Hank Simon looked at the headline and read how hundreds of people were disappearing from national parks each year. How could this be? He remembered reading about a mythological creature called the Wendigo. It was part of the folklore of a number of early North American inhabitant societies: Algonquian, Ojibwe, Saulteaux, the Cree, the Naskapi, and the Innu people. Even the Athabaskan people had a similar creature called the Wechuge. Did a cannibalistic creature exist in the wilds to this day or was the Wendigo a type of madness which occurs in the forests driving people further and further into the depths of the woods until they became lost.
What a great opportunity he thought. He envisioned streaming a channel ... In Search of the Wendigo ... his own way of commercializing the way that people had commercialized Bigfoot.
Days later he and a couple of friends, Jack Reardon and Bernie Plate were setting up camp at Mount Jefferson Wilderness - a noted hotspot for disappearances. After a day of recording scripts outlining various disappearances, and heavily emphasizing how the "Wendigo" was responsible for hunting down the victims (evidenced by the theft of shoes) they sat around the fire ready to throw back a few brews.
They had pitch camp at the base of a massive Douglas Fir. Its trunk was bare as high as the height of a man and then shooting skyward with flexible branches waving as they caught the breeze. There was an ominous quietness to this tree as it moved slowly back and forth. Reardon sat with his back against the tree and tipped the beer bottle to his lips.
"It was a good day, today", he said. "I think I got some good shots".
Plate who had been monitoring the audio agreed but mentioned they would need to do some work on selecting the right background music to enhance the tension at certain key points. Plate and Simon agreed to get an early night slipping into their sleeping bags ... thoughts of instant youtube success floating in their heads. Reardon popped another beer and sat looking at the night sky.
The next morning Simon woke to an eerie quietness. Sometime in the night, he had moved closer to the fire because of the chill. He looked over to where Plate was lying on the side closest to the tree. He was unmoving. He mumbled "Bernie, get up". Nothing. He crawled over and shook him "Come on ... you are making the coffee ... wake up". Then he noticed. A root was wrapped around Bernie's neck, his head was askew. Simon through himself back. "Bernie". "Oh God, Bernie". "Jack, something has happened to Bernie... wake up". Jack was not to waken. As Simon looked around, he saw Jack spread eagle in the tree. Already the his arms had melted into the lower branches. Like a man on a crucifix his arms were stretched, his feet pinioned. His body was being engulfed by the bark.
"Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god", Simon kept crying over and over as he scrambled down the trail. Branches of other trees whipped at his eyes, snatched at his clothing as he forced his passage. He thought to himself the only thing that had protected him was the heat of the fire between himself and the tree, otherwise he would have had his neck broken by the roots of the evil spirit of that tree. The Wendigo was true. It wasn't some cannibalistic men it was the forest and the trees themselves ... attacking unwary trespassers.
The doctor and the lawyer looked at Hank Simon bound in the straight jacket. He kept pacing around and around crying. He had been found by some Park Rangers after he staggered out of the bush one week after he and his friends had entered the trail. He was twenty miles away from where his camping gear was found. There was no sign of his friends. At first foul play was suspected but charges were dropped as there was no evidence and he clearly was insane.
Simon looked out the window and screamed. The doctor and lawyer entered the room and looked out, not noticing the ivy brushing against the window.
There are as many as 100,000 active missing persons cases in the U.S. at any given time.