The Haunted Igloo

by Bonnie Turner

  The sounds went on for a few more minutes, like something slithering across the ground. Then they stopped. A voice called again from outside. This time Jean-Paul could barely hear it. Faint laughter sent chills down his back. It had sounded like: “Have fun, Jean-Paul!” A very faraway voice. “When your two hours are up, you can come out.” Maybe the words were in his own mind—he couldn’t really tell. It was the darkness, of course. Darkness always did strange things to Jean-Paul’s mind.

  A thick, spooky silence came. Jean-Paul was determined to stay the full two hours. But how would he know when the time was up? He turned loose of Sasha’s neck. “Might as well explore,” he whispered, as if someone were listening.

  He crept forward a little more, felt something soft and squishy beneath his mittened hands. He jumped. Turning away from whatever it was, he crawled in the other direction. Then he stood up, feeling his way with his hands in front of him. The igloo was larger than it had seemed from outside. There was no wall to be felt, so he knew he must be in the center. A sliver of cold air streamed down from the top of the igloo. The smoke hole was open. If only I had brought something to build a fire. How will I keep warm for two hours?

  Jean-Paul knew igloos were built to keep out the cold—snow contains many air pockets for insulation. And several persons inside an igloo, with a small fire, threw off enough heat to warm the air. Jean-Paul was warmly dressed and would probably be all right until Chinook and the other two returned. But now he stood silently, wondering what to do. It was the darkness he hated. The inside of the igloo was absolutely the blackest black Jean-Paul had ever seen, even darker than his own bedroom on the darkest night. There was almost always some sort of light reflecting from somewhere—the snow, the stars, or the moon. Even so, he had always wanted a lamp burning. He thought of his warm bed, wishing he were in it, safe inside his sleeping bag. Only his parents knew how deathly afraid he was of the dark.

  Suddenly, Jean-Paul wanted more than anything to go home. “I’m coming out now!” he shouted. His voice boomed back to him. Sasha whimpered. “Do you guys hear me? I’m not staying in here! You know what you can do with your old club!”

  Tears rolled down Jean-Paul’s cheeks as he waited for someone to answer. There was no sound but the wind, which had risen gale-like, whistling down the smoke hole. The howling, that eerie howling and moaning of the wind, gave Jean-Paul the creeps. Maybe it isn’t the wind! Maybe it’s a wolf!

  “Hey, Chinook!” His voice didn’t sound like his own voice. “Chinook? Nanuk?” But neither Chinook nor Nanuk nor Aiverk answered Jean-Paul’s fearful cry. Only the wind. “I’m coming out now!”

  There was no answer. It was as though he had died and was locked inside his own tomb. They’re only playing with me. They’re trying to scare me. The darkness closed in fast and made his flesh crawl, gave him the shivers. Game or no game, they can’t force me to stay in an igloo that’s supposed to be haunted! All I have to do is go back out the same way I came in. Jean-Paul was amazed at his brilliance.

  He dropped to his hands and knees and crept forward slowly, feeling his way in the darkness. Suddenly, his hand touched the squashy thing on the floor. He jumped away in alarm. It’s something dead! A wolf or something came into the igloo and died. Sasha licked his face. He hugged her tightly around the neck, burying his face in the thick fur. “W–we’ll go outside again. I p–promise ... go outside…”

  The wind swirled through the smoke hole, bringing with it part of the bitter Arctic night. Jean-Paul clung to Sasha and cried. “If only I could see something!”

  He moved cautiously around the “thing” on the floor to where he thought the tunnel began. He ran his hands over the frozen wall, feeling for an opening. Nothing! The wall was icy-smooth, and he couldn’t find the entrance. “I must be a few feet away from it,” he whispered to Sasha. She licked his cheek with her warm tongue. She whined and smothered him with wet kisses. Jean-Paul shoved her away and crept around the circle of the igloo, feeling the wall as he went. And that wall was as solid as a stone. There was a sleeping ledge. He crawled up on it and examined the wall behind it. Still, nothing.

  “It’s got to be here!” he cried. “I came in through a hole in the wall, and a hole doesn’t disappear!”

