Windigo!
Myths and Legends
Jan 20, 2007 Florence Cardinal
Throughout history, the myths and legends of all races tell the stories that keep tradition alive. Many of these myths have a basis in fact. Religion gives birth to numerous stories. So do death and tragedies. For more on myths and legends, check out these articles. The following myth springs from a time when buffalo were scarce and the Native population faced starvation.
Native to the northern regions of the US and of Canada (the Algonqian tribes - Ojiway, Cree) Windigo is the result of starvation. The creature often appears emaciated and scarred by frostbite. Some legends claim the creature is a human driven to the state by hunger and perhaps isolation. These humans can shape-shift into the Windigo shape. Others see him as an actual demon and instead of looking starved, he's huge and hairy with enormous feet. Either way, he has a horrible stench that turns stomachs.
He will eat anything, including human flesh. In fact, that is what he craves, once he has partaken of it. He is dangerous with great strength.
Killing Windigo
How do you kill a Windigo? Well, here the story sometimes becomes mixed up with werewolf legends and silver bullets. But, in fact, the only way to destroy a Windigo is to burn him. You see, once he becomes a Windigo, whether by shape shifting or because he is a demon, his heart turns to a chunk of ice, and this must be melted to destroy the beast.
Is Windigo real? Perhaps, in one form or another. There is a form of illness known as the "Windigo psychosis" wherein the sufferer becomes cannibalistic. This seems to be caused by hunger.
I've included a story I wrote some time ago. I hope you enjoy it.
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WINDIGO!
Claude Dubois hung the deer carcass from a tree and blew on his numb fingers. God, it was cold. The aurora borealis splashed a swash of vivid color across the dark sky. The icy wind off frozen Mooswa lake burned his face like fire.
An eerie night, a night when Spirits walked the frozen wasteland. Claude sniffed the air. An acrid aroma rode the wind. Windigo! He scooped up his rifle and fled into his tent.
He stood for a moment and listened to the supernatural silence. No wolf howl rent the air. The coyotes had ceased their strident yipping. The owls sat voiceless in the forest. Claude shivered. All nature froze when Windigo walked.
He tossed another log on the fire. The flames crackled and the stew pot began to steam. Venison stew with onions was always good on a cold night and the strong aroma of onions masked the smell of the Windigo. Smoke painted flickering shadows on the tent walls as it rose and escaped through the smoke hole.
An hour later he finished his third bowl of stew. The warm liquid and full belly relaxed him. He yawned.
The crunch of snow outside his tent brought Claude to his feet. Windigo! He grabbed his rifle.
"Is that you in there, Claude Dubois?"
Claude grinned. Pete Crooked Knee. At one time they had been as close as brothers.
"Claude! Let me in. It's a strange night. I'm scared, me."
Claude lifted the tent flap. The stench of Windigo was strong on the wind. He pulled Pete in and lowered the flap.
Pete sniffed. "I smell much good stew. I am hungry. You will share, yes?"
Claude ladled out a bowl of stew. "You don't look well, old friend," he said. "The frost got into your face, eh? And you need to eat more. I can see your bones through your flesh."
Pete wolfed down the stew and moved nearer to the fire. "Seems I'm always cold these days. And hungry. That stew was good."
"And now we sleep." Claude pulled an extra blanket from his bedroll.
"You sleep. I must go."
"No! Don't go. Windigo walks the hills. It isn't safe."
Pete's laughter was tinged with madness. The flames from the fire reflected in his eyes.
"A tale to scare children," he said. He laughed again, and stepped outside, closing the tent flap behind him.
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Claude spent a restless night. The onion smell faded, but the stench of Windigo became even stronger.
The next morning, he discovered the wolves had visited him. At least, something had stripped every shred of meat from the deer carcass. An overnight snowfall hid all trace of tracks.
Claude arrived back in the village a week later.
"Old Pete Crooked Knee is dead," his wife said.
Claude dropped his pack. "Damn," he swore. "I should never have let him go that night. Windigo got him, eh?"
"No," she said. "His brothers got him after he savaged his wife and kids. They killed him and burned his corpse. They say all that remained was his heart, and it was nothing but a lump of ice." She shivered. "Pete Crooked Knee was Windigo."
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