Northern Frights

by Arthur Slade

  "What can we do?" I asked finally.

  "Pray," Althea answered. "Tonight—"

  The phone buzzed. It was sitting on a small desk and looked like it was a fax machine too.

  Althea went to it and picked up the receiver. "Hello."

  She paused for a moment. Her face became serious, set in stone.

  "I understand. Yes, I will be there shortly."

  She set down the phone and turned to face us. "The police are having difficulty locating the cabin. Even their dogs seem to lose their sense of direction. I'm going to go out and help them."

  "Why you?" Brand asked, clearly concerned about his grandmother.

  "Because I know those woods better than anyone. I'll be safe. There will be six officers with me." She smiled. "It's not every day I get to be around six handsome men in uniform."

  A minute later she was at the door, work boots on, her shawl around her shoulders. "Brand, there are leftovers in the fridge. Please, feed our guests." She turned to us, her one gray eye serious. "We will find your grandfather," she promised.

  Then she was out the door and gone.

  19.

  "We're not just gonna wait here, are we?" Angie asked.

  "What else can we do?" Michael flipped his hair out of his eyes. "We have to sit right here. But I don't know if I'll be able to stand it."

  "Grandma knows what she's doing," Brand said. "She's worked with the police before—she helps them quite a bit. And if anyone can find your grandfather, she can. She has a gift for those kinds of things."

  "You mean she's done this before?" I asked.

  "No ... not exactly," Brand answered. "She just has a knack for finding things, including people. Once when I was a kid I ran away from home and, to make a long story short, I got lost in the dark. For hours. She was the one who found me. She just knew exactly where I was."

  "Yeah ... you're right," I said. "She seems like she's capable of anything." The noose in my stomach was loosening. I sighed. "The police are trained for this kind of thing too. Everything will work out."

  "The Mounties always get their man," Brand said, a little flippantly. He was smiling. "It's what they're known for." He stood up. "You know what we need right now is a little grub. How about leftovers?"

  "I'll help," I said a little too quickly. Angie gave me a quick wink. "That is if you need help."

  Brand motioned with his hand. "Sure. The more the merrier." Then he headed for the kitchen.

  I ran a hand through my hair and my fingers got stuck in the knots. "I have to go to the washroom first," I said. I turned left and went up the stairs. I thought I could hear Angie and Michael laughing behind me.

  Once inside the bathroom, I looked in the mirror. There was dirt on my face, my hair looked even worse than it had in the morning. Oh no! My heart sank. I had looked like this all day. I found a brush and quickly brushed out the knots, practically pulling my hair out. When I was done, I pulled it back and tied it with a bret I found on the counter.

  Then I laughed at myself. Here I was worried about my looks on probably one of the worst days of my life. It was silly.

  I did take the time to wash my face.

  Just before I left I stared at myself.

  That hard look I had seen before was still there. A feeling of strength.

  I wish I could understand where it was coming from.

  I found Brand in the kitchen, opening the oven door. A turkey pie was in his right hand. He slid it into the oven. "This'll be perfect, " he said to me. "You got here just in time ... what temp should it be?"

  I turned the knob to 375 degrees. "It'll probably take at least twenty minutes."

  I glanced up. Brand was staring at me, a look of caring in his eyes. "How are you feeling?" he asked quietly.

  "Uh ... good," I answered, suddenly feeling queasy. "Better I guess, now that I know Althea is going to help in the search."

  "All three of you should get medals. You've held up really well." He paused. "In fact you deserve a medal for getting away from Grandma. I would have thought it impossible."

  I smiled. "It already seems like it was years ago."

  Brand put his hand on my shoulder and squeezed lightly. "Your grandfather has probably whipped this Kar into shape and is just waiting for the cops to show up."

  I smiled. "Yeah. I hope so."

  Brand opened his mouth to say something else and at that moment the phone buzzed twice. He shrugged, went over, and put the receiver to his ear. Instead of saying hello, he reached down and pressed a button. The phone made a squealing noise, then I heard a humming sound.

