Don't open the door: the windigo as metaphor in Joseph Boyden's Three Day Road

The Windigo as Metaphor in Joseph Boyden's Three Day Road My heart pounds in my chest; I look around and all I can see is darkness.There is the sound of slow and heavy steps that circle behind me, and it makes me shiver in fear.A house begins to take shape in the darkness before me and I recognize it.I'd recognize it anywhere.The sound of movement scraped closer to me.I launch myself towards the front door and the safety it implies.Once inside, I slam the door closed and rest against it as I try to slow the pounding in my chest.I know this place, but something doesn't feel right.It is too silent and still.Automatically I turn and slide the large silver knife into the door jamb, grateful my Grandmarna thought it was more secure than a dead bolt.Four strides and I've crossed the tiny living room to enter the kitchen, and it's just like the last time I saw it, shiny bright yellow mustard walls with ketchup-coloured trim.The room is a tiny box dominated by a table with six chairs, and a matching seventies green fridge and oven.There are no cupboards, no counters, no sink because the house isn't big enough for those to be in the same room.The window looks out into the laundry room, and there is a blackness that permeates it from the outside.I frown; the darkness seems off somehow but before I can chase the reason why I see an image of a tiny, elderly woman appear in the glass."Aunty!"She is small and seems frail, but she's all sinew and strength inside, a fact that's proven when I throw my arms around her.