Northern Frights

by Arthur Slade

  Angie screamed. A moment later I saw why. A figure was on the road in front of us.

  The little boy. The ghost boy. Holding out his hands, warning us to stop.

  I slammed on the brakes, but it was too late, we were heading right through him. He turned into mist and we came over a small rise into clear air, the truck skidding on gravel.

  There in front of us, illuminated for a second, was a half man, half monster, his mouth open in a growl.

  24.

  I yanked on the wheel.

  I had a moment to see him clearly as we passed right by, his eyes huge and glowing, his dirty lumpy hair blowing in the wind, looking like moving snakes. We were so close he could have reached in the driver window with his bulbous arms and yanked me out.

  The truck fishtailed past.

  The wheel spun, I lost control and we piled into the ditch and up an embankment, saplings snapping in front of us. It didn't seem like we were going very fast anymore or perhaps my mind was slowing everything down.

  We piled into an old, giant pine tree. I was thrown forward, my head bashed into the steering wheel and I rolled down to the floor and lay there.

  Then there was only blackness.

  For a few moments I thought I heard voices all around me telling me to wake up, that it was time to move, to go. They sounded so familiar. They gave me the courage to open my eyes.

  I couldn't see anything. I heard moaning though. I wasn't sure if it was coming from me or not. I tried to move and found my body wouldn't respond. Had I broken any bones? Why hadn't I put on my seat belt? I was in too much of a hurry, I had forgotten it.

  I realized it wasn't me who was moaning. It was Michael or Angie. They must have been hurt bad. I twisted my head to look but this sent a sharp signal of pain to my brain.

  I wasn't going to do that again for awhile. I hoped nothing was wrong with my spine.

  There was a noise, a small cracking sound outside the truck.

  This was followed by the wrenching sound of metal. Something was trying to yank the passenger door from its hinges. A cold blast of air came in.

  "Help me," Angie was whispering. "Help ... .me."

  I could hear her sliding on the seat. I tried to move but couldn't. She started to scream then was suddenly muffled as if a hand had covered her mouth.

  I heard a thump.

  Then silence.

  The crack of snapping twigs was followed by the sound of sniffing. The smell of old graveyard earth—a dark, dank scent, rotten and sweet at the same time—rolled into the truck.

  This time Michael moaned then yelled in panic, "Hhhhey ... let—"

  He fell silent. Something else cracked. Not a twig.

  Was it a bone? Michael's neck?

  I still couldn't turn my head or move.

  The familiar cold had stolen the strength from my limbs.

  But not all of the feeling.

  Because something rough and strong was wrapping itself around my ankle. It felt like the gnarled roots of a tree in the shape of a hand. The grip grew tighter and tighter so that I almost cried out in pain.

  Then it began to pull. I slid towards the other door, helplessly dragged across the floor mats. I latched onto the brake pedal with my left hand.

  With my right I grabbed the gas pedal.

  Now I heard grunting, a wet monstrous roar as it exerted more strength, trying to get me loose. I held tight, feeling the muscles in my arms and my legs stretching. There was a popping sound as my vertebrae in my back straightened.

  "No. No," I whispered through clenched teeth. "You can't have me."

  This seemed to anger it. The grip on my ankle doubled, threatening to crushed my bones. It roared, pulling so hard that I felt like any moment now I would snap in two.

  My fingers started slipping. Bit by bit. I didn't have near enough strength to hold on. Whatever had a hold of me was too strong.

  I kicked my free foot in the air, but couldn't hit anything. Then I slid it to the side and propped it against the seat, finding even more leverage.

  "You can't have me," I repeated. "Let me go!"

  Again came the rumbling growling sound, like a dog but larger, wilder. It breathed out. And yanked harder.

  My shoe came off, the thing's grip slipped.

  I heard a whomp as something huge hit the ground. I knew I would only have a second. I let go of the pedals, scrambled onto the seat, and reached out into the cold air and grabbed the open door.

