The Changeling

by Victor Lavalle

  Then Apollo bumped into something. When he hit it with his foot, there was a low, hollow thump. Emma went down on a knee.

  A large gray polyethylene storage box.

  The lid still on.

  Apollo and Emma pulled the top off, trying to stay quiet, both breathing so heavily, they sounded like winded dogs.

  A small body lay in there, on its side. Naked.

  They knelt there waiting, listening, and then they heard it, faint but regular: the child’s breathing. Without the lid, it echoed in the chamber.

  Emma choked with shock—it sounded like she was retching. She dropped the iPad and reached into the storage box. The bottom of the bin showed layers of dead leaves and dirt, a makeshift mattress. She lifted the body and there he was. Sleeping beauty.

  Brian.

  He looked big for six months old, but that’s because he was ten months old.

  Being lifted, being held, caused the boy’s breathing to change; a long, low gurgle escaped those lips. His skin felt cold to the touch. His eyelids fluttered open. Emma leaned close to see them. The baby yawned and squinted his eyes.

  But even after the child woke, the echoing steady breathing in the chamber didn’t change.

  It went on as it had been, rhythmic and deep, not an echo, Apollo realized, but a matched pattern, something else breathing in sync beside the child. But now even that sound stopped, and all around them came a low rumble, like a bowling ball rolling on wood.

  They’d thought the storage box had been sitting beside a portion of the amphitheater wall, but now the wall moved. The wall rolled like an alligator spinning its prey in the water. Apollo and Emma were still on their knees. There, in the dark, an eye as large as a manhole cover opened.

  Jotunn.

  Trolde.

  Troll.

  A HOT, DANK WIND blew out from the hole in the wall, a gas that stank of dirt. In the cave’s chill, the creature’s exhalation became a cloud of fog that filled the floor. Apollo and Emma went back on their asses. Emma held tight to Brian as she fell. Brian squirmed in her arms but could hardly wriggle in her grip. She would not let him go again.

  A shape emerged from the hole, but in the darkness and cover of the cloud, its particulars were tough to see. Its dimensions were clear though. An arm as thick as a tree stump moved above their heads. Emma fled awkwardly, stumbling off. Apollo looked up and felt as if he’d been caught before a great, yawning door and he had let this thing in.

  Another breath, another cloud filled the dark amphitheater. The arm hung in the air a moment, then its tip trembled and stretched, an enormous fist opening. Hard to call the digits fingers—there were either too many or too few. Apollo couldn’t get his bearings for the fog. But in a moment he smelled its body, a stink like rotten milk, and he nearly went sick right there. He looked to his left to find Emma and Brian weren’t there. That, at least, relieved him.

  The fingers on the misshapen hand showed great nails at the tips. The troll slammed the fingers down into the dirt. The thumb landed right in the middle of the open storage bin. If Brian had still been inside, he would’ve been impaled. Emma yelped nearby. Brian, hearing her, reached up and found her chin.

  With the nails dug into the dirt, the troll pulled its body out of the hole where it had been sleeping. It rose to its full height, the body unfurling until it stood as tall as the sail of a sloop. Its mouth opened wide, and it breathed a third breath, deeper than the others. Once more Apollo found himself swimming in that mist. It snorted heavily through its nostrils twice. He felt the moisture dapple across his scalp and forehead like dew. He couldn’t move, and worse still, he felt a sick wave of something like nostalgia. To his horror, he almost called out Brian West’s name.

  The troll pulled its thick nails out of the dirt. It slapped the storage bin, one quick touch, and the container flipped end over end, landing about a foot away. The air filled with dead leaves and dirt. Apollo threw up an arm to shield his eyes. When the bin landed, its thump echoed, and the troll moved fast, a massive shape loping forward on short, thick legs, something simian about it, even more so when it bent to the ground, sniffing closer and closer to the bin.

  Apollo turned on his feet to try and track Emma, but his shoes scuffed the dirt louder than he would’ve expected. Or maybe there weren’t any other sounds to compete.

