Undraland

by Mary E. Twomey

Five.

  Weredogs and Gnomes

  I thought not speaking to each other would be more peaceful, but Jens responded by turning on the radio to a country station and blasting the most overly emotional song I’d ever heard. He sang along, like we were on a Sunday afternoon cruise just to kill time. “Don’t you just love the twang of it?” he asked, switching his cadence to that of a good old country boy. “The whole singing about your problems thing. It’s so…what’s the word? Emotionally balanced.” He took a bite out of a greasy hamburger that stank like it was fried on the same surface as day-old fish and grinned in the rearview mirror at me.

  I knew he was baiting me, but I refused to ask him how he knew my Uncle Rick.

  It was seven hours of remaining firm in my silence before Jens turned off the freeway and onto a side street. I was proud of myself that I’d remained strong in my vow that I would no longer speak to him. I was reintroduced to life without country music when he shut off the radio to better focus on the nighttime driving down the residential streets. Oh, how sweet the sound. I swore off cowboy boots and rodeos right then and there.

  We motored slowly past the burned-out shell of a commercial building. Jens gasped and swore as he peeled into the abandoned parking lot. He flung his body out the door and stood outside, taking in the damage that was apparently news to him. “No!” he yelled to the remnants of the building. His hands were in his hair, taking his stress out on the black, messy tresses. His thick eyebrows bunched together as he tried to make sense of the charbroiled destination.

  His angst worried me. As I knew nothing of his plan or our destination, I couldn’t offer any help. I had to look to him to know when I should feel alleviated or scared.

  Holding tight to my vow of silence, I got out of the car and stood beside him. Parts of the roof had caved in, letting us and nature peer straight in to the guts of the wreckage. The building was blackened on the inside and barely standing on the outside. I had questions, sure, but Jens was too preoccupied to offer any answers. He walked around the rubble, reading the damage to see where the fire started. His eyes fell on a smattering of something that looked like gold dust on bits of the blackened wreckage. He slid his phone out of his pocket and punched in a number. “Hey, Tuck. Did you hit Alrik’s bowling alley?” Jens exhaled, a relieved smile surfacing. After a few more perfunctory comments, he hung up. “It’s okay. It’s one of our fires,” he confirmed, as if I was supposed to know what that meant. I couldn’t tell if he was talking for my benefit or just thinking aloud. His shoulders relaxed and rolled back, the defensive stance mutating to mere observation. “No one died. It was preemptive. A cover-up.”

  I nodded uncertainly and left him to his search for whatever and walked around the parking lot to stretch my legs. I was uncertain of what to make of Jens, and even more unsure of our environment. Even though we were in the middle of an urban city, the night felt empty, and the world vast with its void. The normal rustle of nature seemed hushed either out of respect for the broken building, or in fear of something else lurking under the sparse expanse of stars.

  I made an executive decision right then and there to nix scary movies out of my life. Reality was getting a little too harrowing on its own.

  Dry and dead bushes were at the outer edges of the lot, so I kept myself occupied picking the trash out of them and tossing it all in the plastic bag Jens had gotten fast food in a while back. I hate the stink of sliders. It’s like he was purposefully doing all the things that irritate me.

  I reached for a mangled shopping bag in the bracken, but stopped when I felt eyes on me. I could still hear Jens stomping around in the rubble, and the itch felt like it was coming from the street. I looked up slowly and saw a glowing pair of yellow eyes. As the body stepped forward, I made out the shape of a large dog. I’m terrible with breeds. What was Scooby-Doo? Well, the dog was as big as Scooby was next to Shaggy. So, you know, pretty friggin’ big.

  Only this pup was nothing like Scoob. His brown fur was matted in parts, with a chunk on his left flank missing altogether. My breath felt too audible when his foaming maw snarled at me. I swallowed, and the sound seemed to echo, alerting him to my apprehension. A childish whimper caught in my throat when he decided to go for the big meal – me. Only he didn’t charge. It was like he was watching to make sure I stayed where I was, like he was waiting for backup.