  It wouldn't budge. The door was bent open. There was a blur in my vision to the right of me, moving fast.

  Coming straight for me.

  I tugged hard, getting my whole body into it. The truck's door screeched and scraped shut with a bang.

  A second later the whole truck shook as a heavy weight plowed into its side. I tried to roll up the window, but realized that the glass was gone.

  A huge fist struck the door. The metal bent inwards. I quickly backed away. A second blow bubbled the door spraying me with bits of metal and glass. I snapped my eyes shut and held up my hands.

  When I opened them again I could see two glowing pools of light—eyes peering in at me. A huge, dark hairy arm the size of a boa constrictor reached in, fingers spread wide. The truck groaned.

  I pushed back against the driver's side, tucking my legs under me. I tried to open the door, but the handle wouldn't budge.

  The hand came closer. Eyes glowering.

  I reached around for something to hit it with. My hand bumped a solid small weight in my jacket pocket.

  I unzipped the pocket and grabbed the cross my grandfather had carved.

  It felt hot. I held it out in front of me and the cross glowed dull blue. I knew it wasn't moonlight.

  The monster paused. He pulled back slightly but not out of the window. It was like he was deciding what to do next.

  "Get back!" I hissed, surprised at how solid my voice sounded. "Get out!"

  The eyes blinked. Still it didn't move.

  "You're Kar, aren't you?" I said. "Kar. You were a man once weren't you?"

  It breathed out, a slow sighing movement. The snake like pupils went from my face to the cross then back to my face.

  "Do you remember?" I asked. "Once you were a man."

  The yellow eyes blinked.

  "I'm Sarah Asmundson," I said. I wanted it to know that I was a person. Maybe somewhere inside him there was still something human. "You have my grandfather ... Thursten. You—"

  It was the wrong thing to say. The pupils suddenly glowed, his eyes narrowed. With a hiss he pressed against the truck and leaned in, extending his arm to full length.

  He grabbed at the cross.

  There was a sudden blinding flash of light. A smell of burning flesh. Kar screamed and fell back. I was hit by a shock wave that drove my head into the door.

  I saw bright swirling lights.

  Then darkness.

  25.

  I opened my eyes, turned my groggy head. I had no idea how long I was out. My skull ached, my ankle, my arms—my whole body felt like a herd of buffalo had stampeded across it twice. It still smelled like smoke and burnt hair. I felt my hair, some of it came away in my hands.

  What had happened?

  I inhaled and held my breath. Listening. There was nothing. Just silence. I looked, but everywhere was inky darkness. I couldn't see a thing through the windows.

  I peeked my head up a little higher, looking out the back. By squinting I thought I could make out a huge lumpy shape moving on two feet. It disappeared into the bushes.

  It looked like it was carrying two sacks of potatoes.

  Michael and Angie. Kar was taking them away.

  I had to do something. I had to.

  But what? I scrambled around the truck, searching for the flashlight. It was like one of those nightmares where you need something really bad but it just keeps slipping out of your grasp. It could have gone anywhere when the truck went off the road. Even been thrown out.

  My hand felt somethin
g hard and round under the seat. I pulled.

  The flashlight.

  I pushed the switch forward. No light. Nothing.

  I slapped the flashlight in my other hand, a movement I'd seen my father do a hundred times before when he was going out in the night to check the dogs. That moved the batteries around and suddenly the flashlight grew bright, shrinking my pupils.

  I pointed it down.

  The cross was on the seat. Broken in two.

  The wood was still smoldering. I touched it and burnt my hand.

  I knew it wouldn't be any help anymore.

  I climbed out of the truck. I felt on my back. I still had the water skin. I had no idea whether it would do me any good.

  I took a deep breath and started in the direction I'd last seen Kar. My ankle almost collapsed beneath my weight, but I carried on pushing into the underbrush, branches snapping at my face. Even in the dull light his trail was easy to follow. Broken bushes, bent saplings, and huge prints in the soft earth.

