This week's dream cast is: 

Sophia: Liza Koshy

Casper: David Dobrick

Jacques: Alex Ernst

Nico: Todd Smith

Sally: Kristen Mcatee

Blood: Scotty Sire 

The Royal Hunting Lodge

Sophie Reese

I fell and hit the frozen ground hard. My ankle and wrist snapped on impact; the pain was unbearable. I buried my face into the snow and held onto the scream building in my throat. Yes, it was agony, but one small sound could alert the guards to the fact I was no longer in my room. I had to push past the pain. I had to think about Christian.

I closed my eyes and tried to disconnect from the pain. I thought about Belize and my family's farm. White beaches, turquoise sea, strong sunlight warming my bones...

SNAP.

The second wave of pain, punched me in the gut as the broken bones popped back into alignment. Sitting up in the snow, I rotated my wrist left and right, checking to see if the bones had mended. Thankfully, it felt good. This was a massive relief as there had been a small nagging doubt in my mind, that my healing ability had not fully returned to me after the car accident. Standing up, I checked my ankle, jumping up and down lightly. This too seemed to be okay.

I scrambled about for the backpack that I had thrown out the window first and found it hanging in a rose bush. I grabbed the backpack and swung it over my shoulders.

"Sophie," a voice yelled.

I looked up and saw Christie, running across the lawn with a concerned look on her face.

"Sophie, did you jump out of that window?"

"Yip, " I replied pulling the torch out of my backpack.

"Why didn't you use the door?"

"Because everyone in this building, with the exception of you and me, is crazy!"

"I don't understand you," Christie replied confused.

"I'm sorry, but I don't have time to explain. I saw Christian, Luc's freaking son, wander off into the woods by himself."

Christie's eyes widen in alarm, "This is bad."

"I know! No one in that freaking house seems to understand basic childcare - who leaves a little kid completely unsupervised? I could be missing something, maybe it's a vampire thing, or maybe Luc hates his son?"

"Try not to think badly of others, Sophie. I saw Christian this evening and he was being watched over by Gwendolyn and her mother, Augusta. I think he must have given them the slip. I don't believe they would let him wander off into the woods by himself."

"Intentional or not, he's in the woods where I got attacked last night."

"Do you think we should call the guards?"

"That's a big no-no. Me and the guards are having some trust issues at the moment. If they catch me outside my room then I'm getting a butt full of silver."

"Ouch," Christie winced.

"It's up to us," I said, handing her the torch.

She forced a brave smile and replied, "I'm with you all the way."

We set off across the frozen ground, following Christian's set of tiny footprints. The snow was falling fast and heavy, threatening to bury the footprints under a fresh layer of white. We followed the tracks into the tree line and started to navigate our way through the woods. Christie stayed close to me, shining the torch on the path ahead, while I held on tightly to the iron poker. The woods seemed darker tonight. A cold chill swept over me and had the sickening feeling that we were being watched.

"Something feels wrong," Christie whispered, sensing what I was already thinking.

"I know. I think we are not the only ones in this wood tonight," I replied.

She slowed down and swept the torch beam across the thick entangled bracken in front of us.

"I don't see anything but dead branches," she sighed irritably. "My eyesight is useless. Can you see in the dark?" she asked.

"No, I don't have any special vampire power."

"Well, there's nothing we can do except hope we don't run into whatever you saw last night."

"I'm sure we won't," I said, trying to sound upbeat.

The truth was, I didn't feel optimistic at all. In fact, I was downright terrified. I may not have seen what attacked me last night, but I sure as hell felt it. When I closed my eyes, I could still feel its claws sinking into my flesh and its horrible smell.

"Hey, Christie? Do you know any monsters with massive claws that can speak like a human?"

"I once heard that some powerful werewolf alphas can shift into a form that is crossed between a wolf and man. They are supposed to have terrible claws."

"Do you think what attacked me last night was a werewolf?"

"Anything is possible, however, it's extremely unlikely. Wolves stick to their own territory. In fact, they usually exist in small towns hidden deep in the forest. There would be no reason for them to come up into the mountains and start picking fights with another species."

"Is there anything else it might be?"

"A vampire with a machete, maybe."

"Nah, I don't think it was a vampire. This thing sounded big, like a freaking moose, and it stunk too."

"What did it smell like?"

"Like meat gone bad. Real bad."

"I've never heard of anything smelling like death, except..." her voice trailed off and she shook her head. "No, it couldn't be."

"Couldn't be what?" I pushed.

"Some demons are supposed to smell like death. There is one demon that springs to mind, but it's more of a legend than an actual supernatural."

"I'm at the point where I'm willing to grasp at straws."

"Well then, there is the Wendigo, a monster from Native American mythology. Back in the old days when people were at real risk of starvation during the winter months, the Wendigo was said to drive good men to cannibalism. Men would become possessed with an insatiable appetite to the point they were willing to eat human flesh. The hunger would drive them to attack any living creature including their own family members. There are documented cases of men murdering and cannibalising their own families under the supposed influence of the Wendigo."

"Jesus, that's messed up."

"The Wendigo itself is a creature that is constantly starving, unable to sate its ravenous appetite. It wanders the frozen forest on the hunt for mortal flesh. It mimics the cries of its last victim, to lure people towards it. The few people who have claimed to encounter a wendigo describe them as a humanoid creature that has the head of a stag and the emaciated torso of a human. They are supposed to stink of rotting flesh because their flesh is rotting, sometimes hanging off the bone. It's a vivid picture, but the stuff of urban legend."

"I don't know, your description ticks a lot of boxes."

"Sophie, it's a myth. Wendigos are not registered as supernaturals. They are legends people created to personify the starvation of winter. It's fascinating, but fantasy."

I wanted to believe her. It would have been easy to laugh it off as a piece of obscure folklore, yet, there was something about the story that resonated with my encounter last night. The smell of death, the claws, and that woman's voice - oh my god, that poor woman. Could those have really been her last words?

"Sophie," Christie said, touching my arm. "It's not real."

"You don't understand, the voice I heard, the woman, she sounded like she was in trouble. Towards the end, she was practically screaming."

"Listen to me, wendigos are not rea-"

Before Christie could finish saying the word 'real', a distant female voice drifted through the trees.

"Help me."

We both stopped. Christie swung the beam of light around us. Through the trees, I glimpsed the dry stone wall that marked the edge of the estate line. Beyond that was thick importable darkness. I held my fire poker out in front of me and asked Christie, "So, how do we kill a Wendigo?"

"I don't know. I never read about how to kill them. I didn't think they were real."

A low guttural growl cut through our chatter. It was there, lurking in the blackness in front of us.

"Janey, have you come to help me? Oh god's truth, what is that?"

The panic in the woman's voice, cut straight through me. I grabbed the torch from Christie and approached the wall, sweeping the beam across the tree trunks in front of me. Christie stayed close behind me, holding onto my arm.

"We should go back to the house and get help. An ass full of silver can't be as bad as this," she whimpered.

"Christian is out there. I'm not leaving without him."

Christie squeezed my arm, "Oh shit, flash your light left."

I turned the beam and saw Christian. He had climbed over the wall and was stumbling up the snowy embankment.

"Christian," I called out.

"No, no, no," Christie yelled, yanking my arm harder. "In front of Christian, can you see it."

I raised the beam of light up a fraction and it settled on the branches of two firs. The branches twitched, sending a flurry of snow to the ground. Christian laughed and stretched his little hands out, trying to grasp at the falling snow.

"I don't get it, what do you see?" I asked.

"It's there. It's standing in front of him, behind the trees."

"What is?"

"The Wendigo," she replied.