1.

William Windigo was an eccentric billionaire who had not been seen alive in public for over a decade. During that time, however, he had been seen dead (unofficially) on at least 11 separate occasions. Fragmentary evidence, combined with rabid internet speculation, sometimes placed this figure significantly higher.

Ten years ago, Windigo sold the multinational corporation with which he’d made his fortune, and commissioned a state-of-the-art private ocean liner, The Manitou. Popular legend held that The Manitou was lost at sea somewhere in the Arctic Circle during it’s first year afloat. Residents of an undisclosed northerly port, however, knew this to be a falsification. Twice yearly for the past ten years The Manitou had made port calls to this small town to take on large numbers of unusual supplies and occasionally crew members. The local government was more than happy to keep these visits under wraps on the condition of continued business.

Windigo, of course, was not known to come ashore during these visits. Although, if he had, it was unlikely local townspeople would have recognized him as the man behind their town’s decade-long economic surge. Even before his disappearance, Windigo had been notoriously camera-shy, and had successfully bullied a variety of mass-media companies to make sure that his image stayed out of the public eye.

The first of Windigo’s “post-life” appearances had occurred simultaneously with the reported sinking of The Manitou. Long-time friend and business partner, Jeffrey Able, released an informal public statement describing a dream he’d had in which Windigo was killed in the equipment explosion which contributed to the loss of The Manitou. Of course, the ship had not been lost at all. Able, following a pre-determined plan, was merely helping to create the media smokescreen through which Windigo had disappeared. Able dispatched a phony search & rescue operation to the last known coordinates of The Manitou. The team discovered only a floating field of debris, strewn with the frozen bodies of several known crew-members. After three days without further results, Windigo and all others aboard were presumed dead, and the rescue mission abandoned. But from there, the legend had only grown.

Since that time, all other sightings of Windigo had been of a spectral nature. Appearances were said to have been made to a variety of family members and close associates. Except in the instance of Able’s initial dream, these phantasms were not publicly reported, but information had slipped out due to the unusual nature of these events. It seemed that each of the recipients of a ghostly visit from Windigo had shortly thereafter disappeared.

2.

Though outside observers might refute it, Harold Quibbins did not consider himself a conspiracy theorist. It was just that there were certain unusual topics which he found tantalized him to no end. High on the list was the mysterious death and post-life exploits of billionaire William Windigo. Harold, in fact, ran a website with a small but loyal following devoted to this enigma. Participants posted links and news clippings culled from sources the world over pertaining to Windigo, his family, known business associates, and a variety of far-fetched theories which sought to integrate the various phenomena into some kind of cohesive narrative. Quibbins himself had birthed what was far and away the single-most popular theory afloat among internet sleuths, a fact of which Quibbins was enormously proud.

In a nutshell, Harold postulated that Windigo had discovered an Arctic passageway into what was commonly called “The Hollow Earth.” The Hollow Earth theory, originally promulgated by Sir Edmund Halley (of Halley’s Comet fame), suggested that under Earth’s crust existed another world (multiple ones actually), complete with life forms, and even advanced civilizations of its own. Harold, however, was not willing to throw away modern geological findings which had subsequently nullified any possibility that Earth might be hollow. Instead, he believed that the Hollow Earth theory should be taken as a primitive metaphorical model to describe parallel realms of existence which overlapped our own.

It was into one of these parallel realms which Quibbins believed that William Windigo had slipped. Not only did Quibbins believe it, but he had evidence to support it: Windigo had told him so.

3.

“Mr. Quibbins…”

Harold awoke with a start. His heart was racing. The voice. It had been so real. He had dreamt he heard it while laying in bed, that it was coming from within his room. It sounded not like one voice, but like a dozen voices which had been fused together into one. It had almost seemed to occupy a physical space in the dream. Without getting up, Harold glanced quickly around the room, just to double check. He hadn’t had any “visions” (as his mother had called them) in years. But this had that same hyper-real quality he remembered.

But there was nothing in the room with him. The first rays of morning filtered lazily past the edges of his window shades. Harold let out a very small sigh of relief, and went back to sleep.

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance,” the voice crackled.

The voice. Harold tried to open his eyes again, and found that he could not.

The voice seemed to get closer. “Please, stay a few moments. We have much to discuss.”

“Like what?” Harold asked timidly.

“You don’t recognize me?” The voice shimmered into substance, assuming the shape of an old man with incredible distance written over all his features.

“No, I don’t… I,” and all at once, his mind flashed on news reports he’d seen years ago. “Windigo? But I don’t understand… why… why are you here?”

“Because, my boy. I want you to join us.” Windigo whispered, as though his voice were wind snaking through a grove of trees.

4.

Harold had never told anyone about this dream. Not even his best friend, Chad McCarthy, who he met every Thursday evening for drinks.

“Chad,” he said. “You remember that book I loaned you a year or so ago, about the Hollow –-” Harold paused as the waitress came to take their empty plates away.

“Yeah, the Hollow Earth theory…” Chad finished, and looked at the waitress, in an obvious attempt to embarrass his friend. She smiled without understanding and walked away. He knew Harold didn’t like to come off like a conspiracy nut in front of strangers - especially girl strangers - and consequently loved razzing him about it.

“Dude…” Quibbins knew it was a hobby of Chad’s to embarrass him, and that it was best just to let the matter drop. “Anyway, yeah, the Hollow Earth theory. I’ve been thinking about that lately.”

“Really? Why?” Chad asked, though he wasn’t terribly interested. He’d thought the book was pretty ridiculous. In fact, at the time, the two of them had a discussion to that effect.

“Oh, well I heard there’s this guy who leads expeditions to the North Pole.” Harold said.

“What, you mean like, to look for the entrance inside?” Chad laughed.