  The yellow eyes glowed with a predator’s precision as he stepped toward me, his snorting exhale like a boar’s. I froze, wondering if movement would make things worse.

  And then there were three. Three sets of glowing yellow orbs found me, all belonging to Great Dane-type dogs. Their hackles were raised, their teeth bared and dripping with white foamy saliva that made me equally afraid and grossed out. Their bodies were pure muscle, and the angry marks on their fur from other fights only added to their intimidation factor.

  “Jens!” I whispered. I meant to call for him, but my voice decided to wuss out on me.

  I took a step backward toward the car, trying not to breathe in a way that might tip off the dogs that their next meal was a flight risk.

  On the second step, they charged.

  I am not ashamed to admit that I screamed like a child with three rhinos chasing her in an abandoned parking lot. I am also not ashamed to admit that I run like a Muppet, only slower.

  I’m a little ashamed that I called out for Jens, hoping he forgave me enough for my silent treatment to come to my aid. In hindsight, there was some small part of me that was warning him to get in the car. The larger part of me was hoping he had some of that bear-whooping ninja action on tap I’d seen him unleash earlier.

  I thought he’d heard my warning and was running for the car, but he raced passed me and collided with the dogs, meeting two mid-air. There was a crash of barking, growling, ripping and snapping. I turned around, afraid when I heard an ominous crack of a neck that could only mean a swift death.

  For the dog. It started as three on one, and Jens was winning, reducing them down to two. He was primal, as he had been with the psychotic bear. Despite my distrust of him, in that moment I marveled at his beastly fervor. He was both man and monster, and it was a beautiful thing.

  And also a little terrifying. Jens wasn’t afraid of getting bitten. He went straight for the head, grabbing one of the giant Great Danes and bashing its cranium against a concrete barrier. The Franken-dog yelped like a baby, and my heart lurched as he twitched and went limp. Maybe the dogs weren’t as dangerous as I’d thought. Did Jens have to be so brutal?

  “Lucy, what are you doing?” Jens yelled as he wrestled the last dog to the ground. His arms and legs were wrapped all the way around its torso, and he squeezed the thrashing mutt in his vice grip, making it look smaller and somehow less threatening. For a second, as it thrashed against Jens, I could almost imagine the whimpers were directed at me, begging me to save him from the hulking man.

  My heart went out to the poor baby, and before I could stop myself, I cried out, “Well, don’t hurt him!”

  “Get in the car!”

  Oh, yeah. I spun around and bolted for the car, shutting myself in and sinking to the floor of the backseat. I rolled myself in a ball against the door furthest from the last of the mongrels. I hugged my knees in the fetal position, trying hard to think of the lead singer’s name from the Polyphonic Spree. His happy hippie songs always calmed me down when I was scared. I could change my train of thought from panic to a life where all my problems were gone because I was a carefree musician who wore flowing colorful robes and sung songs about clouds. Maybe I’d play the panpipes in his merry traveling band of nomadic musicians.

  I screamed when Jens flung open the door and slumped down into the driver’s seat.

  “It’s alright, Loos. It’s just me. What? Did you expect a dog could open the door?” I could see a hint of that same purple glitter I’d dusted off his upper lip in my apartment back under his nose again. Just a few specks, but eye-catching nonetheless. His forearm
was bleeding, but he paid the injury no mind.

  I tried to muscle past the panic and play the adult. I let the grip on my body go slack and slid up into the backseat as he started up the car. “Have you ever seen Tom and Jerry? Animals are capable of exceptional cruelty,” I informed him in all my sagely wisdom. He gave me a one-note obligatory laugh as he peeled out of the parking lot. “What were those things? Weredogs?”

  “I honestly don’t know. There’s no such thing. Alrik warned me it would happen, but I guess I needed to see it to believe it. Weredogs. Never thought I’d see the day.”

