Wendi-Joe

Wendi-Joe - The Apex Predator

Title: Wendi-Joe

Author: Joseph Bowen

Genre: Psychological Horror / Supernatural Thriller

Word count: 31,905 words

INTRODUCTION

If you’re reading this, understand one thing first: this is not a story about justice as it is supposed to work.

It’s about what happens when it doesn’t.

We like to believe the world is governed by rules—by systems designed to protect the innocent and punish the guilty. Most days, that illusion is enough to keep us moving forward. But there are moments when the cracks become impossible to ignore. Moments when the people who should be held accountable slip through unseen, untouched, and unafraid.

This is not a book meant to glorify violence or chaos. It is an examination of consequence—of what happens when desperation meets opportunity, and when survival demands a choice that cannot be undone.

My name is Joe Baker. I didn’t set out to become a monster. I didn’t even believe monsters were real. I had ordinary goals, ordinary ambitions, and a future that made sense—until it didn’t.

What follows is not a warning, nor an excuse. It is a record. Of pain. Of hunger. Of decisions made when the alternative was doing nothing at all.

It began with a dream. And a scream.

PROLOGUE

Will kept his hands tight around the flashlight as he pushed through the underbrush, stepping lightly despite the crunch of twigs beneath his boots. The forest swallowed most of the moonlight, allowing only thin beams to cut through the canopy above. Every rustle of leaves made him pause.

His breath caught when he saw it.

A decrepit wooden shack sat wedged between moss-covered trees, as though it had grown there instead of being built. The air around it felt colder—stale, heavy, like something long buried and forgotten. Will hesitated before stepping closer.

The door creaked open on its own.

Inside, the smell hit him immediately: damp rot layered with something metallic and old. The shack was cramped and decaying—warped floorboards, shattered glass tucked into corners, and tattered rags hanging from rusted nails like remnants of another life. A collapsed chair leaned against the far wall, half-consumed by mold. On the back of the door, faint but unmistakable, was the outline of a handprint.

His flashlight flickered as he scanned the corners.

Empty.

Almost.

In the farthest corner, barely visible in the low light, a dark stain spread across the floor. Nearby, a single claw mark had been carved into the wood—long, deliberate, and far deeper than the surrounding decay. Beneath a collapsed beam, resting as if it had been placed there intentionally, lay a grimoire.

Its leather cover was cracked and cold to the touch, reinforced by worn stitching that hinted at both age and purpose. Crude symbols were etched across its surface, faintly glowing, twisted and looping in patterns that seemed to shift when he stared too long. The whispers radiating from it were subtle but constant, pressing against his thoughts and amplifying the unease crawling up his spine.

Will swallowed.

Curiosity overpowered caution.

His hand trembled as he brushed his fingers across the cover. He didn’t understand the language—didn’t even recognize it—but every instinct he had screamed that it was never meant for human eyes.

Clutching the flashlight tighter, he pulled the book free and tucked it under his arm. Then he turned toward the doorway, intent on leaving the shack—

—and never speaking of it again.

CHAPTER I: THE LAST DANCE

Custer, South Dakota — June 6th, 08:00

The sun had only just begun to rise when I was ripped from sleep. I sat up, breath shallow, heart pounding. The images from my dream still clung to me like cold sweat, burning behind my eyelids as vividly as if they’d happened in the room. A scream—no, a wail, something primal and ancient—still echoed in my skull. It wasn’t human. It wasn’t animal either. It was something else. Something raw. Something old. It triggered an instinct buried deep in my bones. My skin prickled. The hairs on my arms stood up. I threw off the covers, grabbed a pencil, and started sketching the thing from my dream before it could fade. My hand moved fast, lines forming with unintentional precision: antlers gnarled like twisted roots, deep hollow sockets where eyes should have been, a gaunt skeletal frame—unnaturally tall—looming just beyond reach. The shriek wouldn’t leave me. My phone rang, jolting me. It was Mom.

“Hey, kiddo! You ready for the convention center today?” Her voice was bright, a sharp contrast to the shadow the dream had left on me. She was always the light.

“Yeah,” I said, trying to shake it off. “Chance and I were talking about it last night. We’re still trying to find a sport we can stick to. Been hitting the gym hard. I’m hoping to see something in aerospace engineering, too.”

“That’s my boy,” she said with a smile in her voice. “I’ve already picked up Will. Lunch is packed. We’ll see you there.”

“Alright, Mom. See you there.”

Even after I hung up, the weight of the dream stayed on my shoulders. The creature’s image burned behind my eyes. Still, I pushed it aside, ran through my morning routine—supplements, water, shower, quick breakfast—and let sunlight spill through the blinds. Routine mattered. It was the only way I kept things from slipping. For myself and for my mom.

