by Arthur Slade
“It was his life. The old sagas aren’t Hollywood movies. They’re gritty. Full of blood and smoke and tough characters. Kind of like the people who settled Iceland. And Gimli, come to think of it.”
“So we’re supposed to be related to this Grettir?” I asked.
“There’s a good chance we are. I’ll have to go back to the homeland sometime and look up our family trees. Maybe at the next big Asmundson reunion.”
“We are related to him,” I said suddenly.
Grandpa looked at me. “Why do you say that?”
“Uh . . .” I hesitated, trying to understand what I had meant. “It’s just a gut feeling. When you told the story, I felt like I was there . . . with him.”
Everyone stared at me. Grandpa smiled. “You may be right,” he said. “Do you ever get any other gut feelings that come true?”
“Um . . . no,” I said. I wasn’t quite sure what he meant. “I don’t think so.”
He stared at me for a long moment then nodded to himself. What had he figured out? He set down his cup. “Did any of you three happen to pick up a paper for me?”
“Uh . . .” Michael started.
Grandpa looked at him. “Uh . . . did you, or didn’t you?”
“We did,” Michael continued. He got the paper and handed it to Grandpa. “But before you read it there’s something we have to tell you.”
8
“Actually,” Michael said a second later, “maybe you should take a look at the paper first.”
Grandpa shook his head. Clearly he didn’t have a clue what we were talking about. “Open the paper, close the paper—what’s going on here? All three of you look like you just missed being run over by a big semi.”
“Please,” I asked.
He must have heard the frightened tone of my voice. He opened The Interlake Spectator and looked at it for some time. Then he glanced at us. “Is it the dead cow story? Don’t tell me you guys really did it. Here I thought it was just aliens.” He laughed.
“No . . . see the boy there.” Michael pointed.
“Yes.”
“We saw him this morning.”
Grandpa’s face hardened. “You what?”
“Well . . .” Michael began, then he explained how we had wandered into the trees and everything that had happened to us after that. Grandpa looked serious but didn’t speak a word until Michael was finished. He set the paper down, rose slowly from the chair as if some of his strength had been sapped. He went to the back door, pulled the curtain aside, and stared out. He stayed that way for a full minute.
Michael, Angie, and I looked quizzically at each other. “What—” I started to ask.
Grandpa turned towards us. His eyes were cold and very serious. “You’re going home tomorrow,” he announced.
“What?” we exclaimed in unison.
He came a few steps closer. “I said, you’re going home tomorrow. I’ll call your parents tonight. Till then, no one leaves this house. Do you understand?”
“No, I don’t understand,” I said. “Why are you sending us home? What did we do?”
“You didn’t do anything. It’s just that . . . business has come up. I can’t look after you anymore.”
“What business?” Michael asked. His frown mirrored my own.
“I have to go away for a few days. Look after some things. Old unfinished things. So you three will be heading home.”
“But—” I started.
“No buts. This is the way it has to be. I’m sorry, but I forgot about this . . . business.” His face softened. He spoke gently. “You can stay even longer next summer. Okay? All summer if you want. We’ll have twice as much fun.”
It sounded like he was trying to bribe us.
“Okay?” He repeated.
We were all in shock. “Uh . . . sure,” Michael answered. What could we do?
“It’s settled, then.” Grandpa smiled. “I really am sorry, believe me.” He leaned over, picked up the tea pot and the empty cups, and started back towards the kitchen. Hugin padded after him, then Grandpa whispered a few words in another language. The dog obediently turned around and sat in the middle of the room.
Almost as if he was told to keep an eye on us.
Angie looked quite upset. I was about to say something to her when Grandpa came back into the room. “I have to go out for a few minutes.” He was putting his hat on—a Toronto Blue Jays cap. “Will you three do me a favor? Will you just stay in the house? I . . . I think it might have been a bear I heard this afternoon.”
We nodded. Grandpa said something else to Hugin. The dog looked at him, then back at us. Then the door closed softly behind Grandpa.
Michael crossed his arms. “Well, that was very, ultra bizarre.”
“That’s for sure.” Angie had her arms crossed too and seemed to be shivering. “I’ve never seen him like this before. What did we do to get sent home?”
I just couldn’t stand to sit anymore. I got up and paced the floor. “I don’t think we did anything. I think . . . well . . . I don’t know. That he’s trying to protect us,” I said.
Michael motioned and Hugin padded over to him. The dog rubbed up against his knees. “I have a feeling you’re right. There’s something wrong. The fact that we saw that gho—that kid really bothered him.”
“And what was he out looking for today?” Angie had her feet up on the couch now and was hugging her knees. “Was it really a bear?”
“And why is this dog so smart?” I asked. I noticed that Hugin was turning his head as each of us spoke, as if he understood every word. He looked at me and it seemed like he was smiling.
“Well, I don’t want to go home,” Michael announced. “We just got here. I am not going to take another long, stupid bus ride. It’s not fair.”
“I don’t know if we have a choice,” I said. I leaned against the wall next to the mantel. At eye level was a picture of Grandma and Grandpa, both in fishing gear. Maybe if she were still alive she’d explain what was going on. She was always so good to us kids.
