Northern Frights

by Arthur Slade

  "You can't be right," she said softly. "You can't be."

  We were silent for a while. This was almost too big to comprehend. I offered Harbard's flask to Fiona, but she took one whiff and handed it back. I drained it. The substance brought life back into my limbs. "We need to get help. We're gonna have to find the Ranger," I said.

  "He's probably already looking for me. My parents would have called him by now."

  "Does that mean you want to stay here?"

  She shook her head. "No. I guess it's time to talk to Mom and Dad. This isn't exactly a normal trip away from home anymore. Besides, it'll take both of us to convince the Ranger that there's something really bizarre going on here."

  A few minutes later we were in the center of the campground, looking at the front of an old, square, tin-roofed building. The words: PARK RANGER were stenciled on the door. The wind and rain had faded the words and cracks were creeping through the wood.

  Fiona went in first saying, "Whatever you do, don't mention sea serpents." The floors were hardwood and there was a long counter that ran from one wall to the other. It looked like a bar, except there were no bottles or glasses hanging from the roof. Maps were pinned to the wall beside a bulletin board with a big sign that said, "DON'T FORGET THE LONG WEEKEND RUSH!"

  There was no one around.

  I stepped up to the counter, found a bell, and rang it.

  The ding sound echoed around us. We waited.

  Ding.

  A door opened behind the counter and out came Ranger Morrison. He was smiling until he saw us. Then his face became grumpy. He bellied up to the counter. "What do you two want?"

  "We have to report a missing person," I said.

  The surprise showed on the Ranger's face. "A missing person?"

  "Yes, my dad has been captured."

  Morrison looked from me to Fiona. "Is this some kind of stupid joke?"

  I shook my head. I felt numb.

  "Who did it?" he asked. "And where?"

  I repeated the story, speaking slowly, awkwardly at first, explaining our bike trip, meeting up with Dad, and about the one man who hounded us at the longhouse and the other who later came out of the woods, waving his arms. Ranger Morrison eyed me with contempt and seemed to be biting his tongue, but his face turned a shade of pale when I mentioned Harbard.

  "Harbard's looking for him?" Morrison asked. I was glad there was at least one person on this island he respected. "This sounds too much like that Siroiska thing all over again, mystery upon mystery. And almost a year to the day since he disappeared. You two sit down." He gestured at some chairs set by the wall. Fiona and I sat. Morrison grabbed a medical package from behind the counter, trudged over and handed it to Fiona. Then he disappeared into the back, came out a minute later with two cups of tea. The bags were still floating in the steaming water.

  He looked down. "What's your name again?"

  "Michael Asmundson."

  He gestured at Fiona. "And you?"

  She straightened. "Fiona."

  "Fiona who?"

  "Fiona Gavin." She sounded almost proud when she said this.

  "Where are your parents?"

  This was it, I thought. She was going to be in trouble.

  "Gone," she answered after a short pause. "To Seattle. On business. I'm on holidays with Michael and his Dad."

  The lie came pretty easily to Fiona. Like she'd been practicing it all day. I wasn't sure if this was good time to lie or not.

  Morrison stared at her, then at me. "I think you two made half this stuff up," he said heavily. "But my instincts tell me to believe the other half. Now I just gotta figure out what to do." He took a couple of steps away, then said to me, "The funny thing is, I was looking for you and your dad at about eleven this morning."

  "Why?"

  "Because your sister called here. It sounded kind of urgent, though she wouldn't tell me what it was." He pointed at a pay phone on the wall. "You can use that if you want. I'll be busy for a few minutes." He went into his office.

  Fiona grabbed a plastic spoon from the table, removed her tea bag and had a sip. Then she dug in the medic kit, found an antiseptic, and poured some on my bite.

  "Ouch!" I cried. "Aren't you supposed to warn me first?"

  "It wouldn't be half as much fun." She patted it gently with a cotton ball. It seemed like the wound was shrinking already. She stuck a bandage to my skin. "I had to lie to him," she whispered.

