Northern Frights

by Arthur Slade

  "Wasn't it June 30th just a few days ago?" Angie asked.

  "The day before we arrived," Michael added.

  "And didn't Althea say there was something powerful about the anniversary of someone's death?" I asked.

  We were silent.

  "Let's get out of here," Michael said. "I've seen enough. I don't feel safe any longer."

  We raced back to the truck, tripping over stones and flower arrangements. I think we might have even trampled across a few graves, but I didn't care. I just had to get out of there. Once inside the vehicle we slammed the doors shut.

  We all tried to catch our breath.

  "He ... he can't be ... " Angie trailed off.

  I shrugged, tired. "All I know is what I saw."

  Brand started the truck, flicked on the lights. Two beams illuminated an army of headstones. My sense of direction was gone. For a moment I wondered if Brand knew the way out.

  I didn't want to get lost here. Not in a place where the dead sleep.

  Brand pulled the Chevy into gear, turned left and headed down the road. "Someone could have dug it up," he said. "Broke the casket. And pulled the boards back towards them."

  "Why?" I asked. "What would be in there?"

  Brand shrugged. "You never know what people are looking for or why they do things. Specially around here."

  We headed through the main gate and onto the highway. I sighed quietly. I would feel a lot better with the graveyard behind us.

  No one spoke until we reached Althea's house. The porch light was on, but her truck wasn't there.

  "Grandma's not home," Brand said, "that's really weird." He pulled up the front driveway and parked. We piled out and headed into the house.

  It was exactly as we had left it.

  "It doesn't look like she's been here at all." Brand turned on the light to the living room. "I wonder what's taking so long?"

  "Maybe we should phone the police," Angie suggested. "They might know where she is."

  "It can't hurt," Brand agreed. "I'm starting to get worried."

  He dialed the phone. I went into the living room and paged through Althea's books which were still sitting on the coffee table. I stopped at the etching of Glam and Grettir battling each other. I looked at it and I knew the person who had drawn this picture had captured something real.

  How could Grettir have beaten a creature as huge and full of hate as Glam? It was impossible. And yet he had done it.

  We needed someone like Grettir now.

  I touched the metal cross beside the books. It was cold and plain. I lifted it and was surprised at its weight. Then for no reason I could understand, an image appeared in my mind. Of Grandpa on the porch, whittling with his knife. And smiling.

  What did it mean?

  "They said she didn't show up," I heard Brand say. I set down the cross and wandered back to the main room in a trance. "They said they'd send a cruiser up to where she was supposed to meet them."

  Brand's words echoed from wall to wall. The room went in and out of focus. I stepped in front of everyone and they all looked at me.

  "We have to go to Grandpa's cabin," I said, holding my head.

  Brand's eyes widened. "What! First the graveyard and now the cabin! What for?"

  "My grandfather was carving something. I want to see what it was."

  "No. No. No." Brand held up his hand like a school crossing guard telling a car to stop. "There are cops everywhere, I can't just go driving again. We got lucky last time."

  "Brand—we have to," I said. I straightened my back, felt taller suddenly. "Believe me. It's the only way to get anything done. We've been waiting for everyone else to solve this. We have to take matters into our own hands."

  "She's right," Angie said. Just her words seemed to make me stronger. "We have to see what we can find there."

  Brand shook his head. "I don't know what they put in Missouri water, but I don't ever want to drink it." With that he spun around and headed for the door. "C'mon, we might as well get going. Just be ready to spend the night in jail."

  We followed him back out to the truck. This time he had a problem starting it, the engine turned over and over. "It just doesn't seem to want to catch," Brand said. He stopped, tried again and it roared.

  A moment later we were on the road, heading to the highway. Brand turned right, his foot heavy on the gas. The tires spun in the dirt and squealed when we hit the pavement. "Oops," Brand said.

  "I thought we were trying to avoid getting caught," Michael said.

  "We are." Brand patted the dashboard. "I sometimes forget how much power this baby has."