  I charged on, deeper into the woods, running past trees, tripping over roots. Getting up and running again.

  No one's going to find us, I thought. All of us could die out here lost in the trees.

  I should have phoned the police.

  A few steps later it dawned on me that they were probably patrolling the area. They'd see the truck all smashed up and suspect that something was going on. Maybe they'd come looking, see Althea's truck too. Just maybe.

  I headed on. Twigs cracking below me. The mist grew heavier again, tendrils reaching through the trees. When I looked down, I couldn't even see my feet it was so thick. I could fall into a pit without knowing it.

  But I had to carry on.

  The trail was growing harder to follow. There was too much fog. Too much darkness.

  A few steps later the flashlight went black.

  I stopped, slapped the light against my hands. It wouldn't work. I took out the batteries and put them back in again. No luck.

  I gave up and kept moving ahead, slower now, squinting and dodging trees. I gripped the flashlight tight in my hand. It was heavy enough to be a good weapon.

  But against what? Kar had bested my grandfather who had a shotgun. Had crushed Hugin. What could I do against him?

  Sarah, a voice said inside my head, stop thinking that way. Just keep going. I was sure it was my own voice—but why did it sound like Grandma Asmundson? She couldn't be talking to me. Not from heaven.

  But a lot of strange things had already happened tonight.

  My imagination was getting to me. All I knew was that I had to charge on, no matter what.

  A sudden dark flash in my head made me stumble and fall to my knees. I felt claustrophobic suddenly, had an image of darkness, boards being moved and could hear my brother whispering: no no no no no.

  I knew what it was. I was feeling the same thing as Michael. He was being shoved in a shallow hole and covered with earth. I could sense him choking, clawing, fighting to keep the dirt from blocking his mouth.

  My brother was being buried alive.

  Then the image flew away from me and I was left crouching, feeling sick.

  I got up again. Michael needed me. Grandpa. Angie. Althea. They all needed me to keep going.

  But how would I find them? I'd lost the trail in the darkness and mist.

  I looked up at the moon, a silver face peering through the trees. It wasn't bright enough to light my way.

  I couldn't just stand here.

  I gathered my courage and just started walking in the direction that seemed correct. Looking for any sign that I was going the right way.

  After about five minutes I began to panic. I was lost. I wasn't ever sure where the road was ... ahead of me or behind me. I might have even made a circle. I could wander out here for days with no hope of finding anything.

  I leaned against a tree. It was hopeless.

  Then I looked up.

  In the distance a light was glowing.

  26.

  I ran towards it blindly, not caring if I fell or smacked my head against a tree.

  It retreated. So I sped up.

  I couldn't tell what kind of light it was ... a flashlight? A torch. Maybe I should yell.

  Just as I opened my mouth to holler the light disappeared.

  I picked up my pace, heading for the last place where I had seen it. Moonlight glinted through the tops of the trees, lighting some of my way. Painting everything white and silver.

  I stopped when I heard a noise.

  "Help! Help!" It was a small voice. Very far away and familiar.

  I took a few steps. Listened.

  Nothing.

  I moved my left foot ahead.

  "Help! Help!"

  The cry came from directly in front of me. But there was nothing there. Just a bit of a clearing. A few bushes. Grass.

  "Who is it?" I whispered.

  No answer.

  I moved my right foot.

  Even in the moonlight I could see a dark round O in the ground. And I could hear splashing water.

  "Hello?" I said.

  "Hello! Sarah is that you?" It was Brand's voice. Yelling up from far below me.

  "Brand! What happened?" I got down on my hands and knees, careful not to move too far ahead.

  "I—I don't know. I was looking for Grandma. My flashlight stop working and next thing I knew I fell down here—in a well." He paused. "I think someone pushed me though."

  "Are you alright?"

