Draugr

by Arthur Slade

  Brand returned a few minutes later.

  “Is it helping?” he asked.

  “Is what helping?”

  “The hot chocolate? Do you feel any better?”

  “Yes.” I finished off the rest. “It’s a lot better now.”

  “Do you think you really felt what was happening to your grandpa or was it your imagination?”

  I paused. The answer came from deep inside me. “No. For a second I was seeing what he saw. Don’t you find that a little crazy?”

  Brand shook his head. “No. I . . . uh . . . when my grandfather died, I saw his spirit. Just kind of floating in front of me. And he said something, then smiled and was gone.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He told me to get good grades.”

  “What! You’re kidding.”

  “No. He used to say that to me all the time. He wanted me to become a history professor someday.”

  “Are you saying that was Grandpa’s ghost I saw?”

  “No. I just think that we are all connected in some mysterious ways. Especially with our own kin.”

  “So do you mean Grandpa was sending me a message?” I asked.

  Brand sipped from his Coke. “Yeah . . . kind of, I guess. I don’t know. This just means he’s alright.”

  “For now,” I added, and once I said it I realized Grandpa wouldn’t be alright for long. He was in danger.

  Something else was bothering me. “Who were you talking to on the phone?”

  “The phone?” He paused. “Oh . . . yeah . . . there’s—”

  Just at that moment the door to the cafe swung open. Althea swept in, her face set in grim lines.

  “—someone I want you to meet.”

  Althea pointed at me like she’d just caught a jewel thief. “I’ve been looking for you, Sarah.”

  16

  “Oh . . . you two know each other.” Brand seemed worried. “You didn’t tell me that, Grandma.”

  “I didn’t want you to inform her I was on my way.” Althea still looked like she was about to explode. She loomed closer to me. “You shouldn’t have run away, Sarah.”

  “I’m not going home,” I said, surprised at the serious tone of my voice. Almost as if someone else were speaking through me.

  “Not today, you’re not . . . the bus is gone.” She was now right in front of me, glaring down. “But you will tomorrow. I made a promise to your grandfather and I’m going to keep it.”

  “But—” I started.

  “Don’t argue with me, Sarah.” I knew she wasn’t making a request. “You and Brand will come with me now.”

  I sighed. Everyone was pushing me one way, pulling me another. How much more of this could I take? I left money on the table and we followed Althea. Once outside, Brand turned to me. “I didn’t know you knew Grandma. I didn’t mean to get you into trouble.”

  “I’m sorry,” I said quickly, “I didn’t tell you everything. I should have.”

  We got into Althea’s truck and she started it up. “Where are we going?” I asked.

  “Home. Where I can keep a close eye on you. I might even be tempted to tie you up.”

  It didn’t sound like she was joking.

  With that Althea was silent and we drove all the way to her home without speaking another word. We pulled into the yard, parked in her driveway, got out, and followed her into the house. “You might as well head straight into the backyard.” Althea motioned towards the patio. “Just don’t run away.”

  I walked solemnly through the living room, slid the door open.

  Sitting on lawn chairs, in sunglasses, T-shirts, and shorts, were Angie and Michael. Michael sat up when he saw me. “Hey, Sis!”

  “What are you guys doing here?”

  Michael smiled. “Just wondering if we should be mad at you or not.”

  “Mad at me, for what?”

  “For leaving us at the bus depot,” Angie cut in. “For not telling us your getaway plan. Nice cousin you are.”

  “Well . . .” I paused. “I’m sorry. It just kinda happened. I really should have somehow told you guys.”

  Michael shrugged. “It’s okay. Once we figured out you were gone Althea changed our tickets to tomorrow, so we get to stay an extra day. Of course we aren’t supposed to take a step outside this yard.” He paused. “She was a little P.O.’d at you.”

  “I figured that out.” I sat on the edge of a weathered bench.

  “She’ll get over it,” Brand said, settling himself on a lawn chair next to me. “She forgives and forgets pretty fast. It’s part of being a grandma.”

  “I heard that!” Althea was standing at the door, right behind us. I turned. She had a container of iced tea in one hand and several glasses in the other. “I forgive people, Brand. But I’ve got the memory of an elephant. You should know that by now. Remember when you broke my favorite dish because you thought it would make a great Frisbee?”

  Brand looked a little sheepish. “Uh . . . sorry, Grandma,” he said.

  “It’s alright, I forgive you.” She came out and set the container and glasses on the round wooden picnic table. She sat down and stared at us. “I think it’s time we all had a little talk.”

  “About what?” I asked.

  “I want you to tell me everything you saw and heard last night. Everything. Even if you think it’s strange.”

  “And . . .” I started, not sure if I had the guts to pull it off, “. . . what do we get in return?”

  Althea narrowed her good eye, gave me a piercing look. I stared back. “What do you mean?” she asked after a few moments.

  I couldn’t hold her stare. I glanced down, then back up at her. “I . . . uh . . . we want to know what’s happening. There are things Grandpa didn’t tell us—that you aren’t telling us. And we want to know what they are. You can’t just keep secrets from us because we’re young. We’re old enough to handle it.”

  “She’s right,” Michael added. “We want the truth.”

