Algernon Blackwood’s classic tale, The Wendigo. An influential novella by one of the most best-known writers of fantasy and horror, set in a place and time. The Wendigo [Algernon Blackwood] on *FREE* shipping on qualifying offers. The Wendigo is a short novel that describes the terror of irrational. You can read a full version of The Wendigo here. Algernon Blackwood’s The Wendigo is one of the best known “ghost stories.” Chances are, if.

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I give high praise to the story for its content and excellence in prose. The narrator introduces one of these fears during his introduction – the fear of not being able to trust your own senses.

I have read his biography on Xlgernon. It was endless–too prolonged to be quite real–this measured and pitiless approach. Definitely one of the better “classics” that I have read.

The Wendigo

On this particular expedition he was Hank’s choice. English Character set encoding: He blundered against the tent pole with violence, shaking the whole structure, spreading his arms out frantically for more room, and kicking his legs impetuously free of the clinging blankets. The way nature is depicted only confirms that I could never be a scout. The poor beggar goes at such a dreadful speed that he bleeds beneath the eyes, and his feet burn.

The shadow of an unknown horror, naked if unguessed, that had flashed for an instant in the face and gestures of the guide, had also communicated itself, vaguely and therefore more potently, to his companion. Then–it was wholly gone, and he found himself standing by the ashes of the fire in a state of amazement and stupid terror that left him the helpless prey of anything that chose to happen.

Algernin he “managed” Hank admirably. English writer of ghost stories and supernatural fiction, of whom Lovecraft wrote: It was his nephew, however, hitherto so wonderfully controlled, who gave him most cause for anxiety, for the cumulative strain had now produced a condition of lachrymose hysteria which made it necessary to isolate him upon a bed of boughs and blankets as far removed from Hank as was possible under the circumstances.

Presently he heard his regular and quiet breathing, and putting his hand again gently on the breast, felt the steady rise and fall beneath. A few steps, it seemed, and he was no longer visible.


glackwood Like huge flying leaps they became. There had been a light fall of snow during the night and the air was sharp. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm collection. It is the Wendigo. Blackwood was born in Shooter’s Hill today part of south-east London, but then part of northwest Kent and educated at Wellington College.

The Wendigo by Algernon Blackwood

I can see why it is regarded as a key, influential piece of horror literature. Defago had sung his song and plunged into a story, but Hank, in bad humor, reminded him so often that “he kep’ mussing-up the fac’s so, that it was ‘most all nothin’ but a petered-out lie,” that the Frenchman had finally subsided into a sulky silence which nothing seemed likely to break. I really enjoyed The Wendigo as both the story and the literary structure. The Wendigo lurks out there. The dull tapping of the axe upon the massive trunks, and the unnatural accents of his own voice became at length sounds that he even dreaded to make, dreaded to hear.

Perhaps Defago’s efforts, or the return of his quiet and normal attitude accomplished this; perhaps Simpson himself had exaggerated the affair out of all proportion to the truth; or possibly the vigorous air of the wilderness brought its own powers of healing. That ain’t him at all, but some–devil that’s shunted into his place! Even better this time.

Into the Woods: “The Wendigo” by Algernon Blackwood

Las’ year it was the fires that kep’ tue out, and this year I guess–I guess it jest happened so, that’s all! It was a performance unpleasantly suggestive and at the same time singularly dramatic. But after something like wendiog hours’ search, the darkness already down, the two men returned to camp with nothing to report. It seemed a question, nicely balanced between individual pride and honesty, what he should reveal and what suppress.

And Hank has never seen fit to tell. This approach is something Lovecraft used frequently with great effect, and is something I consider a signature element in some of my favorite Lovecraft pieces. Wrndigo himself, already initiated by the awful vigil with terror, was beyond both of them in this respect.


The Wendigo (novella) – Wikipedia

Only Defago, as a symbol of a distant civilization where man was master, stood between him and a pitiless death by exhaustion and starvation. Email contact links and up to date contact information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and official page at http: Cathcart kept his vigil. And now–that is, unless you kin save me an’ prevent–it’s ’bout time for–” His piteous and beseeching voice was interrupted by a sound that was like the roar of wind coming across the lake.

Look carefully into the face of your companion. And soon it came about that he no longer quite realized what it was they signified–these impressions left upon the snow by something nameless and untamed, always accompanied by the footmarks of the little French Canadian, his guide, his comrade, the man who had shared his tent a few hours before, chatting, laughing, even singing by his side The woods rang with echoes.

It was impossible to silence him. And the sight of these huge tracks, running side by side, silent evidence of a dreadful journey in which terror or madness had urged to impossible results, was profoundly moving. He had himself tolerably well in hand, all things considered, and his plan of action proves it. But that laugh started the machinery of the group of waxwork figures with the wax-white skins.

Hank, though familiar with the legend in its general outline, obviously did not welcome the turn the conversation had taken. He even felt vaguely ashamed of himself.

After five minutes again he lifted his head and sniffed, and yet once again. So far as he can recall, it was a violent movement, running downwards through the tent towards the door, that first woke him and made him aware that his companion was sitting bolt upright beside him–quivering.

Almost, one might have seen in it the hand of man. Regardless, they continue their hunt for moose, but to no avail. Hank was the most honest of the group; he said next to nothing.