  "A fax is coming through," Brand explained. "It's probably from one of Grandma's writing friends—they're always faxing each other about Viking myths."

  Brand watched the paper come out the top. "Wait a second ... " he paused, "it's from the mounties."

  He watched until it was completely printed. Then read it over. "Oh my ... " he whispered.

  "What is it?" Michael asked.

  Brand looked up, his face suddenly serious. "It's from one of Grandma's friend in the detachment. Grandma must have asked her to look up the records on Kar. Apparently there was some kind of computer problem, so they couldn't get the information right away. But it says this Kar guy died three years ago. Someone found him dead up in the trees—he had been attacked by an animal of some sort. He was buried in the Gimli cemetery." He paused. "They're going to concentrate on a few other leads. They brought park officials in to help them track a bear."

  "A bear?" Michael asked. "Do they believe it's a bear now?"

  Brand shrugged. "I don't think they really know."

  "Let's go for a drive," I blurted, suddenly.

  "A drive?" Brand looked at me like I'd turned into an alien. "Grandma should be back soon. Besides I only have my learner's license."

  "Where do you want to go?" Michael asked. Was he thinking along the same lines as me? I glanced at him, saw a look of concern.

  "Well ... " I paused. I suddenly realized how bizarre my idea sounded. I realized I had to say it anyway. "I want to go to the graveyard."

  "The graveyard?" Brand exclaimed. "Are you crazy? Why do you want to go there?"

  "I just have a hunch that's all. About Kar."

  "Which is?"

  "I'll know when we get there. That some kind of clue about Grandpa will be waiting at the cemetery."

  "I think she's right," Michael said. He still had that same concerned look. "Let's go."

  "Yes, let's go," Angie echoed. She too seemed very serious. Was it some kind of family ESP? Did they have the same hunch as me? All three of us had gathered around Brand.

  "We can't just go." He took a step back. "I can't drive without an adult."

  "We'll be okay as long as you drive safe," Angie said. "Besides if you add all of our ages together—we're in our thirties."

  "Forties, actually," Michael added. "Forty two to be exact."

  Brand took another step back. "But it'll be dark soon."

  "We'll take flashlights," I answered. All three of us moved closer.

  "You Americans are crazy. Grandma will kill me."

  Angie put her hand on his shoulder. "We'll be gone tomorrow. We won't be anymore trouble after that."

  Brand paused. He looked at us, shaking his head and grinning. "Oh ... okay. You win. If we hurry we can get back before Grandma returns."

  We cheered. Michael punched Brand playfully in the shoulder. "It'll be wild."

  "It better be. Cause I'll be spending the rest of the summer in the dog house."

  Brand went to the broom closet and dug out two huge black metal flashlights. They were the kind the police usually carried. I turned the oven off, put the turkey pie back in the fridge. Within a minute we were all ready to go.

  Brand handed a flashlight to Angie and one to me. "We can take my Grandpa's truck. It's out behind the house. I don't think it's been driven for a couple years, so we might be hoofing our way back."

  "Let's hurry," I said. "P
lease."

  Brand looked at me. His face was solemn. "Okay, for you I will."

  Then we followed him through the patio doors and into the backyard.

  20.

  The truck was the one I had spotted before—an old red Chevy, with big tires, rectangular windows and curved metal fenders. It gleamed in the sunlight.

  "Is this a `57?" Michael asked.

  "It sure is," Brand answered. "Grandma said she'd give it to me when I turn sixteen. She'll probably change her mind after tonight."

  We piled into the truck and slammed the doors. Brand found the keys under the floor mat. "Cross your fingers everyone." He gently pushed the keys into the ignition and pressed in the clutch. "It's been a long, long time since this baby's been started." He turned his hand.

  The truck roared into life like it had been waiting years for this one moment. The loud rapping of the mufflers echoed all around us. Brand removed his foot from the gas and it idled evenly. "Well, I'll be damned."

  I saw that the gearshift was on the steering column. "Is that a three on a tree shifter?" I asked.