  Before Apollo could move, the creature’s eyes were on him. Nothing to do. No time to run, nowhere to hide. Two strides, and it came near. The troll stooped so close now, Apollo could reach out and touch it. From here he saw its greenish skin with collected dead leaves and clots of dirt; tiny bones—from squirrels or birds—were embedded in its flesh like pins in a pincushion. It snorted and breathed again, and this time Apollo’s whole face went wet with moisture, but he stifled the impulse to retch. Its enormous eyes faced Apollo, and they were flat, off-white disks. The troll couldn’t see him because the troll was almost blind. No wonder it relied on its nose. Its nostrils were recessed like a bat’s.

  It sniffed the air around Apollo. Sniffed again, and finally a great rip appeared in its face, somewhere below the nose. Its teeth were as large and jagged as its nails. But the creature didn’t tear into Apollo; instead it yawned and blew another wave of fetid breath. The pair of them lost in the cloud. When Apollo blinked, he could almost hear water running nearby. It sniffed near him one more time, then turned away.

  What saved me? he asked himself.

  Now that it had moved, Apollo could see where it had been sleeping, not a nook but the mouth of a tunnel. A different quality of darkness lay at the far end of that passage. Moonlight. He saw moonlight out there. And small stones running up a slope. The park, the outside world—their escape lay fifty feet ahead.

  The troll brought a hand tight around the bin, crushing it. It scanned the amphitheater, and its mouth opened, its belly expanded, filling with air. Now it produced a howl like a nightmare from some distant age. Nearby, Emma had been trying to make her way back the way they’d come. Jorgen’s house might be burning, but it wasn’t a fucking monster on the hunt. She wasn’t thinking clearly, but it was the best idea she could form. And yet when she heard that howl—like standing with your ear to a foghorn—she collapsed into a crouch just as Apollo did. She saw the iPad lay a foot from where she went down.

  The only one not thrown by the bellowing, in fact, was the baby. Emma’s arms couldn’t keep hold of him because she’d stretched out to grab the iPad. She couldn’t hold on to both, not with one wriggling to break free. Brian rolled himself into the dirt, then did the most shocking thing Apollo and Emma had yet seen.

  He walked.

  And where was he walking?

  Back toward the troll.

  Only three steps, arms out in the dark, but it was enough for Emma to feel wounded, nearly mortally. Should she run after Brian, or was there a better strategy? She activated the iPad, and when the screen lit up, she became bathed in the light of the home screen.

  The troll sensed the change in the gloom. It turned in her direction. Brian turned back toward her too, then threw one arm over his eyes, unaccustomed to the glow. He squeaked, a cry of distress. Both Emma and Apollo tried not to notice how close in tone this cry sounded to the troll’s bellow. Emma didn’t look up. She had to work. She found the app and turned the screen so it faced the others. She stood and held the device higher, hoping to spare her son’s eyes. She tapped the icon once, and the chamber flared.

  Brian screeched like a tiny primate and fell forward on his face, flailing with surprise that seemed like pain. The troll stumbled too, slumping backward and making that foghorn sound.

  But it didn’t turn to stone.

  The fucking app did not win the day. In a moment that thing would find its balance and be all over them. They needed a new plan.

  Emma rose and ran to the center of the chamber. “The sun is rising!” she shouted.

  Apollo understood her idea immediately, intuitively. If the troll feared the sun, then it might run from the
light. If he could get it outside, Emma and Brian would be able to slip out, too. He ran for the tunnel. He looked over his shoulder and shouted, “The sun is rising!”

  The troll shivered with confusion. First its head darted toward the sound of Apollo’s voice, but then it looked upward, throwing an arm out as if it could bat away the threat.

  “The sun is rising!” Apollo shouted again, his voice trailing down the long throat of the tunnel.

  The troll spun left, then right, unsure, confused. The battery life of the iPad was nearly depleted, but for the moment Emma wielded a shining star. Apollo escaped the passageway and into the open night.

  The troll turned, determined to follow, but then it sniffed the air once again and reached back one enormous hand. Its fingers found the child and plucked him up and with a single gulp the troll swallowed Brian Kagwa.

  APOLLO SCRAMBLED UP the hill of bones, and now that he was out of the cave, free from the cloistered air down there, he could smell himself. He carried with him a cloud of spiced gasoline. The bath he’d taken in the old man’s Brennivín remained in full effect. Maybe that’s what had saved him down in the darkness. The troll hadn’t been able to smell his flesh. But this would only be a moment of grace—in seconds that troll would be up the hill, and then what?