  “Werebears are no big deal, but Weredogs blow your mind?” The car swerved onto the left side of the road and then back, knocking my head on the car door. “Hey! Jens, are you doing alright?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  Real reassuring. His blood was dripping in a line down his elbow and pooling on the seat below. “You need to pull over and let me look at that.”

  “Wanting to be a doctor and actually being one are two different things.”

  “Wanting to stay alive and driving off the road because you’re stubborn are two different things, too.”

  He paused before answering. “I can’t stop yet. Weres found you by your house, and now these dogs all the way out here? You’re being tracked. Not wise to stop until we’ve put more distance between us and them.”

  I threw up my arms, my adrenaline beginning to ebb. “Fine. Bleed to death. You’re so manly. Just pull over before you do, so I don’t die in here.”

  Jens huffed, as if I was the one making his arm bleed. “Well, it’s not like you can’t be helpful in the car. Come on up here and take a look at it. I can’t do anything about it right now, and it’s getting annoying.”

  “But I’m not a doctor,” I sassed him, taking in his eye roll with pleasure. I climbed with care into the front passenger’s seat, collecting the excess napkins that had fallen on the floor from the fast food. I blotted the injury, holding a wad of napkins to his arm until the wound started clotting. “How’s that?”

  “I’m magically cured.”

  His chest was moving slowly, and I wished aloud that he would just pull over. “I can drive, you know. If you pass out, we both die.”

  Jens pretended my words had no validity. “I’m fine. Just get it to stop bleeding.”

  I cocked his arm up above his heart to get the blood to stop flowing out of him so quickly. “Let me know if you’re going to faint. I’ll ready the smelling salts and prop up a pillow for you to land on in your delicate state.”

  “Shut up.” The corner of his mouth twitched, and I could tell he was trying not to smirk at me. I lowered his elbow to rest on the center console between us.

  Twenty minutes later, I was still holding the napkin to his wound, which had long since clotted. Kinda forgot about it in my preoccupied state of staring out the window. I had questions and he had answers, but neither of us wanted to break the truced-out silence that had fallen between us. When his arm stiffened for whatever reason, I rubbed it without really thinking. In the silence, we were almost friends. It was when either of us opened our mouths that we ran into trouble.

  “I can feel that, you know. You asking a million questions in your mind,” he pretended to grouse. He wouldn’t admit we were getting along, but I knew he could feel the tension abate by millimeters every few miles we drove down the highway. He leaned back in his seat as he drove.

  “How about just one?” I made sure to keep my voice quiet and non-confrontational.

  “I don’t believe you. I tell you what, if you can ask just one question, I’ll give you a dollar.”

  “A whole shiny dollar all for myself? Take it easy, Moneybags.” I permitted a small smile, and one appeared on his lips, as well. He was devastatingly handsome, and I immediately chided myself for noticing. “Challenge accepted. And I’ll raise you one. If you can answer my question to the point where I’m satisfied, I’ll throw in my left shoe.”

  He raised an eyebrow, glancing at me sideways in a playful rhythm we managed to fall into. There were Werebears, fires, Weredogs and who knows what else, but in the quietness of the car, the urgency of my fear began to fall to the wayside. Jens smirked at me. “What am I going to do with your left shoe? It doesn’t even have a match. Pass.”

  “Okay. If you can answer me till I’m happy, I’ll answer one question of yours. Help you out with your girl troubles and whatnot.”

  “What makes you think I have girl troubles?” he scoffed.

  “Something about the way you stuff a girl in a car. Just a hunch.”

  Jens sighed, gearing up for truth time. “Fine. For the record, I don’t have girl troubles, so I’ll pass on the prize of your left shoe and love advice.” He gripped the steering wheel, rubbing his thumb on the curve as he thought of where he’d best like to begin.

  I kept the napkin pressed to his arm and waited patiently to see if he’d spill his guts without me having to actually use up my limited questions quota. My fingers gave his wound a gentle hug to let him know I wouldn’t interrupt.

  “Okay. Where to start? I’m not from here. From your world.” He rolled his eyes at himself. “This sounds so cheesy and melodramatic.” He shook his head. “I’m a Tomten, Lucy. Here, grab my phone. I’ll show you.”

