The Thanksgiving Feast

The following was not written by me; this fine work of literature belongs to my cousin, Nicole Olson. And it's copyright her, so don't steal it. I know it's tempting...

This is what started it all:

Clara gazed out the window of the car at the vast forests racing past her. She sat, her curly red hair nearly covering her eyes, watching the scenery fly by. It was Thanksgiving, and she had spent five hours in the same seat of the car with her brother, Conrad, a boy two years older than her with a pink stripe in his hair, and her sister, Lena, her older, mild-mannered sister. Her whole family was on their way to their great-uncle’s farm. Uncle Ollie, as the kids called him, lived in the farm house, which was built in the late 1800’s by their Norwegian ancestors. Every November, he invited all of the relatives to his house for their family’s annual Thanksgiving celebration. She was looking forward to seeing her cousins, Blair and Greg, at the party.

Finally, the van turned onto the gravel road that led to the old farm. The forest had changed into snowy pastures, with the occasional cluster of trees here and there. After a few minutes, they drove into the front yard of the house and parked the van. Clara stepped out, glad to stretch her legs, but shivered as the cold wind hit her face. She glanced around at the yard, observing the familiar sight of rusty, old cars and machinery littering the ground. Scrambling to get out of the cold, she grabbed a bag full of food and hurried into the house with her brother and sister close behind.

They were greeted at the door by all of the familiar relatives-aunts, uncles, and grandparents.

“You made it! We were beginning to wonder if you had car trouble,” exclaimed Grandma Peg.

“No, we’re fine. The roads were just getting a bit slippery, that’s all,” replied Clara’s father, Pete.

“I suppose so-we were just watching the weather, and, apparently, there is a blizzard coming our way,” Peg said. “By the way, have you seen Uncle Ollie? We got here a couple of hours ago, and we haven’t seen him anywhere.”

“Bizarre,” answered Pete.

Clara, during the course of the conversation, had become bored, and left the room for a more entertaining conversation. She walked into the living room, where her siblings were already sitting with Blair and Greg. She plopped down on the couch next to them.

They all sat together, quietly, for a few moments, unsure of what to do next.

Greg, a tall, sandy-haired junior, broke the awkward silence. “Sure is windy outside.”

“Yeah, it looks like there really is going to be a blizzard today,” Lena replied.

They all nodded in agreement.

Once more, they sat silently and awkwardly. Finally, Conrad broke the silence. “Hey Clara, guess what I read yesterday?”

“What?”

“There’s this legend, about this thing called a windigo, and it lives in Minnesota and Canada. Right around here, actually. ”

“And?”

“All sorts of legends say that it comes out in the winter, when it is dark and snowy, and eats people.”

“Oh really.”

“Yeah, it especially likes to eat little annoying freshmen like you!”

“You’re so funny, Conrad.”

“The funny thing is that you probably believe me.”

Lena, a freshman in college, interrupted. “Hey, I’ve heard that story too. Lots of different Native American tribes had windigos in their folklore. They had huge footprints, and they were human-eaters. But the different tribes don’t agree on how they look. Except that each tribe said that they were huge. And they come out at different times, depending on the windigo”

Just as Clara was going to add her opinion, a gust of wind howled through the house. Even after the gust had passed on, the howl seemed to linger in their room.

“Ooh, Clara, the windigo is coming to get you!” mocked Conrad.

“Shut up, Conrad.”

Blair groaned. “Let’s just forget about the stupid windigo and figure out something to do.”

“We could go outside,” shrugged Greg.

“Let’s have a snowball fight!” exclaimed Clara, instantly forgetting about the windigo.

“Ok, but let’s wait until after it gets dark, because then we won’t be able to see each other, and it will be more fun,” said Greg.

The five stayed inside, waiting for the sun to set, passing the time playing card games and watching TV. They could hear the anxious murmurings of the adults in the kitchen, nervously wondering where Ollie could possibly be. In the end, the adults decided to form a search party to look for him.

“I don’t know why they’re so worried,” Blair announced. “He’s probably just finishing up something in the barn or in the fields. Or maybe he went into town quick to buy something.”

“Maybe we should help,” suggested Lena.

Just as she had spoken, Clara’s mother walked into the room. “We’re going to drive over to the neighbor’s house and see if they know anything about where Ollie went.”

The cousins nodded in unison.

“I don’t want any of you to go outside. It is snowing pretty heavily, and the last thing that we need is somebody getting lost. We’re all going to head out, so stay here and watch the food-and don’t go outside.”

They all nodded their heads, and watched as Clara’s mother exited the room. When all of the adults had left the house, Lena sighed, “So much for our snowball fight.”

“Who cares what they say!” cried Conrad. “It’s not like we’re going to get lost-we’ve been coming to this farm forever, we know our way around!”

“I agree,” added Blair. “Let’s go.”

