The Howling of the Wind Digital Art by Daniel Eskridge

The Howling of the Wind

by Daniel Eskridge

Canvas Print

$80

Framed Print

$89

Art Print

$32

Poster

$32

Metal Print

$86

Acrylic Print

$94

Wood Print

$66

Tapestry

$41

Throw Pillow

$26

Fleece Blanket

$48

Duvet Cover

$100

Shower Curtain

$73

Bath Towel

$35

Ornament

$9.50

Jigsaw Puzzle

$41

Tote Bag

$24

Weekender Tote Bag

$43

Zip Pouch

$25

Portable Battery Charger

$49

Yoga Mat

$60

Greeting Card

$15

Spiral Notebook

$15

Sticker

$4.00

iPhone Case

$32

Beach Towel

$35

Round Beach Towel

$70

Weekender Tote Bag

$43

Coffee Mug

$14

Men's Clothing

$28

Women's Clothing

$28

Youth Clothing

$24

Toddler Clothing

$22

Baby Clothing

$26

Title

The Howling of the Wind

Artist

Daniel Eskridge

Medium

Digital Art - Digital Painting

Description

The Howling of the Wind

Katy was alone. Her mother had disappeared years ago when she was a small child leaving her to live with her father and brothers on a farm in a secluded valley. Throughout the past year, their livestock had mysteriously vanished: one after another. Even the pig had gone missing from its pen, the fence undamaged, as if some great bird had just absconded with the animal into the air. The horses, too, were gone. Low on food, her father and brothers had gone to town to get supplies, but due to a twisted ankle, she had stayed behind.

She had expected her father and brothers to return in just a day, but the evening after they left, a blizzard had rolled in. With the pass blocked by snow, she knew she’d have to wait a while. A couple of weeks later, the storm was long gone, though, the wind never stopped wailing. She figured the way to town should have been clear enough, yet her family members were not back.

Her food had run out and hunger had set in. She decided that she would leave behind the safety of the farm and trek through the wilderness to town on her own. She put on a warm coat, grabbed a spare six shooter and a hunting knife. The gun only had two bullets, but she hoped that she’d not really need it. No dangerous wildlife had ever been spotted in the valley. Still, it was better to be safe than sorry.

Outside the ground was still covered in snow. It was no longer too deep to walk in, but she still left a trail of prints wherever she went. It was mid-morning when she set off.

For several hours, her trip was uneventful. With the wind constantly blowing, the cold was biting, and her empty stomach did not help matters.

As the day wore on, she neared the forested hills that preceded the pass. She thought she heard something…just barely over the wind…a shuffling in the snow behind her. She turned to look, but saw nothing. Attributing it to just the din of nature, she continued on.

The forest of spruce trees closed in around her as she walked ever higher towards the mountains. The wind wailed louder. Again, she heard something behind her. This time, it sounded like steps. She turned quickly to see who was following her. For a moment, she though she caught a dark form out of the corner of here eye, but when she looked back, there was nothing but the fir trees, snow, and cloudy skies.

Sometime later, she thought she heard a voice on the wind. It sounded like it may have been her father or one of her brothers, but she turned this way and that and saw no one.
A memory of a story came to her mind. It was of an old Indian legend of a demon…or perhaps a man possessed by a demon: the Wendigo. It was said to be brought by starvation and the cold of winter. No matter how fast one turned, one could never see it, that is, until it was too late and it was upon you.

She shook off her nervousness and continued walking towards the pass, but now, she had her gun grasped tightly in her hand. The wind howled ever louder, but soon she started hearing the footsteps again, crunching through the snow behind her. This time, they seemed closer than before. She spun quickly and fired her gun twice at the dark form that she again saw out of the corner of her eye, but both shots hit nothing. In frustration, she hurled the now empty gun in the direction of where she thought she had seen something. It landed harmlessly in the snow.

Panic began to seize her. She drew the hunting knife for protection and started running towards the pass. Just as she ran though the pass, the steps again began behind her. Now, they were closer than ever.

Katy sprinted down the trail that descended into the town. Her lungs burned with the cold air and her legs ached, but she never slowed. She ran nearly to the point of collapse, but, somehow, she reached the town.

She immediately noticed that something was wrong. No smoke drifted from the chimneys. No horses were hitched in front of the buildings. The snow in the street that ran through town was pristine and unbroken with not a footprint in sight.

Katy ran to the closest door. She didn’t bother to knock, but threw it open and dashed inside. No one was there. She checked each room, found them devoid of people, then bounded up the stairs. The bedrooms contained only neatly made beds, except the last. In the largest of them, there was something lumpy under the blankets. She threw the covers back praying to find a person, but instead she was horrified to find only the bleached skull of a deer.

She backed away then headed down the stairs and towards the door intent on check another house. When she emerged she froze. In the street, she saw her prints in the snow lead up to the door. Next to them was a second set. Huge and inhuman they seemed to have followed her into the house.

Katy screamed, but her cries were lost in the howling of the wind.

---

Several days later, a deputy from another town rode in. He had come to see why some expected deliveries from this place had never arrived. As he rode down the street, he looked down. He saw a single trail of small footprints coming into town from the direction of the mountains. They seemed to come right down the street and just stopped as if the person had been picked up and carried away by some great bird.

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Sometimes I feel an artwork just needs a story to go with it. So I penned this one based on various versions of the Wendigo legend that I’ve heard.

Thanks for stopping by,
Daniel