  He leaned his hip toward me, so I tried to be the least amount of intrusive as I slid the device from his jeans. He still smelled like freshly baked sugar cookies.

  “Just hit the button to light up the screen. I want you to see my screensaver.”

  I obeyed and saw his screensaver was a garden gnome. I swallowed my inner grimace. I really hated those lawn ornaments. They looked creepy, like overly happy children’s toys that came to life at night and hacked villagers to bits. Perhaps I’d seen one too many horror movies with Linus.

  Linus. He loved a good scare, which to me seemed an oxymoron, as there was nothing good about being afraid. If a movie really freaked me out, that night he would wait until I was almost asleep and then whisper creepy lines from the movie into the darkness. My retaliation? A cigarette lighter to the underside of the DVD. That way no one could be haunted by the movie ever again.

  “That’s a Tomten,” Jens explained, clarifying nothing.

  “Oh,” I said lamely. I held up the screen to his face and nodded. “Striking resemblance. I mean, the old man face, the Santa Claus hair, dunce cap, cheery little cheeks, two feet tall. Totally you.” I paused and then shook my head. “Oh, wait. He’s smiling. Nope. I don’t believe you’re a lawn ornament, Jens. Man, you almost had me there.” I slipped the phone back in his pocket, my knuckles accidentally brushing his toned abdomen. My cheeks pinkened, and I retracted my hand guiltily, though I knew I’d done nothing wrong.

  “Those lawn ornaments are protection charms left by guardian gnomes when they retire. I’m a guardian gnome. I was hired to protect your family. If I ever retired, one of these would be left behind to provide you with some sort of safeguard. The reason they all look like the same guy is because that mini Santa Claus was the first gnome ever. He’s the first Tomten our race sprung from. So we leave a little tribute behind to watch over our charges.”

  Jens didn’t give the vibe of trying to trick me. He seemed pretty sincere. But, you know, garden gnomes. I decided to stick with suspending my disbelief in the spirit of seeing where the rabbit trail led. At worst, I’d get a good bedtime story out of it. “Okay. But you’re so tall. Maybe it’s a guard versus guardian thing,” I reasoned.

  “Nope. Most Undrans are taller than humans. Our average is over six feet tall. Seven, in some parts. Except dwarves, obviously.”

  “Obviously,” I commented, rolling my eyes at him. “Why is it common knowledge in my world that gnomes are smaller, then?”

  He cast me an innocent smile and batted his thick eyelashes at me. “Why is it common knowledge that blondes are dumb?”

  I flicked the gash on his arm in retaliation. “You deserved that,” I said of his intake of brea
th. “So you smell like sugar cookies, but you’re not Santa Claus? I gotta warn you, any story that doesn’t end in me getting presents is pretty lame. I may need you to tell me the rest in song.”

  Jens relaxed by a degree, just enough to get more of his story out. “I’ve got a nice lump of coal all picked out for you.”

  “Oh, you spoil me.” I rubbed his arm to soothe it. “Go on.”

  “It’s my job to keep you safe. Back there with those Weredogs? Not safe. I know you don’t like it, but I really did have to get you out of there.”

  “Thanks for that,” I offered, realizing how selfish I’d been not saying anything sooner. “I’m sorry you got hurt.”

  Jens pfft’d. “I’m not hurt. That’s nothing.” His volume quieted when his pride finally did. “But thanks. Anyway, Tomtens come from Undraland, not here. There are two worlds: here and Undraland. We call this the Other Side. I’m taking you to Undra right now, in fact.”

  “Do they have Chinese food in Undraland?” I asked after a long pause.

  “No. Mostly farms. Nothing like your world. Get ready for a culture shock.”

  “Do they have mocha milkshakes?”

  “No. Think Amish, Loos.”

  “Do they have burgers and fries?”

  “Not how you like them. Ours have real beef.”

