Toby dragged a body bag through the heavy, pouring rain that was pounding down on him over the thick black raincoat he had on. Most people used the corpse dumpster in the Underground for disposing of their recently dead, but Toby was a very thoughtful killer. Everything had little stories that needed to play out, just right.
This carefully packaged murder and cannibalism victim was (experimentally) supposed to have died in a wendigo attack. Copycat attack, that is. Toby was working out the finer details, testing them, and planning bigger stunts in the future if he felt confident in it.
There wasn't enough to go off of yet, this was a first attempt only and therefore clumsier, but if they happened to be found- or, that is, if any small leftovers were found after the Forbidden Forest chewed the body up- whatever happened would both resemble and have the right location placement for a wendigo culprit. He'd even already set the victim up, while they were still living, breathing, and absolutely kidnapped, so it'd seem like they'd been in a nasty cave for a while, perhaps having escaped before being hunted down again. And the person had been a hiker. Toby was nothing if not painfully thorough with his art.
He'd found a good feeling spot, what would be the perfect scene in a movie. A scary, ominous, damp and near pitch black thicket. He unzipped the bag and dumped the corpse. It was sickeningly morbid, bitten and shredded to hell and back, gory, chest forcefully opened up with ribs protruding outward.
Toby could still taste hot flesh, felt like it lingered on his tongue and in the back of his throat. He couldn't consume at the rate a wending could, so not everything was swallowed and stomached (especially with it being raw meat, which made him ill for a while in the long run), but he had to get into character, didn't he? It made for far better crime scenes, and that was the true point of this all. To get as close as he could to being a real monster.
He'd heard there was a real monster in these woods, a real wendigo. Toby stood up and tugged down the hood of his coat, peering around in the dark, having an easier time with it while wearing his contacts. He'd never seen it, but he couldn't deny he wanted to. It'd be an inspiration one can't receive from simply staying up late watching horror movies in their dull, sunny neighborhood. He was always, endlessly, striving for that.