  "Why?"

  "Because if he knew I'd run away, he wouldn't have believed our story. He obviously doesn't know anything about me, maybe he hasn't checked his messages or something. I'll phone my parents when we're done here." Fiona felt her forehead. "How's my cut look?"

  "The blood's all dry. It's really not much more than a scratch," I answered.

  "Too bad. I was hoping to get a cool scar." She smiled at me, then poked through the medic kit, examining its contents.

  "Is there garlic in there?" I asked.

  "Garlic?"

  "Yeah, Harbard said we should eat garlic."

  Fiona shrugged. "I doubt there's garlic anywhere on this island. He's probably being superstitious. Maybe he eats it all the time." She paused. "That would explain why he doesn't have too many friends."

  I grinned. Then I shivered. My body still seemed out of whack. I sipped the tea. It did warm me up, if only for a few minutes.

  I knew I should phone home to at least tell them what was going on. And to find out why Sarah was calling.

  "Your dad's gonna be alright," Fiona whispered. And then she started saying something else, but her words faded out. My arm grew numb. A part of me receded from everything. I closed my eyes, then opened them again.

  All the colour had drained from the room. Everything was painted in gray tones. Something moved in the corner of my vision and I tried to look directly at it, but it stayed just out of sight. For a second I thought I'd seen a black, human shape. Watching us. A leering smile on its ebony face.

  "Michael," it hissed.

  21.

  The thing started to move closer, coming fully into my vision, reaching toward me with long, spidery fingers.

  "Michael. Michael."

  I blinked. The room swirled back into full colour.

  "Michael." Fiona tapped gently on my head. "Michael, are you there? Hello!"

  It took me a moment to register what she'd just said. I looked around, but the dark form had vanished.

  "Sorry, I just kinda spaced out there," I explained. "I'm gonna walk a bit." I stood, then meandered slowly around the room, trying to get my bearings while Fiona watched me. I spotted a small clock and was surprised to see it was 7:15 at night. I went to the phone and dialed home collect.

  "Are you alright?" Sarah asked before I could even say hello.

  "Y-yes, of course."

  "Are you sure?" She sounded like she didn't believe me. "I had this awful feeling just moments ago that you were in danger. Like something bad was—I don't know—glaring at you. Waiting for the right time to strike. Is everything okay?"

  I looked around the room. Blinked. I still couldn't see any more strange shapes. "Yes, I think we're safe. We're in a police—that is—a Ranger's office. Uh ... is Mom home?"

  "No, she went to town. What's going on, Michael?"

  I told her about Dad—about everything—as quickly as I could.

  "I see," she said, slowly. She didn't sound surprised at all or else she was really good at hiding it. "Now some things are making sense."

  "What things?"

  "I had a dream last night. About the island you guys are on. It was ... it was a saga dream, Michael. Like Grandpa talked about, a dream that is more than a dream. I saw you with a stone in your hand. You said something about using it to shake the roots of the world tree. And there was this storm full of Valkyries and warriors, all charging across the sky to battle."

  If there was anything I'd learned in my life, it was to trust Sarah when she said she'd had a dream. She once told me to stay h
ome from a school trip, so I did, pretending I was sick. One of my classmates accidentally had his arm broken in several places at a metal factory. I always wondered if it was supposed to have been me.

  "Do you have any idea what the dream meant?" I asked.

  Sarah was silent for a moment. "It had Yggdrasill in it. The world tree."

  "Yes, I know what Yggdrasill is." We were always competing with each other to see who knew more about the old Norse myths.

  "Something more is going to happen there at Drang. Something big. And it has to do with life and death, because Yggdrasill is the tree that goes from life to death." She paused. "Look, just get off the island. It isn't safe there."

  "You're overreacting, Sarah," I said. "Everything's going to be okay." But part of me agreed with her. We should leave and let the Ranger and the police handle everything. But what about Dad?

  "Just don't do anything ... I don't know ... brave or stupid. Swear on Grandma Gunnora's grave," she whispered. In our family this was the strongest oath we could make.