“Maybe we can talk to him,” Angie suggested.
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. You saw the look on his face. It was almost as if he was frightened.”
Hugin’s ears perked up. He rose and walked past me, brushing my legs.
“Grandpa doesn’t get frightened—nothing scares Grandpa,” Angie said.
“I know . . . but . . . he just seemed that way. For a second. Maybe just frightened for us is what I mean.”
“You know—” Michael started.
He stopped. Hugin was barking, loud and strong, at the back door.
9
“What’s up, Dog?” Michael asked. He had walked over to Hugin and was looking out the window in the door. Hugin’s hackles were raised and he had pulled back his lips, showing long white canine teeth. I knew this was an animal I would never ever want mad at me. “What is it, boy? What do you hear?” Michael reached for the door.
“Don’t open that!” I yelled.
Michael frowned. “Why?”
“Grandpa said we’re supposed to stay inside. And because . . . because you don’t know what’s out there.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “I looked out the window. There’s nothing in the backyard, Sis. The dog probably hears a raccoon or something. They have raccoons here, don’t they?” Michael turned the knob and slowly pulled the door open.
“Don’t!” This time it was Angie.
Michael ignored us both and stepped into the doorway. Hugin stood beside him, barking even harder, so his whole body seemed to shake. Then he switched to a low, angry growl. “I . . . I don’t believe it . . . it’s . . . gigantic,” Michael exclaimed. His eyes were wide and frightened. He stepped out the door. Hugin followed. “It’s . . . oh no. oh no! it’s got a hold of me!”
“Michael!” I ran
to the door. “Michael!”
He was gone. Hugin was about halfway across the yard, snarling at the trees. “Michael!” I yelled. Angie had joined me. “Where—”
“Surprise!” Michael popped up from a bush beside us. We screamed in unison and Michael rolled on the ground laughing. “Got you! Got you!”
“That’s not funny!” I yelled when I had caught my breath.
“It was to me.” Michael was standing now, holding his side. “We all needed a good laugh.”
“Neither of us laughed.” Angie had one hand on her hip.
“Well, I sure did.” Michael was brushing the grass off his pants. “I got a big hardy-har-har out of it.”
“Look at Hugin.” I pointed. He was at the edge of Grandpa’s yard, where the grass gave way to huge pine trees. He was barking and growling crazily. I noticed the fence gate was open. “Something really is out there.”
Michael looked. “Bah. It’s probably nothing. Though he’s sure barking a lot.”
“C’mere, Hugin,” I called. The dog looked my way, then continued growling. “Come on, boy.” He ignored me.
I took a deep breath and started walking towards him.
“Sarah, what are you doing?” Angie asked.
“Just getting the dog,” I answered, but my voice was so hoarse that I don’t know if she heard me. Each step was impossible to take, but I pushed myself ahead. Some part of me refused to be scared.
I stared at the open gate. Beyond the tall fence was thick underbrush and more trees, all darkened by afternoon shadows. Anything could be in there, I realized.
Sarah, don’t be stupid, I told myself. Turn around and go back to the house.
But I couldn’t. Not without Hugin.
A few steps later I was beside him. He was growling even louder as if trying to ward something away.
I trudged past him. Closer to the gate, closer. I couldn’t seem to stop myself.
“Sarah!” This time it was Michael. But he sounded so far away, like he was yelling from the end of a long tunnel. I could barely hear him.
Hugin stayed behind me. Barking now, maybe trying to warn me. Was he frozen to the spot?
I felt a chill. The temperature was plunging to the freezing mark here at this end of the yard. Even my bones were getting cold.
Still I carried on. The gate loomed in front of me. I had this awful fear that I was going to walk right through it, out into the wilderness, and never return again. There was a whispering sound just beyond the fence. Almost like breathing.
Or was someone calling my name? An ancient, raspy voice.
Hugin stopped barking. Or maybe I couldn’t hear him anymore.
I reached the gate. It took all my will to stop my feet from moving. I extended my arm, my fingers dull and cold.
With all the strength I could muster, I pulled on the gate. It closed slowly, squeaking and whining. For a moment I thought I saw a dark, rustling shape moving outside, then with a click the gate was shut.
I stepped back. There was dirt on the top part of the gate. It almost looked like a handprint.
I took another step back. Hugin renewed his barking, ran up to me, and leaned against me, growling. Something in the solidness of his body gave me strength. I turned around.
Both Angie and Michael were standing there, staring at me.
I walked towards them.
“What were you doing?” Michael asked when I got closer.
“I—I just had to close it,” I said. “If I didn’t . . . well, I don’t know . . .”
I kept going towards the cabin. “Let’s go inside,” I said. “I’ve had enough excitement for one day.”
I called once from the doorway and Hugin came running. I felt relieved when all of us were inside. Michael and Angie sat down, but I couldn’t take my eyes away from the window. Hugin stayed by the closed door, no longer growling. He just seemed to be waiting.
A few minutes later Grandpa came through the front door, hugging a bulging bag of groceries. Celery stalks peeked out the top. “You three weren’t going anywhere were you?” he asked when he saw me by the back door.
