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“Force should be right; or rather, right and wrong,
between whose endless jar justice resides,
should lose their names, and so should justice too.
Then everything includes itself in power,
power into will, will into appetite;
and appetite, an universal wolf,
so doubly seconded with will and power, must make perforce an universal prey
and at last eat up himself.”
― William Shakespeare

“If I wanted to shoot someone’s face, they’d know it.”
― Jessica Marie Baumgartner, Fantastic Tales of Terror: History's Darkest Secrets

“Cora didn't know a whole lot about wendigo, but there were ways in which they were just like people: they wanted above everything to live through the night

("Stay")”
― Leah Bobet, The Best Horror of the Year: Volume Four

“Annie refused to believe in nightmares. Anything she feared at night, she knew she could kill once awake.”
― Jessica Marie Baumgartner, Fantastic Tales of Terror: History's Darkest Secrets

“Nothing like gunpowder to get a girl going.”
― Jessica Marie Baumgartner, Fantastic Tales of Terror: History's Darkest Secrets

“Turns out that when something gets cheaper, or more efficient, we just end up using so much more of the stuff that the savings disappear under a wave of increased consumption.

They call it the “Jevons Paradoxâ€�, and it applies to pretty much any human resource. Halve the price of computer memory, we'll increase demand by a factor of four. Increase solar efficiency by ten times, we'll suck back twenty times as much of the stuff. And you just know that if we resort to geoengineering to buy time—use stratospheric sulfates to compensate for ongoing carbon emissions, for example—people will just be that much less inclined to cut those emissions any time soon. We are not wired for restraint; let us off the leash, and we will devour whatever is available.”
― Peter Watts, Peter Watts Is An Angry Sentient Tumor: Revenge Fantasies and Essays

“The last wendigo died in 1962, or so the story goes. Reputedly, he (it?) stood in front of the train to Churchill, Manitoba, believing that the train would stop for him, a supernatural being, and then he would be able to eat the passengers. The train ran him over. Sic transit gloria mundi.”
― Lawrence Millman, At the End of the World: A True Story of Murder in the Arctic

“It never settled her stomach to leave any kill behind.”
― Jessica Marie Baumgartner, Fantastic Tales of Terror: History's Darkest Secrets

“I will always look for what my eyes cain’t see.”
― Jessica Marie Baumgartner, Fantastic Tales of Terror: History's Darkest Secrets

“After spending years in an asylum, admitting what she knew out loud seemed terrifying and dangerous.”
― Jessica Marie Baumgartner, Fantastic Tales of Terror: History's Darkest Secrets

“He was deeply susceptible, moreover, to that singular spell which the wilderness lays upon certain lonely natures, and he loved the wild solitudes with a kind of romantic passion that amounted almost to an obsession. The life of the backwoods fascinated him—whence, doubtless, his surpassing efficiency in dealing with their mysteries”
― Algernon Blackwood, The Wendigo

“A man must follow his true nature, although a man I am not. My true being is something rougher, something deep and damp and dark as an unlit root cellar, a hole in the ground, a grave. I am a ferocious killing machine, barely held together by the deceptive skin of civilization which I show the world by day. As the Fiend below takes mad glee from imitating Heaven above, I walk the earth in the guise of a Holy man...by sunlight, anyhow. Ah, but when the moon takes me, the skin tears away--and I am golden and beautiful, my mouth deep with teeth, my throat filled with eerie song. I cry to the night sky in my hunger and my rage as I follow the call of the hunt, first on two legs, then four. My claws are as razors, churning the ground below me...and I strike...”
― Lioness DeWinter

“The Apparition by Stewart Stafford

The Indian burial ground,
Lay beyond the tree steeples,
Wind murmured in the branches,
Of lost lands and wounded ancestors.

A new tenant's first night at home,
A Wendigo came in a pandemic fugue,
The head, neck and shoulders visible,
Jittery, contorted shapes on blinds.

Wild dawn packing, screeching tyres,
Home sweet home, still beyond reach,
Out of the driveway at top speed then,
Flight from an entity that won't leave you.

© Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”
― Stewart Stafford