Scary For Kids
Burning Feet

Burning Feet

Burning Feet is a scary story about a man who hires a guide to take him hunting in the Canadian wilderness. On the snowy plains, they encounter a horrifying creature from Native American legend. This tale is based on a classic short story by Algernon Blackwood called “The Wendigo”. A shorter version of this story also appeared in Scary Stories to Tell in the Dark.

Burning Feet

There was a wealthy man who loved hunting. He decided to go on a trip to a remote part of northern Canada. It was a forsaken and desolate part of the country and few people ever ventured that far north. Even fewer went there to hunt. He traveled to a trading post and tried to find a guide. He asked around, but nobody he spoke to would agree to take him. They all said it was too dangerous.

Eventually, he was put in touch with a stocky Cajun man by the name of DeFago. The man seemed to know a lot about trapping, Indian-lore and how to survive in the wilderness and the hunter thought he would make an excellent guide. DeFago was badly in need of money and agreed to take the hunter out to the best hunting grounds.

They set out together, paddling down the river in a small canoe. When they reached their destination, the men set up camp near a large frozen lake. As far as the eye could see, the ground was covered in a thick blanket of snow. The hunter was enchanted by its beauty and he enjoyed the sense of freedom it gave him.

For three days they hunted on the icy plains, but they had nothing to show for it. Luckily, DeFago taught him how to break a hole in the ice and catch some fish, so they didn’t go hungry. The hunter was glad he had chosen to bring a guide. He knew that the only thing that lay between him and starvation was DeFago.

The third night a windstorm came up. They lay in their tent listening to the wind howling and the trees whipping back and forth.

To see the storm better, the hunter opened the tent flap. What he saw startled him. There wasn’t a breath of air. stirring, and the trees were standing perfectly still. Yet he could hear the wind howling. And the more he listened, the more it sounded as if it were calling DeFago’s name.

”De-Faaaaaa-Goooooo!” it seemed to be calling. “De-Faaaaaa-Goooooo!”

“I must be losing my mind,” the hunter thought.

When he closed the tent flap and turned around, he saw that DeFago had gotten out of his sleeping bag and was huddled in a corner of the tent, his head buried in his arms.

“What’s wrong?” the hunter asked.

”It’s nothing,” DeFago said. “Just the wind playing tricks on your ears.”

But the voice that carried on the wind continued to call his name. It sounded oddly seductive and sweeet and DeFago became more tense and nervous.

“De-Faaaaaa-Goooooo!” it called. De-Faaaaaa-Goooooo!

The Cajun man flew into a panic and jumped to his feet. His eyes were wild and he was trembling. He pulled back the flap of the tent and was about to get out when the hunter grabbed him by the arm.

“Where are you going?” the hunter shouted. “You can’t leave me here alone. How will I…?”

Suddenly, he was interrupted by the tremendous roar of the wind, coming across the lake. The trees overhead shook with the force of it and the campfire flickered and threatened to go out. There was a tremendous rushing noise as something swept over the tent, almost lifting it off the ground.

DeFago was shaking with fear. All of a sudden, he broke loose and fled from the tent. The hunter watched as his guide ran off and was swallowed up by the darkness. The hunter could hear him screaming as he went. Over and over, he cried, “Oh, my fiery feet! My burning feet of fire!” Then his voice faded away into the night and the wind calmed down again.

At the first sign of daylight, the hunter followed DeFago’s tracks in the snow. The trail led through the woods, down toward the lake and out onto the ice.

But soon he noticed something strange. The footprints DeFago had left became longer and longer. They were so long that no human being could have made them. It was as if something had helped him to hurry away.

The hunter followed the tracks out to the middle of the lake, but there they disappeared. At first, he thought that DeFago had fallen through the ice, but there wasn’t any hole. Then he thought that something had pulled him off the ice into the sky. But that made no sense.

As he stood wondering what had happened, the wind picked up again. Soon it was howling as it had the night before. Then he heard DeFago’s voice again. It was coming from up above and he was screaming, “Oh, my fiery feet! My burning feet of fire!” But there was nothing to be seen.

Now the hunter wanted to leave that place as fast as he could. He went back to camp and packed. Then he left some food for DeFago, and he started out. Weeks later he reached the trading post and set about looking for DeFago. He asked around, but none of the people had seen him. He told them what he had witnessed, but nobody could explain what had happened to DeFago that night.

One old man took him aside and whispered, ”Could it have been the Wendigo?”

“Wendigo?” repeated the hunter. “What’s that?”