“Uh . . . no,” I answered.
Hugin barked once and Grandpa walked over to him. He said a few soothing words in Icelandic, then patted the dog on its head. Hugin wagged his tail and settled down by the back door.
Grandpa winked at us. “Well . . . I got the fixings for a wonderful meal. I’d appreciate some help in the kitchen.”
And so we helped cook supper, slicing carrots, celery, and onions for a beef stew. I found I was glad to be doing something to take my mind away from the fact that we would be leaving tomorrow. The kitchen filled with the smells of cooking food, aromas that reminded me of being at home with my parents on those cool winter nights in Missouri.
None of us spoke while we made supper. Even Grandpa was quiet, he only opened his mouth to say, “Cut enough carrots for a hundred rabbits. You guys will have the best eyesight in all America.” I set the table, trying not to let the cutlery clink. It was almost as if there was someone in the other room whom we didn’t want to wake up.
Once Hugin made a whining sound then stopped. I glanced and saw that he was resting his head on the floor. But his eyes were still sharply fixed on the door.
We sat down to eat a few minutes later. The stew was wonderful, with thick gravy, tender meat, a layer of dumplings, and more vegetables than I could care to count. It was like the first time I had ever tasted stew—as if everything was brand new.
“This is very, very good,” Angie said. I guess I wasn’t the only one enjoying the meal.
“Yeah, it is,” Michael agreed. “But there’s enough garlic in here to knock out a vampire.”
Grandpa narrowed his eyes, looking serious. “Just eat it all up,” he commanded gruffly. “Okay?”
“Uh . . . sure.” Michael was scooping up another forkful. “I—actually like garlic, Grandpa.”
“Good boy. Good for you.” Grandpa was smiling again. “It’s good for your health . . . but bad for your breath.”
We chuckled half-heartedly. Angie shot me a quick look that seemed to say: Has Grandpa gone bonkers?
When we were finished eating, Grandpa cleared his throat. “Tonight you’re all going to sleep in the main guest room.”
“What?” I set down my glass. “We can’t sleep in the same room as Michael.”
Grandpa smiled. “You’re going to have to put up with his snoring for one night.”
“I don’t snore!”
“Why do we have to sleep together?” Angie asked.
“I need the other spare room. There’s work I have to do.”
“Why do we have to go home?” I asked.
“Because there’s business I forgot. I can’t look after you and do it too.”
“What business?”
“My business,” he said with finality. “Will you three do dishes? I have to make a few phone calls.”
Grandpa got up and went to the phone hanging on the living room wall. We went into the kitchen. Michael washed while Angie and I dried. From where I was standing I could hear Grandpa on the phone. I moved a little closer.
I caught the tail end of the conversation. “No. I can’t explain. You’ll have to take my word for it, Robert.” Then he hung up. He had obviously been talking to Mom and Dad. I wished I had been listening a little earlier.
He picked up the phone and dialed again. I edged closer to the wall.
“It’s taking you a long time to dry that dish,” Michael said.
I motioned him to be quiet.
He turned back to the sink, muttering, “If you want to be lazy, go ahead.”
I strained my ears. Grandpa was talking in another language on the phone. Icelandic, I assumed, because every second word had a th or a grr sound. I could tell by the tone
of his voice that he was upset. He had taught me a few Icelandic words, mostly put-downs, but I couldn’t pick anything out of what he was saying. He paused for a second and I assumed he was listening to whoever was on the other end of the line.
“Nei,” he said suddenly. “Draugr.”
I caught my breath.
“Draugr,” he repeated. Hugin pricked up his ears.
I knew that word. Why was Grandpa saying it?
He started whispering now and no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t hear what he was saying. A moment later he hung up the phone and I quickly went to the sink, picked up a dish, and started drying.
“Aren’t you done yet?” Grandpa asked. He was in the doorway, smiling.
“We would be but Sarah’s too slow,” Michael said.
I kicked him.
“She’s just careful that’s all.” Grandpa was still smiling. It seemed a little unreal—he was forcing himself to look happy. I thought I could see something in his eyes though, a kind of haggard look. Like he was very tired but just putting on a nice face for the company. “It’s all set up. Your mom and dad will pick you up from the bus back at home.”
“Oh . . . good,” I said.
“Yes, it is. I really am sorry things worked out this way, kids. I was looking forward to having you three around.” He turned. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a few things to do.”
He left. When we finished the dishes we went out to the front room. Grandpa must have been in the back room. It sounded like he was banging on something metal. Occasionally I caught the smell of burning wood.
“What’s he doing?” Angie asked.
“Who knows.” Michael sat back. “I think he’s gone a little loco.”
“It’s hard to believe our holiday will be over tomorrow.” Angie was looking down. “Over even before it started.”
We were all quiet. Grandpa was silent too. Whatever he’d been doing was done. He came walking out carrying Michael’s suitcase. “I got your stuff here, Michael.” He set it down. “Well,” he announced. “It’s bed time.”
“Bed time? It’s only eight o’clock!” Michael exclaimed.
