It was November, already cold, when a couple booked two nights in a primitive cabin past Grand Marais on the north shore of Lake Superior, close to the Boundary Waters. There was a wood stove, a wood-fired sauna, a few electric lights and no running water. What bothered the hunter who booked it was the mirrors: small hexagonal mirrors set at chest height, six on each wall, each one facing a mirror on the opposite wall.
This hunter spends months outdoors every year and doesn't spook easily. But as soon as the sun went down, the feeling of being watched was impossible to shake, and the girlfriend felt it too. Twice the hunter opened the doors and called out into the dark woods. Then both of them heard footsteps on the roof, walking back and forth over the bedroom. In a cabin that small, there was no mistaking them for branches.
That night the couple had the same nightmare. In the hunter's, a town was flooding during a search for a grandfather, and a shadowy man stood behind with a hand on the dreamer's shoulder, giving advice that couldn't be made out. The hunter woke to find the girlfriend staring back, and started describing the dream. She finished it: the rising water, the figure standing behind, and her own screaming that went unheard. At about 3:30 a.m. the outhouse door slammed so hard they both sat bolt upright. When the hunter opened the back door, the motion light was already on. The night was still, with no wind at all.
The next afternoon, from inside the sauna, the hunter felt someone right behind the door and started talking, assuming it was the girlfriend. Nobody was there. Inside the cabin, she had been doing the dishes and talking too, sure her partner was standing behind her. When they compared notes later, each had the same picture in mind of what was outside: a horribly thin human figure with a skull-like face, glowing white-blue eyes and a crown of antlers.
The car was packed before dark. Waiting for the girlfriend to come out, the hunter felt a strong, alien urge to simply drive off and leave her there, and instead went back and found her crying on the back porch. The two had a furious argument that neither can remember the reason for. On the way out, a big white wolf crossed the road in the headlights, stopped to look at them and walked on. The further they drove, the calmer they felt.
Later the hunter emailed the owner, saying only that the roof and the outhouse door should be checked for noises. The reply was a single question: "What sounds did you hear?" The couple believe they were stalked by a wendigo, and the hunter is convinced that driving off that night would have turned her into a missing-person case.