  "Yes. But—something looked down a few minutes ago, Sarah. It was big. It's head filled the hole. It was an animal I think."

  I knew it was worse than an animal. "Can you get out?" I asked.

  "I can't climb up. The walls are too slick. I'm treading water right now. Is there a rope or something up there you can toss to me?"

  I looked around. "Nothing. How far down are you?" I couldn't see anything but darkness. I heard another splash.

  "About 15 meters—30 feet, I think. It's deep. I can just kind of see you."

  "So a tree branch wouldn't work, then?"

  "No."

  We were quiet a second. "It—" I started, then cleared my throat, "—that thing that looked in at you has Angie and Michael. And Althea too." I paused. "We wrecked the truck."

  "The `57 doesn't matter." I heard him breath in. "Listen Sarah, I'll be okay here. There's a ledge I can hang on to. You ... you try and help Sarah and Michael and everyone. Come back and get me."

  "Are you sure?"

  "Yes. Go. I can last for hours down here."

  I paused. "Okay. I will go, then. Take care of yourself."

  "I will. Just go!"

  Then I was off again. Running. Careful not to fall in the well.

  A few hundred feet farther and the light appeared again.

  A glowing light. With a tiny figure inside.

  I realized what it was.

  The boy. The ghost. Showing me the way.

  A moment later I saw the cabin.

  27.

  It was the cabin from my nightmare.

  The door was half open, the house lopsided. Wind and rain had hammered on it for years twisting it into an almost living shape. I knew the boards and logs had soaked up enough evil to stain them black.

  Somewhere inside I would find everyone.

  Or their bodies.

  I had to stop thinking that way. But it had been so long since Grandpa was taken.

  What hope was there?

  The boy had disappeared. If he had even ever been there.

  I swallowed. Somewhere behind me Brand was treading water, thirty feet below the ground. I needed to hurry if I was going to do anything.

  I snuck around the side of the cabin, using the trees as cover. I inched up to the wall and tried to look in the window. The glass was thick and round, it seemed to be made from the bottoms of old dark wine bottles. I couldn't see a thing through it.

  I crept to the back of the house, looking left and right. I could make out an entranc
e to a cellar. I went up to it, bent down and listened, but heard nothing. I put my hand to the rope handle. Maybe there was some clue inside.

  I couldn't pull. I didn't want to see what was under a cabin as horrendous as this one.

  They can't be there, I decided. I released the handle. They can't be.

  I went around the other side, found another window. It was even darker than the first one. I crept to the front of the cabin. There was a small porch and a half-open door.

  I had to go inside. There was no other choice. I stole along the wall, up to the wooden floorboards. Fresh dirt was scattered in front of the door.

  I stepped on the porch and the whole house moaned in protest, as if it knew I was there. I took another step and the board creaked. The wood was so brittle it could hardly carry my weight.

  I set my hand on the door, staying around the side and pushed slowly.

  It creaked open.

  I peeked around the corner. I couldn't see anything inside but shadows. I listened.

  No movement.

  I came around the corner, took my first step into the cabin.

  Nothing.

  I went further, boards cracking beneath my feet. Was the cellar under me? Would I fall right through?

  I took another step and another, till I was past the door.

  My eyes slowly adjusted to this black, black darkness.

  I could see a broken table in one corner, a chair. An old bed. All dimly visible.

  This would be an awful place to live.

  And to die.

  I edged ahead. There was dirt piled here and there on the floor. The cabin smelled musty and rotten. Then I stepped again.

  My foot caught on something and I fell, headlong, letting go of the flashlight, sucking in air, trying not to scream.

  Down, down, down.

  But not onto the floor.

  I hit a body.

  I pushed myself up. Something big and cold and once alive was below me.

  I rolled away from it.

  Right into another body. Two big pale glassy eyes stared into mine.

  I bit my tongue to keep from screaming. I sat up, backed away again.

  Then I saw the horns. Just above the eyes. The four legs and hooves.

  They were deer.