“Yeah,” began Quibbins. But he decided not to tell him the rest.

“That’s fucking nuts,” Chad said. “What a scam! What kind of moron would sign up for that shit?”

Chad sipped his drink and shrugged, trying to conceal the glimmer in his eye.

5.

At that point, the trip was still some four months in the future. Although he was really excited about the whole thing, Harold decided it was best not to tell anyone that he’d signed up. He realized that pretty much everyone was going to react to this idea the same way Chad had. He’d have to endure endless litanies about how naive and gullible he was to sign up for this trip. Didn’t he have better things to throw his money away on? And did he really expect to find anything up there besides frostbite? When was he gonna grow up? And the worst one: Why can’t you just live in the real world, Harold? It was questions and accusations like these which he decided it best just to avoid. He knew what he was doing, after all. Windigo had explained everything. And all Harold had to do was set the whole thing into motion.

It was during this dream encounter which Harold learned the true fate of William Windigo and The Manitou. And the information which Harold presented on his website as far-flung conjecture was merely a reworded explanation of what Windigo himself had conveyed to him. Like any eccentric billionaire, as Harold understood them, Windigo had various areas of unusual interest, one of which was something he called “soft places.” These were supposed to be areas where the boundaries which separate overlapping realities are unusually thin, and can conceivably be penetrated. Windigo believed the fabled Arctic passage of the Hollow Earth theory was one such portal. He financed years of secret research and experimentation (disguised as oceanic research) to locate and traverse this passage. Windigo’s team successfully crossed this passage, and on that same day he sold his company, and prepared to conquer whatever lay beyond the veil.

Harold had dreamed about this sort of thing ever since he was a boy, about finding a way to travel through other worlds. He knew they were there, because he had inherited from his mother’s side of the family the unpredictable ability to sometimes perceive them. These visions had faded mostly to memory as he got older. But there was a certain two-week long period when he was a boy where he had caught glimpses of unearthly landscapes and beings. His mother had taken him out of school the second she realized what was going on, giving them an excuse about chronic fevers and the flu.

Though she claimed her father’s mind had functioned this way as well, Harold’s mother was the only other person he’d personally met who had this ability. When she died three years ago, Harold thought his connection to that hazy other realm had been severed once and for all. That is, until Windigo had brought it all back to him.

6.

Harold’s bags were all packed. He was nervous, although he hadn’t expected he would be. He’d had four months to prepare himself, after all. He jumped when he heard the car horn blaring out front. Chad was driving him to the airport.

Quibbins took one last look at his apartment and ran down the stairs. Chad popped the trunk and Quibbins stuffed his bags in, slammed it, and jumped in the passenger seat. And off they were, Chad unknowingly sending his best friend off into some other mysterious dimension.

They joked on the way to the airport. Harold was unusually talkative, because he was so full of weird nervous excited energy. As far as Chad knew, Harold was flying up to Canada to stay with some relatives who he’d not seen in a while. Harold had decided this was a completely plausible cover story, but was trying to avoid the subject, so as not to accidentally let the cat out of the bag.

“Shit, you must be excited.” Chad said. “Two weeks at a cabin out in the wilderness. All that fresh air, crystal clear lakes. Hell, I’m kind of jealous.”

“Oh yeah,” Harold said. “It’s gonna be really something.” He quickly changed the subject, asking Chad what he was going to be doing over the course of the next two weeks.

“Ah, the usual crap with work,” Chad started, but Harold immediately zoned out, focusing instead on his itinerary, rehearsing the steps in his head. Within nineteen hours and several small connecting flights from now, he would be rendezvousing with one of Windigo’s people in the little town he’d been using as a supply base for the past decade. From there, a private helicopter would take them to The Manitou.

Chad pulled up in front of the airport and they said their goodbyes. Harold grabbed his bags and stood waving for a moment as Chad zoomed away. Chad quickly disappeared into the stream of cars. Harold turned towards the door, took a deep breath, and went in. He was ready.

7.

The Manitou rested upon the sea below them like a great white bird, its wings tucked in, and its head hidden somewhere underwater. The helicopter touched down gingerly on its back. Quibbins hopped out, one hand gripping closed his coat and the other his bags. Behind him came Mr. Walters, Windigo’s man whom he had rendezvoused with back in town. Walters briskly lead Quibbins into the nearby cabin, shut the door behind him and then disappeared back outside. Quibbins shook off the cold as he stood there looking around. In front of him was a narrow hallway, and a stairway leading up to another level. Presently, an old man appeared at the top of the stairs. Windigo. Harold recognized him from their phantasmal encounter.

“Ahh, you’ve arrived. Excellent. Welcome! Please, join me upstairs.”

Quibbins bounced up the stairs eagerly. “Thank you, Mr. Windigo. I can’t express how excited I am to be given this opportunity to join you, sir.”

“Well, I’m delighted to be able to present it to you.” Windigo said, shaking his hand heartily. “Come, let’s have a seat.” Windigo turned and entered a lavishly furnished office at the top of the staircase. Quibbins followed, and sank down into an enormous leather chair.

“Now Harold,” Windigo said in a grandfatherly tone. “Once we cross over to the other side, it won’t be possible for you to return here again. Do you understand?”

Harold had been prepared for this possibility. In fact, he’d hoped for it. He’d spent the last four months mentally preparing himself to undergo the greatest transformation of his entire life. “Yes,” he stated seriously. “I understand.”

“This is your last chance to turn back,” Windigo warned, lifting a single eyebrow in the direction of Quibbins.

Harold said nothing. He was ready.

* * * * *

For more info

1. Links & info on Hollow Earth theories
2. The windigo in mythology
3. Manitou, Native American spirituality and notes on character names