  Jean-Paul sat on the ledge to think. He was beginning to feel cold inside his leggings and parka, through all the thick layers of underwear and socks and shirts. His mittens might as well have been tissue for all the good they were doing. Thoughts of death swam into his mind. I won’t let myself die! It’s just plain stupid to be lost in an igloo! If I follow the circular wall, I’ll find the entrance sooner or later. Where is it? He got up and examined the wall all over again. But there was nothing. The tunnel was gone.

  Jean-Paul’s heart turned to ice as he imagined being buried alive. If the wall hadn’t been so thick—but he knew someone had packed more snow over the outside of it. It sloped down steeply on one side, and children used the slope for sliding.

  By now the blocks must be at least two feet thick and frozen solid. How could he dig through that with only his hands, which were already freezing? He didn’t know what had happened to the entrance, but he realized he must wait for the boys to come let him out when the time was up.

  He tried again to get their attention. He pounded and beat the igloo wall with both fists. But beating on packed snow makes very little sound. Jean-Paul was doomed. “Let me out of here!” he screamed. “Oh, please, Chinook! Aiverk! Somebody let me out ... let me out!”

  Chapter 5

  A dogsled with three laughing boys raced down the trail toward Aklavik.

  “I’ll bet it scares the pants off Jean-Paul!” yelled Chinook above the dangerously swirling wind. Heavy snow was moving in from the northwest, sticking to his eyebrows and shock of black hair that spilled over his forehead. “We’ll go back in two hours and let him out!”

  “Him and his mutt!” Nanuk laughed, huddling with Aiverk on the sled.

  They began the long decline into the village. Chinook stood behind the sled on the runners, so he could control the speed of the sled with the hand brake. Hauling a sled full of boys was very easy for Amarok, he being strong enough to pull the sled all the way to the Yukon on a single run.

  “It was a smart trick, Nanuk!” yelled Aiverk. “Building a new entrance on the apudyak and smashing it down after he went inside.”

  Nanuk giggled. “Buried the entrance! So only we know where it is! Jean-Paul will be as white as an okalerk when he comes out.”

  “We might have to go back sooner!” Chinook hunched his shoulders up around his ears and stuck his chin into his parka, away from the blowing, blinding snow. “We’re getting a blizzard for sure!”

  He slowed the sled as Amarok swung into the main street of Aklavik. In a few minutes they stopped in front of the Hudson’s Bay trading post, then went inside to warm up.

  There was no heat in the building, for Inuits were used to doing without. But compared with the raging storm outdoors, this room was quite comfortable.

  At one side was a long counter, and shelves behind it were stacked with supplies to make life bearable in the Northwest Territories: mackinaws, wool and flannel shirts and underwear, handmade sealskin boots. An assortment of snow knives and skinning tools were displayed in one area. Kettles and pots hung by their handles from hooks and nails. Several bolts of brightly colored calico lay at one end of the counter. Huge bundles of pelts were stacked on the floor against the counter, ready to be moved to one of the warehouses. A lamp with an oil-smoked chimney glowed dimly overhead, and the room smelled of rancid oil and musky animal hides.

  Two Inuit men shouted loudly at the clerk, Ola Hanson, not even looking at the boys. In the cold room, Ola wore his parka, mittens, and a stocking cap. When business was slow, he retreated to the “native room” at the back of the store, where people from the village often gathered for “mug ups” of tea and games of checkers.

  Chinook glanced at the men and lowered his voice as he r
ubbed his hands together. “We should go back for Jean-Paul now.”

  “You think maybe he’s had enough, Chinook?” asked Nanuk. “If he’s the coward I think he is, he won’t know two hours from two minutes inside that apudyak.”

  Aiverk shook his head. “A blizzard is coming fast,” he said. “You guys can go back without me. All I want is to go home now.”

  “All you want is to feed your fat belly,” scolded Chinook, “and warm your fat behind inside a thick robe! But think of poor Jean-Paul inside that apudyak!”

  “Poor Jean-Paul, poor Jean-Paul!” mocked Aiverk. “Well, I’m going to think of poor Aiverk! You don’t catch Aiverk fooling around in a blizzard!”

  The men glanced at the boys as Aiverk’s voice rose. “Want something?” Ola asked.