  Althea sat brooding for a moment, then she looked directly at me. “You do have Grettir’s blood.”

  I didn’t know exactly what she was talking about, but I nodded as if I understood.

  Althea looked me up and down. Then stared at Angie and Michael. “Perhaps I’ve underestimated you. All of you. Maybe it would have been better if I’d told you the truth from the beginning.” She paused for another second. “Alright,” she said, “I’ll tell you everything I know, and you can deal with the nightmares and the possibilities—it’s a deal. But first each of you give me your version of what happened. And don’t leave out the smallest detail.”

  Again we spoke about seeing the little boy in the forest and how he had disappeared. Then we all recounted what we could remember about Grandpa’s disappearance. Althea nodded and listened closely, asking very few questions. When we were done she sat back. She seemed to believe every word.

  “Were any of you hurt or bruised or touched by this visitor?” she asked.

  “Yes,” Michael said. He moved his legs, displaying the circular purple bruise around his ankle. It looked even worse than this morning. “I don’t remember exactly how this happened, but I know it was last night while I was dreaming.”

  Althea examined his ankle closely. “It’s very deep bruising. Does it hurt?” she asked.

  “A little, yes,” Michael answered. “It’s just kind of numb.”

  Althea rose slowly and went into the house. We were all silent. I looked around the back yard. There was a garden growing there, corn stalks stood straight and tall. There was also a red truck next to a small shop.

  Althea came back a few seconds later with a white plastic jar. She dipped her hand in and pulled out a wad of greenish lotion, then rubbed it around Michael’s ankle. Once finished she sat back and tightened the lid on the jar. “How does that
feel?”

  “Much better.” Michael was staring at his ankle, a look of awe on his face. “It’s tingling and it feels . . . alive, I guess.”

  The bruise already appeared to be fading.

  Brand gently touched my shoulder. “You should probably tell her about how cold you’ve been.”

  “Cold?” Althea was looking at me. “Is this true?”

  “Yes.” I shivered. “I just can’t seem to warm up. And . . . I forgot to mention . . . I . . . uh . . . saw an image of Grandpa.”

  “What kind of image?”

  “Well, it was more like a feeling that he was buried.”

  “Hmm,” she said. “Hmm. This is all making sense. I should have told you from the beginning. Yes, I should have.” She stood up. “Just wait here. There are a few things I want to show all of you.”

  Then she disappeared into the house.

  17

  “What’s she doing?” Angie asked.

  We could hear Althea banging around inside, closing and opening doors, dropping things.

  “It sounds like she’s remodeling the living room,” Michael said.

  “My guess is Grandma’s setting something up for us.” Brand was sipping from his iced tea. “I’m not sure if I want to know what it is.”

  I sat back. The sun’s rays couldn’t even warm the top layer of my skin. I wanted to find a parka, a pile of blankets, or a roaring fire, but I knew none of these things would be enough to heat me up.

  “We talked to Mom and Dad,” Michael said to me.

  “What did they say?”

  “They want us to get home at once—Angie is supposed to come all the way to Missouri since her parents are still in Europe. Dad was quite upset that we couldn’t take another bus today.”

  “Were they upset about Grandpa too?”

  Michael nodded. “Yeah, really shaken up. Mom started crying. Dad was asking me all these questions—and I didn’t have any answers. Dad’s going to fly out here, but he can’t get away until tomorrow.”

  “Well, why don’t we wait till he gets here?”

  Michael shook his head. “No. He made me promise I would go home tomorrow. That all of us would go.”

  I sat back. So we would have to leave in the morning, no doubts about it. Had I run away just to delay something that was going to happen anyway?

  “Hey,” Michael said suddenly, “did you know Dad speaks Icelandic?”

  “A little. I didn’t think he knew too much, though.”

  “He and Althea talked for at least five minutes in Icelandic . . . I don’t think she wanted us to know what they were talking about.”

  “Did you understand anything they said?” I asked.

  “I heard them mention Thursten once,” Angie answered.

  “Me too,” Michael said, “and another name . . . Kormak or something. But other than that it was all noise. I couldn’t make any sense of it, other than it sounded serious.”

  “I’ll tell you what it was about.” Althea was standing at the door. “But not right now. Come into the house. I have a few things to show you.”

  I stood up, shaky. I was beginning to feel like I had just finished a marathon. We all made our way through the sliding door into the living room. The coffee table had three old books on it. I recognized them as the ones I had glanced at in the morning. There was also a metal vial and a huge, heavy-looking iron cross. Beside them was a pot of tea and five cups.

  “Have a seat,” Althea motioned and we sat down. Me on the couch beside Brand. Angie and Michael in separate chairs. I shivered. Now that I was out of the sun, I felt even colder. “All of you should drink some of that tea. Especially you, Sarah. It’ll warm you up.”

  I doubted this. I poured myself a cup, sipped it. It had a sharp taste, a tangy lemony scent. I can’t say it was good, but I felt it burst against my tongue, down my throat, and spread throughout my body as if it were entering my bloodstream and heating it up. I took another sip. “It works,” I said, astonished.

