The Wendigo

I run.
The trees rustle above me,
I hear its wings flap.
It snarls and flashes its fangs,
glittering like the moon.

I load my gun.
A silver bullet.
My last hope.

Will it work?
I haven't a clue,
I have no time to think.
I can only run.

I pass a broken tree.
Will that be me?
Broken?
Dilapidated?
Rotten?
Forgotten?

I shant think of such things.
I must run.
And only run.

I see a cottage in the dark,
I enter.
Its door is firm as cement,
and it closes with a lock.
I feel safe.

I crawl beneath the frame of a once bed.
Curling like a baby in a womb.
I watch the shadows pass the broken window.

All is quiet.
I fall asleep.

I awake to a thump.
Dust falls from the ceiling.
It begins to scratch its way in.

I open the door quietly,
trying to take my enemy by surprise.

I point my gun.
I have but one shot.
One chance of safety.
One chance of salvation.

I pull the trigger.
Hit.

A bright light fills the forest.
The beast erupts into a brilliant purple flame.
Turning to ashes before my eyes.

I feel safe if only for a moment,
when branches begin to break all around me.

I then realize I have not found my haven.
I have found their den.