Kurt shuffled through the papers, looking for a familiar one. It was adrenaline rushing to think of going back into the woods to hunt for this beast and his heart ached for sweet vengeance. He pulled one crumpled looking parchment on the table and eyed it suspiciously – I really got to clean up this place more often. He ploughed through the mess, throwing away useless sheets of empty parchment away until his eyes caught onto the letter.

Scrambling to pick it up, he almost tripped over one of his arrows on the floorboards. He silently grumbled to himself and lifted up the old velvet letter to read – it was red inked with black in cursive writing and signed Elizabeth at the bottom. Kurt stared at it, running a finger down the old parchment softly and sighing, humming a little tune of green sleeves as he read the letter to himself.

I strive to be my subterranean self, 
against nature; pepper, goodly so;
burlap memories are no good for holding water; 
it's cold today and the flowers have gone; 
the air is voluptuous, who says nothing can't have curves;
the sun wore a turtle-neck this morning - 
or mountains, I can no longer tell and it is scary —
this must be god's language.

It was the final letter she wrote. Kurt reminisced, remembering the soft sweet scent of lavender and her saccharine voice; that sounded like lovely bells. She loved poetry, she loved Burt and she would grace Kurt with all her love in the world. Kurt blinked slowly – he would've cried, he really would but he had dried up all his tears ever since she left into the woods.

Kurt shuddered at his nightmares. Haunting nightmares of him searching for his mother in the woods, with nothing but a useless gun and torchlight, it was torture with sleepless nights. He clenched his fists angrily – how he hated being useless and vulnerable. It wasn't fair that she had to go – it was inequitable.

­

He folded the letter neatly and shoved it in his pockets. Promptly, he shuffled a few more papers away from the table till it was empty except with a large silver bow assembled statically on the it. Kurt placed his hand on the still cold bow, memories flooding back into his mind – he as a little kid, training in the woods hunting birds and deers.

Of course now, he hunted differently. Different things to be more specific.

Kurt stalked over to a shelf were swords were hung on display and opened it up, dust emerging from the untouched metal and wood. Coughing slightly, Kurt reached in – a small little box, the size of a shoe box, at the back of all the swords. He pulled the silver box out carefully, still humming a little tune.

With equanimity, he opened the little box, his blue eyes dazed and filled with a quiet sort of tenderness. Inside were drawings of a beast – a large malnorished looking beast with the largest owl eyes and dreadful fangs that hung on it's lipless face. Claws that were sharpened and long, a wolfish structure that was neither man or monster. Kurt shifted the papers aside.

Underneath all that was a still heart. Dried out and unmoving lay a brown red stone cold heart.

Kurt smirked coldly.

The heart of the Wendigo. It looked too human to belong to such a monsterous creature and Kurt shook his head, willing the thoughts of anger to go away. He never thought of ever meeting such a creature again – they were rare cases, usually left to be ignored for the beast was not an easy catch. He smirked lightly, looking at the dried up heart, of course Kurt Hummel was not an amateur in this hunt.

 The mystery of how Cooper managed to see his brother after being captured by a Wendigo was surprising to Kurt – usually the victims were hunted and killed, possibly eaten up. A spark of hope fluttered in Kurt's chest but he pushed the feeling away, no, she's dead.

“Kurt?” Came a quiet mumble from the door and Kurt recognised Cooper's voice. He didn't turn around, feeling a familiar fear creep up his neck.

“What's my father's name?” Kurt asked, without looking back.

There was a pause. Then a puzzled reply, “Burt?” Cooper sounded confused at the sudden question as Kurt whipped around to see the man's face pale and tired out. Kurt Hummel didn't like people, especially not men who went around knocking at people's doors late at night. He frowned at Cooper, shaking his head at the bewildered looking man.

Of course Cooper wouldn't have known what had made Kurt shiver at the sound of his own name. Kurt breathed a sigh of irritation and glowered at Cooper, who looked more than annoyed at Kurt's reaction towards him.

“I'm sure you've read about the Wendigo's myth, Mr. Anderson.” Kurt began, looking cautiously at the other party. “Have you heard about what it can do?”

Cooper was silent for a moment, watching Kurt before nodding curtly. “I've read up about it, researched about it – but only you would know. You've been through it.” He raised an eyebrow at Kurt.

“The Wendigo is a supernatural entity of enormous power, the embodiment of insatiable hunger, gluttony, unbridled evil, and the savage predator.” Kurt spat out angrily, narrowing his eyes, “Lore has it that it is,” he paused for a moment lips curving up to a smirk, “That it is indestructible.”

Cooper gulped and Kurt chuckled a little, his blue eyes twinkling.

“The Wendigo is able to mimic human voices, which are most often cries for help. The beast's roar is utterly terrifying, and the fear it inspires cuts to the bone. When the freezing winds rise, it is said that the Wendigo's howls can be distinguished from the moan of the wind, letting people nearby know that a monster lurks in their midst. For its prey, these warnings occur far too late to make any appreciable difference.”

“Another myth of the Wendigo is if it's the middle of winter, and you hear your name in the howling wind, do not follow the voice.” Kurt muttered, fixing a hard stare at Cooper. “And since it is the middle of winter, Mr. Anderson,” he emphasised on Cooper's name, “Ask a question to make sure it's not the monster calling out for you.”

“Hence I asked you about my father's name.” Kurt smirked at the other party's expression.

“I know about that myth.” Cooper retorted back, looking slightly peeved. “But thanks for informing me.”