  "Yes." Brand gave me a bewildered look. "I'm surprised you know about it."

  I shrugged. "One of our neighbors had an old truck like this. He let me drive it once. For about ten yards. It was weird not to have the shifter on the floor."

  "You're full of surprises, Sarah," Brand said. Angie nudged me hard, so that I was sitting right next to Brand. Then she moved over so that I couldn't move back.

  I didn't try anyway. I was right against Brand.

  Brand pulled the truck into reverse and started backing up. A moment later we were around the front of the house and turning onto the road. "Scream if you see Grandma," Brand said, half serious, half joking.

  We turned left, heading for Gimli.

  The truck purred along the highway, rumbling melodically. It rode smooth and perfect. Brand drove the speed limit, scanning for potholes and deer.

  The setting sun turned the rearview mirror red.

  "Hurry, please," I said. I was beginning to get a feeling of urgency. "Hurry!"

  "I'm going as fast as I dare," Brand said. "I don't want to attract any attention."

  About a mile later we turned off the road and went along the outskirts of town. Shortly after that we pulled up to the Gimli Cemetery. The main gates were made of iron, at least fifteen feet high and set in two pillars. A stone wall surrounded the whole graveyard.

  "It looks like a jail," Michael said.

  "Yeah," Angie agreed. "It's almost like they don't want anything to get out."

  We putted through the gates, the rumbling of the truck was twice as loud here. There was no sign of life, just row after row of headstones, some huge and obviously expensive, others as small as dinner plates.

  "I had no idea there'd be so many graves," Angie said. "There are more graves than there are townspeople."

  Brand switched the lights to bright. "I wonder where we'll find this Kar's grave? Any ideas?"

  "It's only a couple years old," I said, "so it's probably farther back."

  We rolled down the road, passing columns of headstones until we were three quarters of the way through the cemetery.

  The sun was falling off the edge of the world. Soon we would have no light at all.

  Michael pointed. "That grave was from two years ago."

  "Let's stop," I suggested. "We'll have a better chance of finding it on foot. And we might as well split up."

  Brand pressed on the brakes, halting the truck. We piled out. Angie turned on her flashlight and she and Michael went one way, Brand and I the other. "Holler if you find the grave," I yelled. "Scream if you see anything weird."

  Michael shrieked. It echoed through the graveyard. "Just practicing," he said.

  "You're not funny, Michael." Angie pushed him ahead. "Let's get going."

  I clicked the light on my flashlight, finding it quite bright. We started walking past headstones. Some for children, some for adults. We were careful not to tread on any graves.

  "How will you know it?" Brand asked after a few minutes. "It might not even have a marker."

  "I'll know it when I see it," I said with certainty. It was the grave of my grandfather's enemy. All of Kar's anger would still be waiting there, radiating from under the dirt, making the hairs on the back of my neck tingle.

  We walked on, keeping a quick careful pace. The lights of Gimli were twinkling to my right but they didn't cast any brightness our way. It seemed we were in a twilight world of dark shapes and grey shadows.

  Moments later the world turned completely black. Thick grey clouds had blotted out the last rays of the sinking sun. My flashlight wasn't very bright anymore. It flickered occasionally and when it worked it cast a dull yellow beam.

  "I hope these batteries don't die," I whispered.

  "They shouldn't," Brand said. "I've used the flashlight a thousand times. It should work for at least another hour."

  I glanced over my shoulder and couldn't see Angie or Michael. "I wonder if they're okay," I asked.

  "I'm sure they're fine," Brand answered. "You're brother and Angie seem to be just as capable as you."

  I walked on, letting the compliment sink in. He thought I was capable. I'd always felt a little disorganized in my life, like I wasn't doing things right.

  He thought I was capable!

  "I do wonder," Brand asked, "what exactly you expect to find here."

  "It's ... it's just a gut feeling I have. It might be nothing. But I need to look."

  "Well, Grandma always says to trust your guts ... I thought she was talking about cooking."