“They say it comes with the wind,” said the old man. “It calls your name and tries to trick you. Once it has you in its clutches, it drags you along at great speed until your feet are burned away. Then it drags you some more and burns away more of you than that. They say it carries you into the sky, and drops you. That’s the story I heard as a child, but it’s an old Indian legend. Who knows if it’s true…”

The following year, the hunter went back to the same area. He was buying supplies at the trading post again and asked about his old guide, DeFago. Nobody had seen hide nor hair of him.

As night fell, the hunter was sitting by the campfire. The darkness brought forth a strange figure of a man. He came in and sat far from the fire, where the light and the shadows mingled. The man had a blanket wrapped around him and his hood was pulled down so low that his face was hidden in shadow.

The hunter watched him for a while and thought there was something familiar about him.

“DeFago?” he asked. “Is that you?”

The stranger didn’t answer.

“It is you, isn’t it, Defago?”

No answer.

The hunter began to wonder if something was wrong, if the man needed help. But he couldn’t see his face.

”Are you all right?” he asked.

No answer.

“DeFago, can you tell me what happened? Just a little, so that I can help you…”

From beneath his hood, the stranger muttered something. His voice was low and breathless.

“I seen that great big Wendigo thing,” he whispered.

The hunter wanted to get a look at DeFago. He still wasn’t sure if it was really him. He reached out and tugged at the man’s hood. The hood fell back and the blanket dropped to the ground.

The hunter screamed in horror.

There was nothing under the blanket but a pile of ashes.

scary for kids


  • @Crystal
    Wendy is my favorite character along with Juvia :D

  • Wendigo.. Not heard about it…
    And @Alexia your story is very well written psychology of life….I really appreciate it. The symbols you have used are just the right! Some may not value it but it is an awesome piece of talent!!👍👍👌👌

  • @Alexia I understand the meaning of the story you posted. It’s great for some ‘philosophical entertainment’ but most people won’t understand it…

  • Those who watch anime should know what I’m talking about…
    When I heard the name Wendigo, it reminded me of Wendy Marvels from Fairy Tail.

  • @alexia when u know your stories r weird ,stupid,borrring why the hell u post them…waste.rubbish.

  • Wendigo! It reminds me of Supernatural. The second episode of the 1st season was named Wendigo.

  • I read this story in Stories To Tell In The Dark I believe (my bro would borrow it from the library, I read it, then my mom would yell at him for letting his little sister read ;D) I found it confusing at first since I was pretty young but it all made sense now. I think Wendigo is supposed to be an evil Indian spirit.

  • I am pretty sure that a wendigo is a carnivore who was once a person but went insane and now eats people.

  • I found this story to be weird way to much like Wendigo — I’ve also never liked Wendigo that much to over used.

  • I kinda wrote this story sorry it’s a weird one.. :)
    Life.. Is It Truly Perfect?
    The crickets were chirping away their most profound songs, as I sat here learning what I am to do with my life. Unlike the crickets, I had a memory, a memory that bothered my very core. I can’t tell it now, but maybe when I age I’ll be able to explain it in more depth. The crickets have a short life expectancy as for we, we live and die, but we have goals we must accomplish during that time and if we don’t we feel bad or we shrivel up inside or we go to someone about it and complain. Like a baby their goal is to breath, eat, and grow.That is it.
    Young babies depend on their mothers to help them learn and grow. Babies can’t feed themselves – their mothers give them their food from their breasts. Toddlers after they have succeeded in their journey of infancy goals are to learn to walk and talk and maybe potty train but lately in these latter day years that has been getting less and less likely to happen till the child is nearing the age of six.

    I’m starting to figure out what this all means… Life, death… It’s all based on symbolism. Everything is born; than it lives its life, than it passes on to wherever it goes.

    A lightning storm happens one that flashes violently and lightning strikes a large tree catching it on fire and making it tumble to the ground. You are staying in a cabin directly next to it and just earlier that day you had noticed that a robin’s nest was in that tree with three young baby birds in it. You run outside worrying about the baby birds and you find them crying out for their mother.

    You gather them up and try to find their nest – which had been torn up and crushed upon impact so you run inside to try to dry the young infant birds but by the time you get them inside you find that two of the young birds had died and only one had made it all the way inside with you. So you try to dry off the only surviving bird and try to warm it up hoping it lives.

    Than as the days pass you noticed the tree that had fallen was now being used as a new home for maggots and other insects as the tree slowly rots. You by now had buried the two dead birds and never saw the mother bird again.. You are raising the young baby Robin all by yourself now. — The Circle of Life.

    Life is maddening.. Not perfect.

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