  Chinook shook his head. “Nah, just getting warm,” he said.

  Everyone looked up at the ceiling as a blast of wind shook the building.

  Nanuk whispered, “The wind must be eighty miles an hour! But I’ll go with you, Chinook. I want to see if Jean-Paul’s still alive.” He punched his friend on the arm.

  “It isn’t funny now,” Chinook told Nanuk. “After I get warm, I’m going back for him, even if I have to go alone.”

  ____________

  Cordell sat at his desk, his thoughts unsettled. Jean-Paul should be home by now. The wind moaned. Cordell looked at the ceiling. A blizzard? He put a sheet of paper in the typewriter. He held his fingers curled over the keys for a moment, then lowered his hands to his lap, balling them into tight fists. I must stop this! Jean-Paul’s probably on his way home right now. He’s dressed like a polar bear, and with boys who’ve lived all their lives in this country. The wind roared and it rattled the windows. The blanket on the wall drifted outward, a blast of frigid air pushing through the cracks. Snow sifted through the cracks, swirled a bit, then melted in the warm room.

  Lise sat knitting in the rocking chair, her face troubled. At times she looked up and glanced over at the door, as if expecting Jean-Paul to walk in. Suddenly, she could bear no more. She put the knitting in her sewing basket beside the chair and stood up. She went over to the window, wishing she could see through the shutters that Cordell had finally fastened over the glass. But she would’ve seen nothing anyway because of the darkness.

  Cordell’s eyes followed his wife across the room. “He’ll be home soon, Lise.”

  She turned and stared at him, accusing him with her large, fear-filled eyes. “It’s after eight! Just listen to that wind! We should never have let him go with those boys, Cordell, Ice Patrol or not.” She turned back to the window to brood. In the morning there would be drifts over that north window.

  Cordell got up and went to Lise. “This won’t do you any good,” he said, putting an arm around her. “Nor the little one, either. Jean-Paul will be home soon. Those boys have been in this kind of weather before. They’ll take care of him.”

  Lise sat again and picked up the knitting needles. She thought of Jean-Paul as she worked with the yellow wool Cordell had brought her in early fall. A shiver ran through her small body. Could they be lucky enough to escape disaster this winter? Outside was a swirling snowstorm, and for some reason, her son hadn’t come home. The signs were frightening. She bit her lip so Cordell couldn’t see how worried she was.

  Cordell had returned to his work and was lost in his own thoughts. More than once his eyes turned to his wife. She was trying not to show it, but her furious knitting told him how upset she was. The click and clack of the needles said she was frantic with worry. Jean-Paul. Jean-Paul. Where are you? He looked at his watch, then returned to the typewriter. He stared at the blank paper for a moment, then ripped it from the machine, made a ball and flung it across the room.

  Cordell got up and paced the floor, then stopped before Lise. “If he’s not back in half an hour, I’ll go out and look for him, eh?”

  ____________

  Inside the igloo, Jean-Paul sat with his back propped against the cold snow blocks, staring into the darkness. Sasha lay quietly with her head in his lap. How much time had passed? More than two hours? Why didn’t Chinook come to let him out? He shivered, and huddled deeper into his parka. The wind was louder now. Blasts of frigid air puffed down the smoke hole. There was no fire to keep the inside of the igloo warm, and Jean-Paul knew his own body heat would soon give out. It seemed that hours had passed. How much longer could he last?

  Somewhere before him danced small lights, pinpoint lights he had often seen while falling asleep at night. He shivered violently and tried to wipe the lights away with his hand. But when he looked again, they were still there. His skin prickled. He heard and felt the dull thud of his heart.

  His heart almost stopped beating when he heard the howl of the phantom wolves. Owoooooooo! Owoooooooo! Jean-Paul shrank back as the lights before him changed to the green eye-slits of some horrible animals preying on him in the dark. They were all around—waiting, watching.

  Jean-Paul clenched his fists and screwed his eyes up tight. His skin felt clammy. His body shook from nose to knee. The torngark—evil spirits! They were here in the igloo! There came mocking laughter, then sobbing. But Jean-Paul didn’t recognize it as his own. Struck speechless, he then heard his name whispered in the darkness: Jean-Paul ... Jean-Paul ... Jean-Paul ... He clamped cold hands over his ears and buried his face in Sasha’s coat. Soon, his weariness overcame him. He lay down against his dog and slept.