  I glanced wistfully out the window at the billboard advertising a taco so gorgeous, I wanted to move in and make myself a blanket out of the refried beans. “Can they take a hint in Undraland? I’m starving.”

  He chuckled. “Sure. Give me a couple exits to put more distance between us and our Were tail, and we can stop somewhere and grab a bite real quick. I gotta refuel anyway. Now where was I? Oh, right. Undraland. I’m from Undraland, which is made up of different countries. Some of us get along, some not so much. All the races have different abilities and limitations, but Tomtens are best known for guarding and farming. Tonttu, the tribe I’m from, is mostly farmers. Not many guards left, actually.”

  “How’d I get so lucky?” I teased.

  “You’ll have to ask Alrik when you see him. He can explain the rest better than I can.”

  I really hated that there was this whole other world my uncle knew about, but I didn’t. I cleared my throat and tried to keep everything light so Jens wouldn’t turn and see my gaping emotional wound. “How can that be possible? You’ve told me so much. I feel like I’m eating Chinese food in Undraland as we speak.”

  “You’re doing shtick,” he observed. “I freaked you out. Did I say too much?”

  I kept my expression cool and did my usual conversational dance to avoid talking about things that made me anxious. “You know, every time I meet a guy who kills bears, steals cars and burns down homes, I wonder if it’s the garden gnome figurines sneaking out at night to do nefarious deeds. You just confirmed it all. The world makes sense again.”

  “Double shtick? Now I know you’re upset. Just wait. Alrik can explain everything better. I suck at this. I shouldn’t have answered your question.”

  “I didn’t actually ask my question yet, you know. That was all free information.”

  Jens frowned, flipping over the conversation in his mind to try and find the spark that started his information spill. “Whatever. I knew what you were going to ask. And I changed my mind. I decided I do want your left shoe.”

  “Not a chance. I was going to ask if you happened to know of any elves up at the North Pole, or any reindeer who needed a job pulling cars.” I pointed to the dash. “You’re almost out of gas, Saint Nick.”

  “Whatever. I earned your left shoe. That blue one would look fetching on me. Don’t you think?”

  “Ravishing,” I agreed. “I guess I get that dollar. You didn’t answer my one question.”

  He took his eyes off the road to look at me, sizing up my level of commitment to our strange conversation. “I do know an elf. A great many of them, actually. That’s one of the countries in Undraland. Elvage is on the other side of the mountain from Tomten, but our countries don’t get along all that great. Not many of us travel back and forth, but I’ve done the trek before.” He paused, steeling himself to say his next piece. “Your uncle lives in Elvage.”

  I said nothing to the blast of information that made my boat of reality rock back and forth on tumultuous waves I wasn’t ready to trust just yet. Inside, I was a jumble of questions and doubt. Oddly enough, my burgeoning distrust wasn’t directed toward Jens, but rather my uncle, whom I couldn’t believe kept such a big secret from me. “Uncle Rick’s an elf? And you’re a garden gnome.” I shifted in my seat, my discomfort only increasing.

  “Actually, I’m a guardian gnome, but I’m from a tribe that’s mostly garden gnomes. All gnomes, just different professions.”

  I began tapping a rhythm on the door. “So when a bear attacks me in the middle of suburbia, I should be glad you’re the guardian kind, and that you won’t try to stop him by growing him a tomato plant and making him a salad?”

  “Exactly.” Jens pulled over to a rest stop, looking every bit as exhausted as I felt. The early morning sun was making me a mixture of tired and jittery.

  When I came out of the restroom, Jens handed me a leathery beef stick from the vending machine. I looked at it, wondering when the last meal he’d eaten with a woman was. I gave him back the non-food. “Thanks, but I’m not hungry.” I’d rather eat those disgusting orange circus peanuts than chomp on leather dipped in bouillon, but I decided to keep that to myself.

  “There’s other stuff in the half-empty vending machine, but you wouldn’t like any of it. Potato chips and candy bars mostly with fake peanut butter in them.”