  We sped down the highway. The sky was completely black, I couldn't see any stars—even the moon's brightness had been cloaked by trees. It only took a few moments to get to Grandpa's cabin. We pulled up the driveway, parked out front. None of the lights were on, so Brand left the truck running with its headlights flicked to bright.

  No one moved. We stared out, safe behind our windshield.

  The place looked like it had been deserted for a hundred years. The police had placed yellow plastic ribbon around the cabin marked with the warning: CRIME SCENE DO NOT ENTER. The bushes around the yard seemed to have moved closer to grandpa's home. I wondered what could be hiding there?

  No one said anything. Finally, I grabbed the door handle and pushed the door open. It took all my willpower to step outside.

  I took another step or two and was relieved to hear Brand's door open. I led everyone up to the cabin. "Here goes nothing," I said then I ducked under the ribbon and opened the door. I flicked on the light.

  The living room looked like someone had swung a wrecking ball through it. The table and couch were overturned, there were books scattered on the floor beside cushions and drawers. Most of the closet doors were open.

  "The police must have been looking for clues," I said.

  "I wonder if they have a special task force that cleans up after them?" Michael asked.

  Brand picked up an overturned lamp and set it on the floor. "It seems like I've asked you this a couple of times tonight—what are we looking for?"

  "I don't know," I answered. "Something that Grandpa was carving or making. I think you'll just know when you see it."

  "Could you be more specific?" Michael asked.

  "That's all I know," I said. I started searching around the main room, grabbing books and turning over cushions. After a few minutes I realized it just didn't seem like the right place to find anything.

  I went into the room Michael, Angie and I had shared just the night before. The light wouldn't go on. I could see the remaining curtains moving in the breeze. There were thick pieces of splintered wood on the floor. Shattered glass glittered with moonlight.

  In the centre of the wall, where the window used to be, was a huge gaping hole. Only part of the frame was still there.

  No man could have done that.

  Michael and Angie were peering over my shoulder. "I don't remember that much destruction," Michael whispered.

  "I do," I said.

  "Maybe the cops somehow made it bigger." Angie paused. "Like when they were looking for stuff or something."

  I shook my head. "I don't think so." Then I stepped past them and out of the room.

  A thought struck me. "Do you remember Grandpa going into the guest room to work on something? I think there was a reason why he had you sleep in the same room as us."

  "So we'd be safer?" Michael asked.

  "That was one reason. But I don't think he wanted us to see what he was doing."

  I went down the hall to the spare room and flicked on the light, surprised that it worked. There was a small bed in one corner, a workbench on the other side and a number of carving tools on top of a cupboard. A few of Grandpa's wood burning drawings hung on the wall: a bear, a hawk, and a wolf. They looked so real that their eyes followed me when I moved.

  Grandpa had left a book open on the bench. Beside it was a small object. When I got closer I saw that
it was a wooden cross. He had been burning symbols into it. In the book there was an image of the cross, drawn in ink. Grandpa had about three quarters of the runes from the picture burnt into the cross. It looked beautiful. Next to the cross was a wineskin bottle with a sticky note on it that said: do not drink ... consecrated water.

  I looked at the front cover of the book. It was hard and black, but there was no title. The words inside were Icelandic, of course.

  "Did you find something?" Michael asked. He, Brand and Angie had piled in behind me.

  "I think so." I showed them the book. They examined it. "Grandpa seemed to be working on this cross, but it doesn't look like he was finished what he wanted to get done."

  "Do you think it was to ward something away?" Angie asked.

  "Probably. But he had this water too. What was he doing?" I asked.

  "Getting ready for something, I'd say." Brand was touching the wineskin. "Is consecrated water the same as holy water?"

  "I think so," I answered.

  "And don't they use it on vampires?" He continued.

  We were all silent.

