A slow night. After the cirque had been in one place for a few days, they became more common, as did the rumbling in his stomach. He felt thinner for it, lesser. The Wendigo had sequestered itself in a far section of the mirrored labyrinth. It gnawed on the marrow of a left over femur while it listened, waiting, anticipating. The mirrors in the area crawled with frost as it ate, its breath a cloud in the frigid air.
Then, noise. His mind was only fractionally human, but he recognized the singing voice from too many nights at Virtue & Vice. Rhine. With ... a drunk. Very drunk, by the heavy scent of bourbon on the air. She'd baited him here. Why? The creature laughed, a hollow crackling rasp. She was playing with her food, and it seemed, inviting him to join.
The closer they drew to his mirrored hollow, the more fully the drunk's fears unfolded for the Wendigo like a folio in his head. Clowns and female rejection. How boring. A laugh worthy of Pennywise sounded from the hollow skull that was Jim's face in daylight. Somewhere in the maze, the drunk was raving about how tasty Rhine's ass looked in all those mirrored angles. He stopped short at the sound. Again. Closer this time. "What the fuck's this shit? I dun ... I don't like clowns. C'mere. Let's go back," the drunk insisted, pawing for Rhine, stumbling ever further into the maze.