This is my first short story. Always heard this story from my grandparents it was my boogeyman unlike most kids there boogeyman was in there closet or under there beds mine was in the woods. So it was my grandparent's stories that I was too scared to wonder off into the woods alone. Read. Review. Write. Tell me how you think about the story. I have tons of short stories but will see how this one goes.

WINDIGO!

Jacob 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 Spear Lake burned his
face like fire.
An eerie night, a night where spirits walked the frozen wasteland. Jacob
sniffed the air. An acid 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. Jacob shivered. All nature froze when
Windigo walked.
He tossed another log o n the fire. The flames crackled and the stew pot
began to steam. Moose 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 Jacob to his feet. Windigo!
He grabbed his rifle.
"Is that you in there, Jacob?"
Jacob grinned. Nelson Featherstone. At one time they had been as close as
brothers.
"Jacob! Let me in. It's a strange night. I'm scared, me."
Jacob lifted the tent flap. The stench of Windigo was strong on the wind.
He pulled Nelson in and lowered the flap.
Nelson sniffed. "I smell much good stew. I am hungry. You will share, yes?"
Jacob 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."
Nelson wolfed down the stew and moved nearer to the fire. "Seems like I'm always
cold these days and hungry, thanks for the stew".
"And now we sleep." Jacob pulled an extra blanket from his bedroll.
"You sleep. I must go." said Nelson
"No! Don't go. Windigo walks the hills. It isn't safe."
Nelson'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.
Jacob 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.
Jacob arrived back in the village a week later.
"Old Nelson Featherstone is dead," his wife said.
Jacob 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.

Nelson Featherstone was 'Windigo'