  Why did I tell you that story? What did I want you to hear?

  Jorgen’s voice sounded so loud in his head that he expected it to echo through the woods. The words so surprising, so unexpected Apollo could hardly register what they meant. Then there was no time for parsing out the meaning because a sound played from the tunnel, a long low rumbling roar, and a moment later an arm emerged from the cave mouth, the tips of the enormous hand baring those jagged nails. The nails slammed into the stones—the children’s bones—and sent them flying in all directions. The beast dragged itself out of the passageway, into the open air. It stood more than three stories tall.

  Apollo stiffened at the top of the hill. How could he defeat such a thing?

  Why did I tell you that story? What did I want you to hear?

  The troll lumbered up the hill. It moved with such gracelessness that Apollo wondered if it might be wounded. Had Emma hurt it before it got out here? As it clambered up the hill toward him, it made faint coughing sounds, sputtering, as if something was caught in its throat.

  Apollo took three steps back, but where would he go? The Northern Forest surrounded him. Even though the modern world was less than a half mile away, he might as well be in some German wood a thousand years ago.

  Something silver shined in the moonlight and caught Apollo’s attention. The serving lid still there, right where he and Emma had left it. And if the lid was still there, then the sheep’s head would be, too.

  Why did I tell you that story? What did I want you to hear?

  Apollo rose to his feet and lifted the lid of the serving tray. The sheep’s head’s remaining eye watched him. Apollo picked up the head and held it in front of him, balanced in one open palm. In the other hand he held the lid. The troll might not be able to smell him because of the Brennivín, but this boiled flesh might tempt.

  The troll’s head jutted forward like a hound’s. A moment of stillness, then the thing sniffed the air, snorting. It croaked again, but the gagging soon passed. Apollo held the sheep’s head out and watched as the troll sniffed a second time. It squeezed its enormous eyes shut and cocked its head, listening for a sound.

  “I’m right here, you goddamn troll!” Apollo shouted. “But you’re too stupid to catch me!”

  With that, Apollo turned and ran, holding the sheep’s head high and the serving lid in his other hand. Like Askeladden, he sprinted deeper into the Northern Forest, the troll tearing after him through the trees.

  —

  Apollo scurried like a wild rabbit, weaving through the thickest stands of trees, places even the troll couldn’t penetrate. He hid inside while the creature stalked in circles, bellowing and bashing at the branches, stopping occasionally to stoop forward and paw at its throat, slapping at an irritant, then righting itself.

  He used such moments to dart out again, aiming for the next copse of thick trees, pursued again by the predator, then hiding inside and shivering with adrenaline and fear. They moved like this as the night passed, and Apollo hardly felt the cold, hardly registered fatigue. There were moments, when he wasn’t running, that he swore he heard Emma’s voice on the wind, calling out to him. But he knew that if the troll was here with him, then Emma and Brian had escaped. This idea fueled him, fired his courage.

  Apollo remained tucked inside a circle of pignut hickory trees. The troll soon appeared. It heaved loudly now, and its mouth dripped a jelly as green as its skin. The troll spat this out and coughed loudly, sounding like a car engine that wouldn’t turn over. It sniffed at the trees, bumped the side of its head against the hickory, testing them. Nearly dawn now. When the sun rose, it would turn to stone, and that would be the end of it.

  Not twenty yards from here Apollo saw the large clearing he’d come across when he’d followed Emma the day before. Apollo rose to his feet and bolted. When he reached the open ground, he set down the sheep’s head and the lid. He placed the head so it was cradled in the lid, face up and exposed, easily scented. Apollo ran straight on from there, back into the trees on the other side of the clearing. He found a scarlet oak with branches low enough to scale. It hadn’t lost all its leaves, so he disappeared among them when he climbed.

  “My head is right there on the ground!” Apollo shouted. “Why don’t you just try and crack my skull!”

