Into the Fall

by Tamara L. Miller

Sarah was astonished by her ability to love someone who resented her so much.

“They say the wendigo is a forest-dwelling spirit with the body of an oversize emaciated man and the skull of a stag. It’s not good or evil, though it does have a rather gruesome habit of hunting people. They say no matter how much it eats, it’s never satisfied, and so it’s always hunting. But the most fascinating bit of the legend is that the wendigo’s victims are cursed to become wendigo themselves, doomed to hunt the forests claiming more victims.”

“What if we don’t get there?” he said. “Where?” He said nothing for a full minute. He was so still, Sarah assumed he had lost himself in thought. “To the end, when the kids are grown and we’re old and alone? What if it turns out to be too much?” he said. Sarah pretended not to have heard and walked away along the forest trail.

How had Matt managed to slip out to the bakery without leaving a single trace in the snow? She held the puzzle for a moment, scarf in hand, before letting it trickle away like melting ice.

It was like that, grief. Dormant, but always ravenous, waking in its own time to steal away moments of contentment.