  I ran my hand across the cross. It felt warm, as if heated from the inside. I held it, found that it was only a little bit larger than my hand. On impulse I stuffed it into my jacket pocket. It was a tight fit, but I was able to get the cross in. Then I reached for the water skin.

  "What are you doing?" Michael asked.

  "Taking this stuff with us. I just feel safer with it." I looped the strap over my shoulder. "Did you guys find anything else?"

  "Nothing," Angie said. "The place is a real mess."

  "So what do we do now?" Brand asked.

  I looked around. They were all staring at me, expecting an answer. "Do you know where your grandmother was going to meet the police?"

  "Yeah," Brand said. "It's only a little ways up the road."

  "Why don't we go check just to be sure she isn't still waiting there," I suggested.

  "Well ... " Brand said. "If she is there and she sees me in Grandpa's truck, she'll be pretty mad." He paused. "But I do want to make sure she's alright. She'll understand."

  "Then let's go," Angie said.

  We made our way out of the house.

  22.

  "It's just a little bit further on," Brand said.

  We had turned off the highway and had been traveling down a gravel road for about ten minutes. The truck's headlights only made a slight glowing dent in the darkness. Trees crowded around us. Little wisps of fog drifted here and there. "I'm sure it is. Just keep your eyes peeled."

  I was beginning to feel that familiar cold again. Right down to my bones.

  "Is there any heat in this truck?" Michael asked. So I wasn't the only one who was freezing.

  Brand cranked on the heater. "It'll take a while for it to warm up. I can't believe how much the temperature has dropped."

  The fog was getting thicker. Our lights seemed to be fading, not even close to casting brightness as far as they had before.

  We crawled ahead. The truck didn't get any warmer.

  "I think that's it, coming up." Brand pointed. "I'm sure of it."

  I could see a turn off ahead that led onto a flat open area. As we got closer I saw that it was a rest stop in the middle of nowhere. "This is where a lot of the hunters park when they go hunting," Brand explained. We turned off the road. The clearing ended suddenly, surrounded by a wall of trees and underbrush. It was obviously empty.

  "Well, she's not here," Brand said. "We must have missed her, somehow." He stepped on the gas, began doing a U turn.

  I saw a glint of metal in the trees as the truck's lights swept the area. "Wait a second," I said.

  "What is it?" Brand stepped on the brakes.

  "I thought I saw something reflect the lights out there." He backed up and swung the truck the other way.

  "There!" I pointed my finger when the light glinted again. "Right there!"

  "I see it," Michael said.

  Brand pulled straight ahead. A few of the trees were broken and bent over as if something big had been dragged across them. "I can't see anything through all this underbrush, we'll have to take a closer look on foot."

  "Go outside?" Angie asked.

  "It'll be okay," I said, flicking on my flashlight. "We won't be too far from the truck."

  Brand left the Chevy running. We got out and made our way to the underbrush. I ducked and fought my way through thorn trees that poked at me. Whatever was out there was still too far away too see. I could just barely make out a large metallic shape.

  "That's weird," Michael said. He stopped for a second, bent over and rubbed at his ankle.

  "What is?" I asked.

  "Well you know that bruise I got last night? It's aching like crazy. I can hardly put any weight on it. And my cut hurts too. The farther we get into this bush ... the more it hurts."

  "Do you want to go back to the truck?" Brand asked.

  Michael stood up. "No. I'll be okay. It's not too far away."

  We carried on, forcing our way through the underbrush until we came into a clearing. I pointed my light, Angie pointed hers.

  I drew in my breath.

  It was Althea's truck.

  23.

  All the windows had been smashed and the tires flattened.

  "Grandma!" Brand yelled and before I could say anything he went running to the truck. I followed, the light from my flashlight bobbing and jumping with each motion. I could barely see where I was going.

  I reached the truck a step behind Brand. He yanked open the door and glass rained down onto the ground. "Grandma! Where are you?"

  I pointed the light inside the cab, over Brand's shoulder. It was empty. Broken glass was scattered across the seat. Brand backed out, went around the other side yelling.

