The Vanishing by Wendy Webb

and barrel. Hugh thought the experience would make a man of his son. He had no idea.”
    Mrs. Sinclair chuckled and looked into my eyes, as though we were sharing a joke. “Andrew came to this land, sailing from Scotland to the East Coast, up the St. Lawrence River to the Great Lakes, and finally making landfall in Duluth. From there he went on horseback, and what he found, my dear, was like nothing he could even imagine in his wildest dreams. Or nightmares.”
    My arms tingled. I wondered how dark and twisted this tale might become. She had warned me, after all.
    “Unlike what was happening in other parts of the state at that time, the native tribes in this area were friendly and welcoming,” she continued. “Andrew settled into a modest cabin north of Duluth and began, as his father had instructed, to learn the business with the goal of one day taking it over.”
    “Obviously, he achieved that goal,” I said, gesturing to the opulence around me.
    Mrs. Sinclair smiled. “Don’t get ahead of yourself, my dear. You haven’t heard the full story yet.”
    I snuggled deeper into the sofa and curled my legs under me.
    “It’s my opinion, Julia, that the voyage itself and the rustic, and one might say harsh, living conditions began to work their magic on young Andrew. One might think this spoiled, rich young man would have rebelled against his circumstances, but in fact theopposite occurred. I suppose he had a good deal of time to think on the voyage over here. Or perhaps he was awestruck by the beauty of this land, which was wild and untamed and like nothing he had ever seen. Whatever the case, by all accounts Andrew was a fast learner who embraced his new life. In no time he mastered the business and accounting side of things and was itching to get out into the field, so to speak. Soon he asked the business’s manager to go on a trapping run with the Voyageurs.”
    “Voyageurs?” I had heard the term before, but I wasn’t quite sure what it meant.
    “These were the men, many of them French Canadians like Andrew’s mother, who got into canoes and paddled up and down the lakes in the region. They worked the traps, bringing in the pelts that drove the business,” she explained. “They were savvy about the surroundings and very friendly with the native people, who shared secret knowledge about the land and the rivers and the lakes. Andrew wanted to know what they knew, and after several months of asking, he was finally allowed to go on a trapping run with them. It was an experience that changed Andrew’s life.”
    I was silent, sipping my tea and waiting for Mrs. Sinclair to go on.
    “After days of paddling in the massive canoes with eleven other men, portaging from lake to lake, sleeping under a canopy of stars each night, and seeing all manner of wildlife along the way, they reached what is now known as Gunflint Lake, not far from where Havenwood is today. There, they were invited to join the natives for a meal. The Voyageurs brought fish they had caught earlier in the day; the natives had venison and wild rice. After they had eaten, they sat around the campfire and began to tell young Andrew a tale. It was a warning about a monstrous being that roamed these woods.”
    I wrinkled my nose. “Not Bigfoot…?” I hoped this wasn’t where the story was going. I didn’t believe that old legend. Science would have discovered the creature by now if it existed.
    She shook her head. “Nothing as benign as that, I’m afraid. They told him the legend of the Windigo.”
    She visibly shuddered as she said the name. I knew I should know what this was; I had heard the name of this creature before. My mind reached back into the dusty recesses where it stored all of its not-often-used information but couldn’t grasp it.
    “The Windigo, darling, is a Native American legend. It is said that there is a beast that roams this area that is, well, for lack of a better term, Julia, a cannibal. It is a monstrous thing that had