  “Yes. But don’t drink more than one cup.” Althea was sitting across from all of us, near the tea table. “It’ll burn some of your inner energy.”

  She paused. Moved the cross, held it in her right hand.

  “I guess I’ll start at the very beginning.” Her tone was solemn. She wasn’t looking at us, but at the cross. Her face seemed more wrinkled, as if just the act of telling this story was draining her. “I’ll start with the death of Eric Bardarson. I remember when it happened . . . I was in my early twenties. I was one of his teachers at the time. He was in grade two, if I remember correctly, and he was really a gentle, lovable kid. Always dreaming. Always happy. It was a pleasure to teach him.

  “It had been a very wet spring. There were heavy snows all winter, and the moment it started to warm up enough to melt, the sky darkened and the rain fell. And it kept pouring for weeks on end, so much rain and cloudy weather you could feel it in your bones. It made everyone upset, less likely to say good morning. Some of the older people just gave up—the winter and a hard spring was too much. Needless to say, we all wanted a break.

  “It came somewhere in the middle of May. The sun was out one morning and stayed all day, burning away the water. Everyone wandered outside to look, to laugh, to smile. Some of the kids even wore shorts to school, which was against the rules, but we teachers didn’t care.

  “When the weekend arrived, the earth was getting dry and a lot of families headed out along the lake or up to Camp Morton to have picnics and play games and visit all their friends whom they hadn’t seen all winter. The Bardarsons were one of these families. But unlike everyone else, they went into the woods. You had to walk a long way to get to Thor’s Shoulder, a clearing on a giant hill. You could look down on all of Gimli and see the lake. It really was quite beautiful.

  “And I guess they had a wonderful picnic. Besides Eric, the Bardarsons also had a boy and a girl a grade or two ahead of Eric. They spent the whole day with each other. Eating and playing games. They let the kids wander around as long as they didn’t go too far.

  “When it came time for them to leave, Eric had disappeared. His brother and sister said he was right behind them, but when they turned he was gone. The family frantically searched for him for hours, but there was no trace. It was growing dark so the father sent his wife and children to get help and he stayed there calling out Eric’s name. He finally grew tired and leaned against a tree. He lit a fire hoping to attract his son. He said he heard many strange sounds that night, howling and voices, but saw nothing of Eric.

  “The next morning, and for days after, the search party tramped around the area. They couldn’t even turn up a scrap of clothing. It was decided the heavy rains had softened the earth so much that the boy must have fallen into a bog and smothered to death. Others said wolves may have gotten him, but this seemed unlikely because even wolves leave remains.

  “There was only one person who lived in that area—old man Kormak. He had a cabin and he survived by trapping animals for his own food and gathering berries and edible plants from the brush. The police did ask him if he knew anything, but they could make no sense of what he said. The rumor was that all the rain pounding on his cabin had driven him insane. I only saw Kormak three times while he was alive. And each time he looked the same: he was a big-boned man, with wild hair and a thick beard. He wore animal skins with the heads still attached. And he never bathed.

  “There were rumors that he had something to do with Eric’s disappearance. People also whispered that Kormak liked to spend time at graveyards and such . . . but no one could prove anything. Finally, the search was given up. Every couple of years there’s something in the paper about the boy—it’s one of the biggest tragedies to hit Gimli.”

  Althea paused. She reached slowly down to her cup of tea, grasped it, and took a sip.

  “What happened to this Kormak guy?”
Angie asked.

  Althea set down her cup. “He died about five years later.”

  “Well,” I said, “if this boy and Eric are the same person—then why? I mean, what was he doing out there?”

  “Let me begin by saying that I’ve seen him too.”

  “You have?” Michael asked.

  “Yes.” Althea nodded. “About four years ago this summer I was on my way north to a reading by a writer friend of mine. I had agreed to set up a display of his work. It was late and I was driving not too far from where you three were walking. All of a sudden there was this little glowing figure on the road—he just appeared out of nowhere. I slammed on my brakes, swerved to miss him, and he vanished. At the same time I came over the rise of a hill and a deer was in the middle of the highway, staring at me. I would have never been able to stop in time. I got out and looked for the boy but he had disappeared.”

  “You mean he warned you?” Brand asked.

  “Yes. I think so. I don’t know exactly how he died, but I think his spirit is here as an omen of sorts—a good omen. I know Eric is more likely to appear in the early summer—it’s near the anniversary of his death. Powerful things happen around the anniversary of anyone’s death, sometimes good, sometimes bad. I have met a few other people who’ve seen him. One was a woman hiker who would have fallen into an old well if he hadn’t attracted her attention. I think he’s there to try and stop more bad things from happening.”

  “That’s awful,” Angie said.

  “What do you mean?” I asked.

  She looked a little sad. “That this poor boy has to wander around, warning people. Never doing whatever little boys get to do in heaven.”

  Althea nodded. “It does seem unfair, doesn’t it? But we don’t know what happens next. I don’t think time is the same to him. Maybe he drifts from here to a better place and back. Who knows.”

  “It doesn’t sound like much of an afterlife.” Angie was frowning now.

  “It’s not for us to judge,” Althea said finally.

  I sat back. “What do you think the boy was warning us about?”