  Angie and Michael joined us. "What happened?" Angie asked.

  "I don't know—an accident I guess." All I could see was glass and twisted metal. The door looked bent. Had Brand done that? I shone my light along the side. "Do you remember these dents?" I asked.

  "No," Michael answered. "It was in rough shape, but I don't remember anything like that."

  "Get a light over here!" Brand yelled. He sounded desperate. We ran around to the other side of the truck, both pointing our flashlights. Brand was down on one knee, examining something. "Closer! Closer!"

  I ran up. On the ground in front of Brand was Althea's shawl. Or half of it at least. It had been torn in two. Brand was gripping it tightly. "Whoever did this is going to pay." He stood up, the shawl in his hand. His face was pale and his jaw muscles tight. "Someone's dragged her away."

  I pointed my flashlight just past him, illuminating a trail of broken branches and turned up dirt. "You're right ... it looks like they went that way."

  Brand handed her shawl to me. "I'm going to find her."

  "Wait," I said, "we should go back to Grandpa's and call the police. Then we can start looking."

  Brand shook his head. "No." He reached out and took the flashlight from Angie's hands. "You three take the truck and head back there. I'm going to look for Grandma." Then he turned on his heel and started running through the trees.

  "But we shouldn't split up!" I yelled.

  He was already gone. A small blur in the distance, flashlight bobbing like a firefly.

  I looked at the other two.

  "Now what?" Michael asked.

  I shrugged. "Let's hurry back to Grandpa's and phone the RCMP. Then we'll double back here and help him look."

  They agreed. We turned and forced our way through the underbrush, heading for the truck. Its lights were a beacon to guide us. A thorn scratched a line across my forehead. When we got closer I realized something was wrong, there was a sound I couldn't hear. I made it through the last branches into the open.

  "Didn't Brand leave the truck running?" I asked.

  "I ... I can't remember." Angie was silhouetted in the lights, squinting. "I hope the battery didn't die."

  I got
in the driver's side, found the keys. They were in the on position. Michael and Angie jumped in the passenger side. I took a deep breath, pushed in the clutch and turned the key.

  Nothing.

  I tried again.

  Nothing.

  "Oh, no," Angie whispered. "This is bad."

  "Hurry. Hit the dash or spin the steering wheel or something," Michael suggested. "Maybe it's just some kind of loose wire." I did those things, moving the wheel and twisting the key as hard as I could.

  Just when I was about to give up, the motor began to turn. And turn and turn, slower and slower, like it was losing power. "C'mon," Michael said, slamming his fist on the dash.

  I thought I could hear a ghost of a sound like someone yelling in the distance, maybe even calling my name, then the truck roared suddenly and I stomped on the gas a few times. "It started! It started!" I exclaimed.

  It took me a moment to find reverse. The gears ground. I pressed the gas too hard and we shot backwards, a cloud of dust filling our headlights. I slammed on the brakes and we skidded in a half circle. When we came to a stop I realized we were on the road, pointing towards the highway.

  "Great driving, Sis," Michael said. I didn't know if he was being sarcastic or not.

  I found another gear, stepped on the accelerator and the truck rocketed forward into the mist. "Not so fast," Angie said. "We can hardly see two feet in front of us."

  It was true. The fog had grown grayer and thicker. Our light seemed to bounce off it. But I had to hurry. Brand was out there all alone.

  And Grandpa and Althea.

  "The cops must have been here and not seen her truck," Angie said.

  "Probably," I agreed. "It was pretty far in the trees."

  "Yeah, but how did it get there?" Michael asked. "She wouldn't have accidentally driven it into the trees."

  "Maybe she was trying to hit something," Angie suggested.

  "Or it got dragged in there," I added.

  "By what? What could drag it in there?" Michael asked.

  "The same thing that put the hole in Grandpa's cabin."

  We were silent for a moment. No one seemed to want to argue with me.

  The fog was clearing a little, so I sped up.