  "I swear."

  Ranger Morrison came out of the back room. He started talking to Fiona.

  "I should go," I said.

  "Take care of yourself, Michael. Okay?"

  "I will." I hung up.

  "Are you ready?" Ranger Morrison asked me.

  "Ready for what?"

  "To show me where to look for your father."

  "What he's saying," Fiona explained, "is he doesn't trust us."

  22.

  "Listen kid!" Ranger Morrison snarled. "I'll make up my own mind about this so called sacrificial place. I need to see it with my own two eyes, then, if necessary, I'll radio for help from there. The Mounties don't appreciate being called in for nothing."

  "You're risking my father's life by delaying," I said.

  He glared down at me, then spoke slowly and clearly. "I do things by the book. Now let's get going while we still have a few hours of light." He headed toward the door. I exchanged a glance with Fiona, who still looked boiling mad. I knew we only had one choice.

  "We have to go," I whispered. "What about your parents?"

  "I'll phone them when we get back."

  We followed Ranger Morrison down to the dock and climbed into his boat, which was slightly larger than Harbard's. After putting on our lifejackets, we headed out to sea. A line of clouds cloaked the top of the sky, gathering like unraveling spools of dark wool that shrouded the north end of the island.

  The next few minutes drifted by. I stared at the rock walls of Drang as they blurred past, waves crashing relentlessly against the unfeeling grey stone. I saw a small bay with a dock and a series of stairs that climbed up a low cliff. I assumed that was where Harbard lived. His boat was gone. Perhaps he was still out looking for Dad.

  The boat roared on, battling the water. The clouds above us were growing heavier.

  "Do you know who would kidnap his Dad?" Fiona asked the Ranger.

  Morrison furrowed his brow. His jaw was set and I wasn't sure if he was going to speak. "I don't," he finally admitted. "Maybe someone who lives in the bush. I often get reports from fishermen who see smoke on the north end of the island. What did Harbard tell you?"

  "He spoke about his dad," I said, "when I told him the burial cairns were broken open. He said something like 'My father's work is undone' and that 'something was let loose.'"

  Morrison cocked his head to one side. "I haven't a clue what that means. I came here long after his father was dead. People say he was just as strange as Harbard."

  The ocean was growing harsher and my stomach answered with a familiar queasiness. I looked back toward the land as we rounded a corner. I spotted the slide made of stone. "We're here," I shouted. "This is it."

  Morrison pulled down on a lever and the engine cut to a quarter speed. We floated to the base of the slide. It took him a few moments to moor the boat to an outcropping. "I'll go up first. You two follow when I pass the rope." For someone who was overweight, he climbed the slide with surprising ease.

  He stood at the top. "It smells like a slaughterhouse," he yelled. Then he attached the rope to a small tree and lowered it down.

  I headed up the slide, digging in with my feet. Fiona was one step behind. When I got to the top, Ranger Morrison was staring at the ravine. His face was ashen. "Maybe there really is something going on."

  The bones were still there. So was the stake and a freshly killed goat.

  A thin trail of blood led from the goat to the slide.

  23.

  "You did say there were two men, right?" Morrison asked.

  "Yes," Fiona answered. "One came out of the woods at us. Shouting."

  Morrison pointed at the steel pole. "Do you have any idea what these guys hoped to accomplish with this ... this sacrifice?"

  I looked at the symbol of Jormungand. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but I think they were going to summon something."

  "Like a seance?" the ranger asked.

  "No, a special ceremony to bring something up that slide. A sea monster."

  Morrison shook his head. "That doesn't make any sense, who'd be dumb enough to believe in sea monsters?"

  Me, I thought. "Someone does," I said, "that's why they built this place."

  Morrison stepped closer to the stake. We followed, carefully finding our footing on the steep slope. The closer we got to the goat, the harder it became to inhale. It was like the air was thicker here, the gravity stronger. A few pellets of rain landed, stirring up the smell of the dead animal.