  The trees at the far edge of the clearing didn’t part—they shattered. The troll swept them aside with a renewed fury. It entered the clearing so quickly, it seemed to be flying. As it moved, it lowered its head, its jaws expanding, teeth plowing through the dirt and snow, inhaling all of it, just to get that sheep’s head. It clamped its teeth down, and in a moment there was a metallic clank that made even Apollo’s mouth clench. The troll threw its head back, bringing one hand to its mouth in shock, spitting out what it couldn’t swallow. The lid, cracked and bent, hit a tree trunk and the clang echoed.

  Now the troll thrashed in the clearing. It fell into frenzy. It threw out its arms, digging its nails into tree trunks and pulling them right up out of the earth, torn roots dangling down like veins. It tossed those trees into the air, then tore up more. The troll lost itself in its ferocity, mindless, thoughtless. Apollo watched it from his perch in the tree. He couldn’t shout taunts at it, couldn’t make jokes or jabs, because he felt small and terrified. The troll created such chaos that it flung one tree right up into the air, and it tumbled right back down on its head. The beast fell on its back pinned beneath a large hickory tree. It heaved there, on its back, panting and undone. The sky had gone from black to purple. The troll kicked its legs to try and escape, but it had nearly no fight left.

  “Apollo! Apollo!”

  He leaped down from his hiding place. It was Emma’s voice. Quite close.

  She came into the clearing through the gap in the trees the troll had caused. Her hands were in the air, waving back and forth.

  “Where’s Brian?” Apollo shouted.

  Emma didn’t hesitate—she clambered onto the troll’s belly. “He ate him! All this time I’ve been trying to catch up. He ate Brian.”

  She stomped on its heaving gut. It opened its mouth but could only throw its head back. Was it defeated or was it gloating? The threat of sunlight lingered near the horizon.

  Apollo ran to Emma. In his coat pocket was the knife he’d pulled from Jorgen’s throat. He brought it out now and plunged it into the troll’s flesh, up near the top of the belly. He sank it in until even the handle disappeared. The creature thrashed now, and the tree on its chest buckled. Apollo pulled the blade downward, splitting the creature’s skin apart.

  He pulled down until his shoulders burned. He cut, and the belly opened wider before them. A dark green liquid the consistency of mud pooled out. A smell of sew
er water filled their nostrils, and neither noticed or cared.

  The troll’s legs kicked more frantically. The pitch of its foghorn bellow went higher, and its arms slapped at the tree trunk until the hickory went up at an angle, like a seesaw, and flipped over.

  Apollo found the belly sack but didn’t dare plunge a knife inside for fear of hitting their son. He dug in with his hands, and Emma did, too. They tore at the sack, the texture of a hot water balloon.

  The stomach split open, and a thinner yellowing liquid sprayed out and soaked their faces, their clothes. It meant nothing to them. They hardly noticed.

  And inside they found their son, tucked into a ball and still wriggling. Swallowed whole and thus still alive. They pulled him out into the world.

  Brian Kagwa, the only child ever born twice.

  They fell away from the troll’s body, crawling as quickly as their weary bodies could manage. The sun rose, and daylight—true daylight—found them all. The troll trembled, and its body stiffened, and its sickly greenish color drained. It made one last sound, a whimper that almost sounded like relief, and darkened as it turned to stone. A moment later the large shape broke apart. Now it looked like a mound of boulders, nothing more. To any passerby, it would look like a small hill there in the Northern Forest.

  Emma didn’t wait. She rose on her unsteady legs, cradling Brian close to her chest, and started for the woods, the path they’d taken a night ago.

  Apollo lingered. He approached the stones, skirting around until he found the largest one, what had been the troll’s head. He could still make out the soft depression of those great blind eyes. He brushed each one with a finger. He leaned close to the stone and pressed his forehead to it. He felt as if he was finally burying what had been haunting him since he was a child. A funeral not for his father but his fatherlessness. Let that monster rest.

  APOLLO FOUND HIS way to the path where he saw a set of footprints. Emma’s tread, but deeper than when he’d trailed her before, the extra weight of their child in her arms. He followed and found them, Emma hunched over and moving slowly. She had her coat unzipped and the boy tucked inside, his body against hers. This was the parka they’d taken from Jorgen’s house; it was so big it had plenty of room for both of them. She’d done her best to clean off his face, but his hair remained matted a muddy green. Apollo and Emma looked even worse.