  ____________

  Jean-Paul awoke with a start. For a moment he thought he was at home in bed. Then he remembered. His head was much clearer. He wasn’t as cold as before. He looked around him in the dark igloo and saw, instead of watching eyes, a soft, peaceful blackness. Outside, the wind still roared. He listened, not daring to move. Yes, the wolves were gone. They had crept away to the bottom of his mind. Then he heard barking.

  “Sasha?” he called softly. “Where are you, Sasha?”

  Sasha’s excited voice filled the igloo.

  Jean-Paul reached out blindly, trying to feel where she was. “Come on, come here, girl!”

  Sasha barked again and again, and in a moment she was washing his face with her warm, wet tongue. She whined and nuzzled against him as he threw his arms around her neck. Her cold nose brushed against his cheek, then she wiggled away from him again.

  Jean-Paul forced himself to move. He was stiff, but still able to stand. His crippled leg and foot ached, the cold having seeped right into his bones. “Sasha? Where did you go?”

  From a short distance away came excited yelps. And in his mind, Jean-Paul could almost see Sasha’s tail wagging. Something was making that dog very happy! He moved toward the sounds, his hands outstretched like those of a blind person. He was surprised when Sasha bounded against him, her front paws striking him in the chest. He staggered, but kept his balance. He reached down and rubbed her head. “What are you doing over here, Sasha?

  Wh—?” Strong wind blew against Jean-Paul’s legs. He dropped to his knees, landing in a pile of snow. “You dug us out!” he cried.

  Jean-Paul thrust his head into the small opening. Cold air slapped him in the face as the fierce wind blew in through the hole.

  Jean-Paul knew he had to get home. He had no idea what time it was, but one thing was sure: Chinook, Aiverk, and Nanuk hadn’t come back as they had promised. How could he face them again? When they returned, he would already be gone. At school they would call him a baby, for leaving the igloo before the time was up. Now he would never be able to join Ice Patrol.

  Pushing those thoughts from his mind, he lay down on his stomach and inched through the small opening, with Sasha following on her own belly. Outside at last, he staggered against the force of the wind and driving snow. Jean-Paul was shocked to see how the weather had changed while he was inside the igloo. A blizzard had blown up and raged full force, battering him from all sides. More than once he was thrown to his knees. But each time, he gathered courage and got back up. He couldn’t see where he was going. Which
way was the trail? He knew where it should have been, but in the storm there was no way to find it. All around him lay frozen death. What normally was pure and beautiful had now become ugly and cruel.

  Jean-Paul staggered hunched over, going, he thought, in the direction of home. There were no stars or moon to light the way. Sasha ran ahead through the deep snow. Jean-Paul tried to follow in her tracks. He listened for her voice, moving slowly against the wind.

  The snow came up past his knees, and with one leg weaker than the other, it was too hard to move. He would somehow manage to free himself, then sink again with the very next step. It was like walking in a lake of soft ice cream. His crippled foot hurt, the ankle turning inward more than usual, making him lose his balance. He fell often, on hands and knees and face. Then he got up and plodded on. There was but one thought on his mind: Dogs don’t get lost. Sasha will take me home.

  ____________

  Cordell wound the thongs of his fur boots firmly around his calves as Lise watched nervously.

  “It’s nearly nine!” she cried. “Where is he, Cordell?”

  Cordell arose and yanked his parka from the peg. He was angry and frustrated as he thrust his long arms into the sleeves. No one has any business outdoors on a night like this! What fool would leave a cozy fire to go out in a blizzard? I must be crazy!

  Cordell was dressed for ten blizzards. From the inside out were layered heavy flannel longjohns, thick wool longjohns, a plaid wool shirt, and his heaviest mackinaw pants. Three pairs of scratchy wool socks filled his size-fourteen boots, leaving barely enough room for toe-wiggles. He was ready for any weather—if he could still walk.

  He closed his parka securely and pulled the fur-lined hood over his head, snugging it at his throat. He then turned to Lise. “I’m as worried as you are,” he said. “But I’ll find him!”