Kurt nodded sharply, “Let me shed a light on your might-be misconceptions of the beast.” He grinned mischievously, “According to legend, its nearly impossible to escape a wendigo. They are hunters by nature, being extremely fast and allowing nothing to get in the way of their never-ending hunger. Even if you could escape physical damage,” Kurt stopped, glancing unkindly at Cooper, “which is unlikely, the very fact that youd encountered an otherworldly wendigo would leave you mentally vacant. “

Cooper looked as if he was about to bestow a livid rejoin but he kept hushed and gazed expectantly at Kurt.

“The Wendigo was once a man that broke a tribal taboo and ate human flesh. A malignant spirit possesses the cannibal, and thus the Wendigo is born.” Kurt continued.

“When the Wendigo hunts, it stalks the victim for long periods. The chosen victim only has a dreadful feeling of being followed. Unfortunately, the Wendigo has a sadistic streak.” Kurt snarled, letting out a sharp exhale of breath.

“It prefers to terrify its victims before moving in for the kill, so that they panic, firing weapons haphazardly into the brush as the dense forest closes in on them. Eventually, the intended victim succumbs to insanity, running wildly into the forest with abandon. In such a state, they are easy prey for the Wendigo.”

Cooper's face paled slightly and Kurt continued solemnly.

“The Wendigo has been known to enter cabins and other dwelling, unlocking them from the outside and slaughtering the inhabitants, then proceeding to convert the cabin into its own lair. The Wendigo tends to hibernate for long periods, ranging in length from a few months to years at a time. Once they awaken, they go into a feeding frenzy, and after having eaten enough humans, it retreats to its lair and falls back into hibernation once again.”

There was a long pause.

Kurt looked at Cooper coldly. “On rare occasions, it will take humans alive and hide them away in its lair, allowing the beast to feed whenever it wants.” He saw Cooper's hazel brown eyes brighten with anticipation.

 “Since the Wendigo is more intelligent than many humans, it understands the value of storing and saving its food. However, it only resorts to this when food is scarce and it becomes desperate.” Kurt raised a brow. “Perhaps your little brother got lucky.”

Cooper grinned, “That is why I have to find him. I know he's alive, I can feel it.”

Kurt shook his head slowly, “I am not done here,” he stated icily. “He is alive but is he human?” There was an exchange of glances between the two parties as Cooper's face paled once more.

“You said he tried to eat the thief, Santana.” Kurt whispered his blue eyes dark and sharp with a flash of malevolence. “What if, Mr. Anderson,” His voice dropped low, “What if your little brother isn't what you think he is?”

Cooper was silenced, the hazel pools filled with guilt and fear.

“I cannot bring your brother back, Mr. Anderson.” Kurt concluded quietly. “I can only find him or his dead body.”

The room was so dead quiet; you could even hear a pin drop. Kurt observed the older man, who seemed so hopeless and lost – something stirred in Kurt's heart, a sting of sadness for the man he never met till a few hours ago. The Wendigo, Kurt thought, was not a monster that one could encounter and hope to survive.

Cooper's gaze fell to the floor and he let out a few mumbles that Kurt couldn't hear.

“What?” Kurt questioned.

Cooper's head rose up to meet Kurt's curious expression. “If we bring him back and it's not Blaine – then kill it.”

Hazel brown eyes were glistened with tears as they met Kurt's blue ones. For a slight moment, Kurt could feel the disappointment burning within those pools, the guilt, the misery and the anger was all too familiar.

“You did it before didn't you?” Cooper muttered, now staring at the box Kurt was holding onto, “That thing there. The beast's heart.”

Kurt let out a loud chuckle.

“Oh but it once was my mother's.” Kurt's eyes were cold and bitter, letting out a snort of disgust as he closed the box shut. Cooper's eyes flew wide open as Kurt fixated the other party with a glare. “I have your word that I can kill the beast even if he looks like your brother?”

Cooper nodded mutely.

“Your mother –“

Kurt interrupted the man with a hard stare. “Go away.” He growled at Cooper, narrowing his ice blue eyes, ignoring the hurt look on Cooper's face.

Obediently, Cooper turned towards the doorway but stopped midway. “I remembered why I came here in the first place,” He back-traced to Kurt, who nonchalantly stared at the older man.

Cooper pulled out a photograph from his jacket pocket and passed it over to Kurt. On it was a young boy, a bright happy smile plastered on his tan face and brown hair gelled up neatly – he was standing next to a younger version of Cooper, who was also grinning happily, a hand on his brother's shoulder.

“That's Blaine.” Cooper muttered, “Or rather what he used to be.” There was a sad quiver in Cooper's voice. 

Kurt stared at the photograph idly and looked back up at Cooper. “I will see you tomorrow at breakfast; we have a lot of things to discuss about.” He stated solemnly. “I don't really need a picture, but I guess it will help.”

At that Cooper nodded and left the room briskly.

Kurt turned back to the photograph of the boy and Cooper. His mother's voice echoed in his head, a poem she used to sing to Kurt.

“Its eyes are ice and indigo!

Its blood is rank and yellowish!

Its voice is hoarse and bellowish!

Its tentacles are slithery,

And scummy,

Slimy,

Leathery!

Its lips are hungry blubbery,

And smacky,

sucky,

rubbery!”

Kurt curled his upper lip angrily. Blaine's already dead. All he need do to was to kill another Wendigo that looked like a person. Jolly fun that would be.