  The moment I got near the steel pole, the bite on my arm flared up with a burning pain and my heart stopped beating. I wobbled for a second.

  "Michael, what's wrong?" Fiona asked. She grabbed my shoulder.

  "Harrrrrt," I moaned. The blood was frozen in my veins. What was wrong with my heart?

  I opened my eyes. The world had drained of all colors but two—I was seeing everything in black and white. Shadowy shapes were flitting around us, darting here and there, pointing and laughing. Two of them pulled on Morrison's pant legs, but he didn't notice. A dark silhouette slipped right in front of my face, its mouth a huge smile. It stuck its hand in the middle of my chest and I felt a sharp pain.

  THUD-THUD-THUD-THUD.

  I pulled back. Blinked again.

  My heart was beating. Air filled my lungs. The real world returned.

  Both Morrison and Fiona were staring at me. "Sorry," I whispered, "I felt queasy for a s-second. I just need to sit down." Fiona took me to a large, flat-topped stone. I sat. I was still wheezing, so I took off my lifejacket and let it fall behind me. Fiona settled in next to me, put one arm around my shoulder.

  "I had some kind of hallucination," I admitted. "And I had one back at the office, too. I think it's the snake bite. Harbard said it would affect my mind."

  "What did you see?"

  "Black shapes. Dancing around us."

  "I did too, just a moment ago," Fiona whispered, "they looked like the creature that followed us today. Then they vanished."

  We were silent for a moment. "What if they're real?" I asked.

  "What?"

  "I just ... I wonder why we both saw them? It's like we're looking into an invisible world. And they seem to be following us everywhere on this island. Just like fetches."

  "Like what?"

  "They're these kinda ghost things. Dad told me about them. I think that's what we're seeing." I looked at her, she seemed dazed. "What do you think they are?"

  "I don't know," Fiona answered slowly, "I just don't know what's real anymore."

  Ranger Morrison was now a few feet away, staring at the dead goat. "I'm gonna radio the Mounties," he announced. The wind had picked up and was making the short, wide sleeves on his shirt flap.

  "It's about time," Fiona whispered, low enough that he couldn't hear her.

  Morrison walked to the edge of the slide then stopped. "Oh my God," he said. He quickly made his way down the rope, disappearing from sight. A second later the
boat started up.

  "What's he doing?" Fiona asked. She stood and took a few steps toward the slide. "He's leaving us!"

  I got to my feet, each bone creaking, and shuffled closer to the water, forcing myself to move. I pushed my cold hands deep into the pockets of my shorts.

  Morrison was pulling away, yelling into his microphone. Far above him giant storm clouds gathered.

  "Maybe he has to get out in the open to radio for help," I said.

  Morrison put the microphone away. He circled over toward the cliff walls, where rocks pointed to the sky like teeth. The surf crashed against them. He stopped the boat as close to the jutting stone as he could, then plucked a long pole from the deck. It had a hook on one end.

  I felt suddenly sick, staring out at the churning water and somehow knowing what I was about to see would be bad. Very bad. Is this what my sister experienced when she got one of those good guesses?

  Then something else grabbed my attention. In the murky distance, out beyond the island, a form broke the surface. It was like a whale, but larger and too distant to discern. Waves washed up against it. I squinted. It slipped under the water.

  A moment later it appeared again, farther away, then just as quickly disappeared. Had it just been here, feeding? Had we interrupted it?

  I looked back down at Morrison. He'd just dipped the pole into the waves. He moved it around in a circular motion, then it caught on something heavy. With much effort, he slowly hauled his catch into the boat.

  It looked like a human body. With white, lifeless limbs.

  It was about the size of Dad.

  24.

  "Oh, no," Fiona whispered.

  The boat revved up and Morrison turned it toward us. He cut through the water, slowing to a quick stop right next to the slide. He then bent over and urgently pushed down for a few moments. He was doing CPR. Finally he lifted the figure up.

  I saw scraggly hair, a slightly balding forehead. Loose, swinging arms.