Clay wiped the fog from the mirror and brushed his teeth. Once he finished rinsing, he asked: "We should go to dinner tonight. There's a really good chicken place across town."
Kenny called out from the shower: "I don't think so."
"It'd make me feel better if you'd eat."
"I do eat," said Kenny with a laugh, "I had a sandwich earlier."
Clay went to the kitchen and peered into the trash bin. Nothing of interest. He looked into the sink. Nothing but a glass sat at the bottom of the stainless steel basin. Not even a butter knife with a residue of mayonnaise or mustard on it.
While Kenny was still in the shower, Clay peeled back the comforter on the bed. The dust had returned, only there was more of it, patches of it clung to the sheets. He brushed at it, batted at it, then pinched a piece of it between his fingers to look at it. Black, needle-like, and white at one tip. It was a coarse black hair.
He stripped the bed and washed the sheets and tried to cope with a fear he couldn't name.
"This doesn't mean anything," he said to himself, "You're safe. You're safe."
YOU ARE READING
The Wendigo
HorrorKenny finally moves in with his long-distance boyfriend, but his happiness is tempered by disapproving friends, a fiery bus crash, and the sneaking suspicion he's living with a monster.