  I snickered, glad to be able to laugh a little. We continued looking. I flashed my light at stone after stone, reading each name and forgetting it a moment later. Was that all there was to our lives. Would I one day just be a name on a stone, for strangers to pass by?

  I felt an Arctic chill run up my spine.

  A dog barked in the distance. Was it barking at us? Or was it a warning?

  It stopped after a few seconds.

  "Did you get to meet Hugin?" Brand asked.

  "Yes."

  "Something about that dog just barking there sounded a little like him. It couldn't be, of course ... could it?" Brand paused. "He was a really good dog."

  "I know. He amazed me."

  "My friend overhead his dad talking about how Hugin died. I guess his back was broken and his legs too. And he still crawled after your grandfather trying to save him." Brand drew in his breath. His face became hard and angry. "I really want to help get whoever did that to Hugin. That's one of the reasons I brought you guys out here. Just in case there is some kind of answer. Something I can do."

  I shone my light on the next gravestone. The words were worn by wind and rain, but I could read: Kormak Grotson. December 6th, 1894 to June 30th, 1945. "I think there is."

  We shuffled closer, careful not to step on the grave. I was afraid my feet would sink down and I would be trapped. Or a hand would come up.

  "It's his father's grave," Brand said. "Why didn't I think of that? Kar's final resting place is probably right around here."

  "I'll tell the others," I said. I took a step to the side and started to yell, but in that same moment my footing crumbled below me. The flashlight flew from my hand and I found myself tumbling down, down a long slope into wet, dark earth.

  I hit something hard and came to a stop.

  It took me a moment to regain my senses. There were dark walls of earth all around me and a sore spot on my head. I inhaled a deep breath and smelled the old, rotten smell of decaying flesh.

  I was surrounded by loose dirt. It could fall in at any time.

  Panic bubbled up inside me. I pounded away at the ground, feeling trapped.

  "Sarah!" Brand called from somewhere above me. "Are you all right?"

  "Yes," I said. I stopped flailing. "I've fallen down a hole or something."

  I noticed that the flashlight was only a foot away, so I grabbed
it and pointed it down.

  I saw wet cool earth, broken boards and tattered pieces of clothing. I was standing on top of a casket.

  It was empty.

  I caught my breath. I was in a grave.

  "Keep cool. Keep cool," I repeated.

  "What?" Brand said. "Did you say something?"

  I shone the light up, I was only a few feet from the ground. It wasn't that deep after all. I saw Brand's face floating in the air. His hand extended towards me out of darkness.

  Then my light hit a small grave marker above me. It read: Kar Bardarson. April 16th, 1942-June 30th,1993.

  I was standing on Kar's casket.

  I remembered where I'd smelled the familiar earthy smell. In my room at Grandpa's, the night before. Right after the window was broken.

  "Get me up! Get me up!" I yelled. "Now!"

  I grabbed Brand's right hand. He held on tightly. With him pulling and me desperately digging into the earth I made it to the top in record time. I lay there for a second, breathing hard.

  "You gonna be okay?" Brand was leaning over me.

  "I—I think so." I paused. "I want to get out of here, though. Now."

  I heard running footsteps, saw a bobbing light. Michael and Angie came up. "What's going on?" Michael asked. "We thought we heard screaming."

  By this time I had sat up. "We found his grave."

  Michael pointed his light down. "It's empty."

  "I know." I stood, looked over the edge.

  "Well, where is he?" Angie asked. They peeked down as if afraid something would grab them.

  "I don't know," I answered. It took all my will to just glance at the casket again. "But look at the boards. They're pointing upwards as if they were broken from the inside."

  21.

  My own words echoed around us. We stared at the open grave, two flashlights trained on an empty casket and a hole half-filled with wet, loose earth.

  On impulse I pointed my light at the gravestone. Then I pointed it at Kormak's.

  "It's the same day," I whispered. My knees felt like they would give out.

  "What?" Brand asked. He held my arm, steadied me.

  "They died on the same day," I said. "June 30th. Different years but the same day."