by Arthur Slade
"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 mantle. At eye level was a picture of Grandma and Grandpa, both in fishing gear. Maybe if she was 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 pulled the door slowly 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!" he repeated.
"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 that 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 walked 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 in 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 hand print.
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 side 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 using 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 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.
"Eight fifteen, actually. And you've got to get on the bus early. You don't want to argue with `ol Gramps on your last night here, do you?"
I did. But I kept my mouth closed.
"We're all going to need a good sleep tonight," Grandpa added.
I changed into my nightgown in the bathroom. About fifteen minutes later we were all settled in our beds; me and Angie in one, Michael in the other next to the small window.
Grandpa knocked on the door then poked his head in. "Lock this tonight, will you? And if you hear anything ... whatever it is ... don't leave this room." He paused. "Goodnight."
He closed the door.
10.
"What on earth was that all about?" Angie asked. She was hugging her pillow. "I'm starting to get freaked out."
"You're not the only one—but I am going to lock the door." I rolled out of bed and twisted the key on the door, then turned the handle and pulled to be sure it was locked. I tugged the old iron key out of the keyhole. It was about six inches long and heavy. I set it on the bedside table and crawled back under the blankets. "Maybe we should board up the window too."
"There's something really wrong here." Michael was sitting up in the other bed. "Grandpa's just not acting like himself." He flipped his hair back out of his eyes. "I wonder if ... like ... he's getting senile or something? Or Alzheimer's?"
"Alzheimer's is when you forget things," Angie said.
"You know what I mean. Maybe he's sick."
"I don't think so." I paused, trying to find the right words. "I think it's something worse. Well, this may be nothing but after he phoned Mom and Dad he called someone else and talked in Icelandic. The only word I understood was Draugr."
"You mean ... like ... from his story." Angie was squeezing the pillow even closer.
"Yeah, that same word. It might not mean anything. And I might have heard it wrong ... but I don't think so."
Michael looked right at me. "Sarah, you don't really believe that story was true, do you?"
"No ... but Grandpa thinks something's going on like that story or that involves it. I don't know. It's all a little confusing. He is scared of something, though."
"What can we do?" Angie asked.
I shrugged. "Wait until morning, I guess. What do you think, Michael?"
"You're right. That's all we can do." He settled himself below the covers. "I know one thing ... it's going to be hard to go to sleep tonight. Mega hard."
"Should we ... should we leave the light on?" I asked. They both looked at me, their faces pale.
"No," Michael said finally. "I'd feel like a little kid." He reached over and clicked it off.
The room went completely black. "Uh ... goodnight everyone," I whispered.
"Goodnight," they echoed.
Hope I see you in the morning, I thought to myself.
It took a moment for my eyes to adjust to the darkness. A silver beam of moonlight came in through the thin curtains, projecting an image of the window on my wall. It was obviously a full moon tonight.
Which didn't make me feel good at all.
I couldn't relax. I kept glancing back and forth, back and forth from one side of the room to the other. I'm not sure what I was looking for.
But at some point my eyes must have gotten tired, because I fell asleep. And this time I didn't dream. There was only darkness within deeper darkness.
I awoke suddenly. It took me a moment to remember where I was and that in a few short hours I'd be on a bus heading home. How much time had passed? Was it midnight yet?
I saw that the moonlight had moved farther down the wall. It seemed brighter and the shadow of the window was larger. Was the moon coming closer to the earth?
I could hear Angie's soft rhythmic breathing beside me.
Michael was snoring.
I laughed quietly to myself. A low nasally grumbling sound came from his side of the room like low thunder. Poor Michael, he always thought he was so perfect. Now I finally had something to tease him about. All the way home I could imitate his buzzsaw snoring. That would help the trip go faster.
His wheezy inhalations got worse, became thicker and deeper like he had suddenly developed a really bad cold. He wasn't going to choke was he? Didn't some people die from snoring too loud? Or too long?
Or was it they forgot to breathe?
Gradually I realized the snoring sounded more like deep, throaty growling.
Not coming from Michael at all. But beyond him.
Outside the window.
A dark shadow was creeping slowly across the wall. A twisted, bulky shape edged up to the window pane, blocking the moonlight. The silhouette grew larger. I tried to move my neck, to look towards the window, but all the strength had been drained from my body.
Boards moaned as if something huge had leaned its weight on the outside wall, trying to get closer.
