Corpse Walker

Also known as: Boneman, Ravenous Dead The West Virginian Wendigo, or Corpse Walker, is possibly the most horrendous creature the state has to offer. It differs from a traditional Wendigo in four major ways: 1) it has a human head instead of one like an animal; 2) it is birthed after a Wendigo consumes another Wendigo; 3) it cannot speak; 4) it was never human. Wendigos—evil, ravenous beings that were once human—have only enemies, attacking and consuming all in their sight, even other Wendigos. When these monstrosities devour one of their kind, they experience horrible pain, bloating, and sluggishness; a new creature grows within, taking the former Wendigo’s undead soul and binding it to pieces of its parent’s meals to generate a new body. This process focuses on the more human aspects of the monster’s essence, giving it a different appearance, unique characteristics, notably a desire for death. Once a Corpse Walker grows so large that it fills the entirety of a Wendigo’s chest cavity, the spawn is violently retched onto the ground. The Wendigo leaves its offspring where it is spewed, usually outside of the being’s den; after this birth, the Wendigo leaves and seeks a new den, for even it is repulsed by the thing it has created. Interestingly, when a Corpse Walker is met by other Wendigos, they do not acknowledge its presence. The newly born Corpse Walker remains in a fleshy sac for several days; once it is ready to exit its muggy womb—when the membrane is bulging with gases, discolored, and unbearably foul—it slices through the top with scalpel-like fingers and eats its casing. After engorging on the bladder, it stands on wobbly legs, walking with clumsiness; as it traverses, it belts a constant stream of moans, whimpers, and howls of pain. Anatomical Discussion The appearance of a Corpse Walker is unforgettable and nightmarish. As a whole, it resembles a monstrous, mummified corpse with leathery, gray, yellowed, or mottled brown, thin skin over a very pronounced skeleton. Bones are somewhat human in nature, though parts are morphed, others more beastly in nature; the composition of much of the entity depends on the feeding habits of its birthing parent, resulting in a mixture of bones, teeth, and traits. The creature has no fingernails, ears (though they have holes where ears would be), or eyeballs, but its fingers taper to a hard, bony substance; their feet are comically large when compared to their frail, thin body. Corpse Walkers are often coated in a layer of mire, forest floor debris, biological waste, and carnage. Its squat face is shadowed by dry, wispy, gray and brown/black hair; the monster’s nose is flat, mouth is always gaping, drooling, its body reeks of decay, and their eyes are black voids, caverns of thin, stretched flesh. Corpse Walker’s bodies are covered in bacteria, especially their mouths—one bite could transfer a multitude of illnesses. In addition to exterior characteristics, these beings have long, wrinkled necks and chests, with round, pronounced spinal columns. As for the horror’s internal anatomy, it only consists of a thick esophagus, an extremely large stomach, and a wide, short intestine. A Corpse Walker’s throat is very stretchy and its jaw can unhinge and snap back into place as needed. Meals that can be swallowed whole are. As soon as meals are digested, they are expelled from the body where the creature stands or sits. Corpse Walkers are sexless creatures, having no reproductive organs or ways of reproducing. They also do not seem to need to eat, but desire to do so; drinking water or blood assists the body in expelling food. No matter how much the monster eats, their stomach never fills but stretches. The scent of these beings extends far beyond their current positions—causing all creatures that smell its decay to flee or become wary, on edge. If their smell does not cause those nearby to panic, the sound of cracking bones and rustling skin as it walks and deathly, pained noises it generates from its throat does. Mountain’s Edge: the Journey of a Corpse Walker Corpse Walkers are born with two instincts: feeding and heading towards tall, mountain peaks. When they escape from their encasing, they are weak and no taller than 5 ft As they age, they grow more sure-footed, quick, and tall, only ceasing to develop upon death. These monstrosities eat any warm-bodied creature that crosses their path, feasting upon their fresh flesh until they grow stiff with rigor mortis. However, they will only attack and consume living creatures or those that are dying, but not yet dead; they will not eat a freshly dead corpse, the dead, or the undead. Corpse Walkers exist in a constant state of pain and misery. They can only die by falling from a mountain peak or from having its body rendered to dust. Though they desire an end to their miserable lives, they do not allow themselves to be assaulted by others, as they are incessantly driven to attack and consume. When they are struck, they do not bleed or begin to perish, though they do feel agony. The only way to destroy a Corpse Walker is to rip apart its body and grind it to pieces; if solely cut up, the individual sections will animate, seeking out each other and binding back together. It is said the living mountains—benevolent beings that are one of the region’s most ancient inhabitants—call Corpse Walker’s to their tallest peaks, so that they fall to their destruction, eradicating their evil and bringing them peace. During the day, the creature moves slower, its sounds more muted; sometimes it pauses in its trek, hiding among the trees and looking like one at a glance in order to snag particularly evasive prey. Corpse Walkers should never be sought after, for they are extremely dangerous, nearly impossible to overcome, and present a horrific offense to all human senses; if one is thought to be near, immediate evacuation is recommended. Though the creatures do not have eyes, they can supernaturally see, smell everything around them at a considerable distance.