The goblins feast

 The Goblins’ Feast and the Wendigo’s Curse

In the snowy woods beyond our small town, the locals told stories of the Goblins’ Feast—a gathering of strange, shadowy creatures that happened every Christmas Eve. They whispered about lights flickering in the forest, about goblins sneaking into homes to steal food, toys, and even children.

But those were just stories. Or so I thought.

Last Christmas, my cousins and I decided to investigate the legend. It started as a joke, a way to escape the boring family dinner. Armed with flashlights and our phones, we trudged into the woods, the snow crunching beneath our boots.

We followed a trail that seemed oddly deliberate—small footprints, too large for a child yet too small for a man, winding through the trees. After about an hour, the forest grew unnaturally quiet. The air felt heavy, and the shadows stretched longer than they should.

Then we saw it.

A clearing bathed in an eerie green glow. Strange, hunched figures scurried around a massive bonfire, their shapes distorted by the flickering flames. They were goblins—short, gnarled creatures with spindly limbs, pointed ears, and glowing red eyes.

And they were feasting.

On a massive stone table lay the remains of something—something that had been alive. The goblins tore into it with jagged teeth, their high-pitched laughter echoing through the forest. Around the fire, piles of toys and stolen Christmas decorations glittered like macabre trophies.

“Let’s get out of here,” my cousin Daniel whispered, his voice trembling.

But before we could move, one of the goblins sniffed the air and turned toward us. Its eyes locked onto mine, and it grinned, revealing rows of sharp, yellowed teeth.

“Guests!” it screeched. The others froze, their heads snapping in our direction.

We ran.

The goblins shrieked, their clawed feet scratching against the snow as they chased us through the trees. My heart pounded, my breath coming in ragged gasps. I could hear their laughter growing louder, closer.

Then the howling started.

It wasn’t the goblins. This was deeper, more primal—a sound that seemed to shake the earth itself. The goblins stopped in their tracks, their eyes wide with fear.

“Wendigo,” one of them hissed, its voice barely audible.

The trees around us groaned and creaked, their branches twisting as something massive approached. Through the shadows, I saw it—a towering figure, gaunt and skeletal, its eyes burning like embers in a hollow, skull-like face. Antlers crowned its head, and its long, clawed hands scraped against the ground as it moved.

The Wendigo.

The goblins scattered, their shrieks fading into the distance. But the Wendigo wasn’t interested in them. It turned its gaze to us.

“You’ve trespassed,” it said, its voice a guttural growl that echoed in my bones.

“We’re sorry!” I stammered, backing away.

The Wendigo stepped closer, its skeletal frame towering over me. “Sorry will not save you,” it said. “You’ve seen the Feast. You’ve seen what should remain hidden.”

It raised one clawed hand, and the air grew colder, the snow beneath us turning to ice. My cousins and I tried to run, but the Wendigo’s gaze pinned us in place.

The Wendigo’s voice deepened, each word vibrating through my skull. “You will carry my curse, and through you, the Feast will spread.”

I felt the air shift, an invisible force wrapping around me like freezing chains. My body burned with icy pain, and my vision blurred. Daniel screamed, but his voice cut off as the Wendigo’s claws brushed against his forehead, leaving a blackened mark that shimmered faintly in the moonlight.

“Run,” the Wendigo growled. “Spread the Feast, or the hunger will claim you.”

Then it vanished, dissolving into the shadows as if it had never been there. The forest fell silent again, except for the ragged sound of our breathing. We didn’t wait to figure out what had just happened. We ran, stumbling through the snow, our limbs numb from fear and cold.

When we finally reached home, the house was dark and empty. My parents and cousins’ families were gone, the table still set for dinner, plates untouched. On the front door was a single, clawed scratch mark.

“They were taken,” Daniel whispered, his voice shaking. “The goblins must’ve…”

“We have to get help,” I said, but I knew it was hopeless. Who would believe us?

That night, we locked every door and window, but sleep didn’t come. The blackened mark on Daniel’s forehead glowed faintly in the darkness, and no matter how many blankets I piled on, I couldn’t shake the cold.

Then the hunger started.

At first, it was a faint gnawing sensation, but it grew, spreading through my stomach and chest like fire. I raided the fridge, devouring everything in sight, but nothing satisfied the hunger. Daniel was the same, tearing into leftover turkey with trembling hands, his eyes wide and desperate.

As the days passed, the hunger grew worse. We couldn’t leave the house, couldn’t explain what was happening. And then, on the fifth day after Christmas, we heard the voices.

The goblins were back.

We saw them through the windows, circling the house, their red eyes glowing in the darkness. They chanted in a language I didn’t understand, their clawed hands scraping against the walls.

And then, just like before, the howling began.

The Wendigo returned, its skeletal form emerging from the shadows. But this time, it didn’t speak. It just stared at us through the window, its burning eyes filled with a terrible hunger that mirrored our own.

“We’re going to become like them,” Daniel whispered, his voice barely audible. “The goblins… the Wendigo… it’s making us like them.”

I didn’t want to believe it, but deep down, I knew he was right. The hunger wasn’t just physical. It was changing us, twisting us into something else. My reflection in the window looked wrong—my skin too pale, my teeth too sharp.

That night, the goblins entered the house.

We didn’t fight. We didn’t run. We joined them, their laughter echoing in our ears as the Wendigo watched from the shadows. The Feast had claimed us, and now we were part of it.

Every Christmas since, the hunger drives us back to the woods. We light the bonfire, we lay the feast, and we wait. For the lights. For the songs. For new trespassers to join us.

If you hear the howling in the woods on Christmas Eve, turn back. Do not follow the trail. Do not look for the Feast. Because if you see it, you’ll never leave.

You’ll join the goblins at the table, and the Wendigo will be watching, waiting, as the hunger takes you too.