs, felt my stomach begin working greedily, and tranquility flooded over me. I fell again next to Megan, who was fingering the opening in her throat feebly, her mouth hanging open. My heartbeat slowed. I felt a mushy glow behind my closed eyelids.

I lay there for what might have been years. I felt like my life had been main up to this one superb second, this one feeling of launch, like a cyst had been instantly drained. I felt like I might die proper right here, proper now, completely satisfied.

However…the glow obtained dimmer.

The sunshine began to fade. Quickly. The happiness was leaving me. My breath was turning into shorter. I sat up, seeing the room bathed in blood and the 2 corpses lying there. I felt one thing. Feverish…and…


And I’m hungry.

Credit: Colin’s Residence for the Damned

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