It felt like it was going to be a good day. When I arrived at the convention center, I spotted them right away. My mom, Lynell, stood by the entrance, vibrant and steady as always. She was the kind of mom who remembered every detail: sandwiches, extra napkins, even motivational quotes scribbled on sticky notes. Beside her was Will, my best friend since fourth grade. Quiet, insightful, unshakably loyal—he saw more than he let on and had a knack for reading people. Mom hugged me. “Your hair’s a mess, but you look sharp,” she said, adjusting my collar.

A moment later, Chance jogged up, earbuds hanging loose around his neck, bouncing on his heels like he was already mid-warmup. Chance was the kind of friend who made any day feel like summer break—charismatic, hilarious, and always pushing the limits. He never graduated high school, but he carried himself like it didn’t matter. If chaos had an engine, it would look a lot like him.

“About time you showed up,” Will grinned.

“Traffic,” I said.

“You live five minutes away,” Will muttered.

I smirked. “Had to shake off a dream that would give you nightmares for a week.”

Will tilted his head. “You always say that. One day I’m going to ask what’s actually in your head.”

“Maybe someday,” I said. “You’ll need a whole journal to understand it, though.”

We stepped inside together.The place was massive—rows of booths, presentations, and a constant buzz of voices.Students moved between them, some excited, some overwhelmed.That subtle pressure to figure life out pressed in on all of us.Chance darted past us toward a table. “Race you guys to the first booth!”

He skimmed a flyer until we got there. “Programming? Boring.”

“Don’t diss what you don’t understand,” Will replied. “I could build you a better workout tracker in an hour.”

“Cool. I’ll hit you up when I need to pirate Minecraft,” Chance shot back.

The banter was easy. Familiar. It kept things light. We spent the next half hour collecting brochures, talking to reps, narrowing down options for sports programs and engineering internships. Will found a robotics stand that caught his interest. Everything was running smoothly—until Chance bounced on his heels again. “Yo,” he whispered. Will rolled his eyes. “Again? We just got here.” Chance grinned. We followed him toward the restrooms, laughing under our breath. That’s when something on the wall stopped us cold—an old missing person poster. The photo was faded, corners worn, clearly from years ago. Serenity Dennard. Two kids were snickering at it. “Smash or pass?” one muttered.

I froze. Heat rose in my chest.

Will tried grabbing my arm, but I shrugged him off. “Don’t joke about things you don’t understand,” I snapped. “Would you laugh if that was you or your sister?”

Their smirks vanished, and they bolted.

Will exhaled slowly.Chance emerged from the restroom, flicking water from his fingers. “What happened? Joe go full vigilante again?”

“Something like that,” Will said.

I shook my head, biting back the rest of the thought.

We regrouped with Mom in the lobby. She handed out sandwiches—Chance inhaled two immediately.

“Save some for the rest of us,” I said.

“Carb-loading,” he replied. “Besides, I didn’t graduate with you guys. If you don’t win that fitness challenge, who will?”

I smirked, but that tension from earlier stirred again. Not fear—more like a premonition.We were about to head out when Mom stiffened.Her gaze locked on a man across the lot, a little girl in a green and pink coat at his side.The girl’s hesitant posture made Mom step slightly in front of us.

“I don’t like the look of that,” she murmured. “Something feels off.”

Will followed her gaze. “What’s going on?”

“That man,” Mom said quietly. “She doesn’t look comfortable with him.”

“You think it’s serious?” Chance asked.

Mom didn’t answer at first. She pulled out her phone. “If she pulls away one more time, I’m calling the authorities. I’d rather be wrong than silent.”

The man crouched to speak to the girl, then took her hand. She went with him, expression unreadable.

Mom watched until they turned the corner, then slowly lowered her phone.

“Most people wouldn’t have noticed that,” I said. “I’m glad you did.”

Her fist clenched tight like she was stressed, then let it go.

It was the first time I’d seen her do that in a while; in moments like these, she tended to go quiet.

After scarfing down what remained of our sandwiches, I pointed at Chance. “Don’t forget—we’ve got the gym tomorrow. Don’t be late.”

Chance nearly choked on the chunk of meat and bread in his mouth. “Late? Me?” he scoffed. “I practically invented the gym. I’ll be finishing my last set before you even walk through the door.”

The next day, I stood at the entrance of the gym waiting for him. Hours later, my phone buzzed with a text.

Can’t make it tonight.

I exhaled slowly. Oh well. I was getting these gains whether he showed up or not.