  I pursed my lips together to keep from letting my anxiety surface that he knew my quirks so well. I nodded, trying to appear pleasant and not like I was having a mini freak-out.

  He led the way back to the car and leaned on the hood. “So, that bowling alley’s where we were supposed to meet Alrik.”

  I tried to keep my voice even and my questions to a minimum. “He’s…he’s okay, right? You said no one died in the fire.”

  Jens waved his hand to quiet my fears. “It was one of Tucker’s fires, so Alrik’s fine. Tucker’s the best. I’d be able to sense if it Alrik was dead.”

  “Well that’s nice and cryptic.” I tugged at the hem of my shirt, fighting off my sleepiness with movement.

  “The plan’s to get you to Alrik, and he’s crossed over to Undraland, so I’m taking you home.” When my chin lifted hopefully, he shook his head. “Home to my people, not yours. Think you can manage another few hours?”

  “Sure.” I needed something normal. Something mindless to reset my spinning brain.

  What’s the name of the lead singer from the Polyphonic Spree? I knew if I didn’t look it up it was really going to bother me. I pulled out my phone and did a search for the band to waste time while Jens chewed his hunk of boot leather that was posing as food.

  Jens snatched the device out of my hands, earning a frown. “Nope. No contacting anyone from beyond the grave.”

  “I wasn’t. I was just looking something up.”

  Jens turned it off and stuck it in his back pocket. “I’m serious.”

  “So am I. I was looking up the lead singer’s name from the Polyphonic Spree. It’s bugging me.” I scratched my forehead. “That’s the thing about humans who aren’t garden gnomes. We like information when we want it. Gimmee my phone.”

  “Oh, sure. That guy? His name is…” Then Jens smiled in that superior way I was growing to hate. “I’ll let you guess for a while. It’ll keep you occupied till we get home. And I’m not a garden gnome. Guardian gnome. Big difference.” He pulled out his own phone and punched the screen a few times, bringing up the band’s homepage. He flashed it to me, showing me the lead singer’s face, but not his name. His grin turned wicked, like a schoolboy who desperately needed slapping.

  All my things now fit into a backpack, and he was stealing from my meager possessions. “Give it
back. I’m serious.”

  “Oh, you’re serious? That changes everything.” His levity shifted to authority. “No. Now get in the car.” When nothing brilliant came to mind to spew at him, he arched his thick eyebrow at me. “What? You don’t have any quippy comebacks? Nothing about where I can take a flying leap?”

  I answered by getting in and slamming the door. I wanted to thrash him, but that would involve me speaking, and I decided I was against that. Truce over.

  Being silent for long periods of time was a gift of mine. Most may not see it like that, but it actually takes a strong will to cultivate said talent. There was one year Dad moved us in the middle of the night to a motel three states away. Linus had been a month into his first relationship ever, and I actually kind of liked her. Melissa wore an old pink sweater every day and had braces to match. Sweet girl who went out of her way to be nice to me. Made ninth grade not too shabby for that small span of time.

  Linus and I knew better than to question our parents on the constant moves. We never got straight answers from them anyway. But this move went too far. Linus decided to dig his heels in and protest. His fight wasn’t loud or emotional; it was cold and silent. When the verdict didn’t change even after he’d made his opinion known to Mom and Dad, Linus went on strike. He sat in that crappy motel facing the corner for a solid week. He didn’t speak, not even to me. I knew better than to try and make him. We were united in everything, so I took up his mantle and shut my mouth, too. We sat on the floor facing the wall, barely moving for seven days. Linus only ate or drank with me, shutting out the world in his quiet way. I learned a lot that week, listening to our parents slowly lose their minds as they tried everything to get us to talk, except for moving us back to Linus’s Melissa.

  Sometimes you reach a point where you realize no one’s listening when you talk. Most people get louder. Ever since Linus’s lesson, I like to evaluate the situation and turn inward when I hit a wall like that. Then I know at least one person cares about my viewpoint – me. So that’s how Jens and I drove another three hours without speaking.