“Well, I’m going to stay inside and watch the food. It’s too cold outside anyway,” replied Lena.

The others shrugged. “Suit yourself,” added Greg.

Clara, Greg, Blair, and Conrad stood up and headed for the door. They put on their hats and mittens, and proceeded out into the night. It was dark, almost unnaturally dark, and the sky was consumed by clouds. The snow fell in rushing white torrents that were nearly impenetrable. For a few minutes, they simply stood in the snow, watching the flakes float towards the ground.

Greg crept quietly towards Clara and tapped her on the shoulder. “Let’s gang up on Blair, and all throw snowballs at him! Tell Conrad!”

Clara giggled at this ingenious plot, and, in turn, snuck towards Conrad and relayed the message. They quietly rolled some snowballs, and all at the same time, hurled them at the unsuspecting Blair.

He yelped in surprise, “Hey! That’s not fair!” He ducked, attempting to dodge another snowball thrown by Greg. Swiftly, he ran towards the side of the house, and disappeared among the shadows.

The others laughed, and, having lost their target, proceeded to throw snowballs at each other. When, after some time, Blair had not returned, Clara murmured nervously, “Maybe we should go find him.”

Greg and Conrad agreed. Slowly, looking for any trace of him, they walked towards the side of the house. Suddenly, Clara stumbled, and Greg reached out his arm to steady her. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah, I’m fine,” she answered. “I just fell in some sort of hole.” She bent over to examine it. “Wow, this is huge...wait a minute, it is a footprint! It is enormous! It must be a bear track!”

“Bears aren’t that big, besides, there aren’t any bears here!” Greg said, trying to sound calm.

“See, Clara? I wasn’t lying! There really are windigos!” exclaimed Conrad.

“It’s not funny,” Clara answered angrily, punching Conrad in the arm. “Blair must have gone inside the house, so let’s go find him.”

The trudged through the deepening snow towards the house. Clara burst inside, and shouted, “Blair! You cheater! You scared us all to death! Where did you go?”

Lena, stirring a pot of stew, stared at the three teenagers blankly. “Blair isn’t in here. I thought he was with you.”

It was Clara’s turn to stare blankly. “Well, where is he then?”

“How should I know? Go check in the barn, maybe he hid there.”

“I’d rather not go outside again…” muttered Clara reluctantly.

“We’ll go,” offered Greg. Conrad nodded in agreement.

The two boys set out once more towards the barn. By this time, the snow was so thick that they could hardly see their own hand a foot in front of their faces. Their blood turned to ice as they heard the eerie howl once more. “Let’s hurry up to the barn,” whispered Greg uncomfortably.

After what seemed like hours, they arrived at the barn and went inside. Greg pulled on the chain to activate the light. The barn was flooded in brightness, and Conrad gasped in horror at what he saw. Lying on the floor, in the middle of the barn, lay Uncle Ollie. Both of his arms were severed, and nowhere to be seen. A pool of blood covered the floor.

“Ollie!” cried Conrad. He rushed towards his uncle, to see that his face was pasty white. He kneeled down, avoiding the blood, and felt the neck for a pulse.

“He’s still alive!” he shouted.

“But what should we do?”

“We need to get back to the house and call the police!”

“Why? It was probably just an accident with a machine. We need to call an ambulance!”

“Fine! Let’s just hurry back!”

“Conrad, why don’t you stay here, and put your coat on him or something to keep him warm! I’ll come back as soon as I call!”

Greg, with haste, scrambled out of the barn towards the farmhouse. After running a few steps, he stumbled and fell into the snow. Standing up and shaking off the snow, he looked down, and to his horror, saw that he had fallen in another giant footprint. He could suddenly smell a terribly stench, as if a rotting corpse was nearby. He turned around, and for a fleeting moment, saw the outline of a hulking, six-foot tall creature, lipless mouth open in a smirking smile. Greg turned around and ran for his life.

As fast as he could, he ran for the farmhouse. He felt as if the very weight of the snow was pressing down on him, suffocating him. Finally, he could see the farmhouse. He made a dash for the door, and nearly fell inside. Racing into the kitchen, he yelped, “It is out there! There is something there! Call the police! Call the ambulance! Call the fire department! CALL SOMETHING!”

Lena raced towards the phone and dialed 911. Greg sat in a chair trembling, silently, staring at the wall. In thirty minutes, the police arrived.


The police never found Blair, Conrad, or Ollie. They searched and searched for weeks, but not a single clue turned up. The adults finally came home, and when they heard what happened, left the house, never to return again. Still, the strange events of that night are yet to be explained. Greg refused to speak of what he saw-in fact, he had been so traumatized that he never spoke again. Nobody knows for sure what happened. However, when the night is unnaturally dark, the wind is howling, and the snow is thick, you may be unfortunate enough to catch a glimpse of the dreaded windigo yourself..