Northern Frights

by Arthur Slade

And cows.

  Dead and strewn across the floor. Even in the dark I could see that some of them were half eaten. I heard flies buzzing quietly, back and forth.

  There must have been at least six bodies. It was hard to tell because some of them only had the heads left.

  Torn apart as if by some wild animal.

  I stood in the centre of the cabin now. Looking around.

  Had the same thing happened to Grandpa? To Michael? Angie?

  Nothing seemed to be alive in the room. Maybe that was good.

  I stepped over the body of a deer. I squinted my eyes and looked around.

  But I couldn't see anything.

  Then a glittering caught my attention, a movement in the corner of my eye.

  The ghost boy was standing at the other end of the cabin.

  28.

  He looked sad, lost, afraid.

  I knew exactly how he felt.

  "Bad," he whispered, his mouth kept moving but no words came out.

  He stopped, seemed to be crying. His big eyes looking at me.

  "I know," I whispered. "It's a bad place. I know, Eric."

  His eyes widened when he heard his name. It really was him.

  "Are you ... trapped here?" I suddenly had an image of Eric still searching for his family in the trees after all this time. He didn't seem to understand my question. He kept blinking his eyes.

  "Bad man," he moaned, "bad man put dirt on me."

  It must have been Kormac, Kar's father. Fifty years ago he had buried this child. Then how many years later his son had come to take away my grandfather. What kind of a family were they? Evil ran in their blood.

  I imagined Eric spending the last fifty years warning people away from this place. Not wanting the same thing to happen to anyone else. Maybe there was some way I could help him. To release him.

  "You will be free," I promised. "Your mother will hold you again ... soon."

  He was crying now, big watery tears that fell from his face and disappeared before they hit the floor. I wished I could somehow hug him. I didn't dare move closer, he might vanish.

  He wiped at his eyes. "Under boards. Buried. Good. Buried old man."

  My heartbeat skipped. "Do you mean Grandpa?"

  This question made Eric point down below him, stomping little feet that made no noise. "Hurry ... fast ... .buried ... bad man coming."

  I stepped towards him.

  "Bad man coming," he repeated.

  Another step and he vanished.

  I went to where he was standing. Stood there. What did he mean?

  A cry came from beneath my feet.

  29.

  It was human sounding. Soft. A moan of pain.

  It was so familiar.

  "Grandpa?" I asked, getting down on my knees. "Grandpa?"

  Another whispering groan.

  I felt around, found an edge on one of the boards. I pulled up with all my strength. Slivers bit into my hands, but still I kept working.

  Finally, with a creaking protest, the board came up.

  I looked down, couldn't see anything but blackness. I yanked up another board.

  A sliver of moonlight came through a crack in the roof, lighting up the space in front of me. There was a thin oval, a nose, mouth, closed eyes. An old and wrinkled face. Half buried in the dirt.

  "Grandpa!" I exclaimed. "Grandpa!"

  I touched his cheek. It was cold, so cold that I feared he was dead.

  His eyes opened, slowly. "Sarah," he whispered, his voice gravely. I realized he probably hadn't had any water for over a day. "Sarah, you're here."

  "Yes," I said, "Everything's going to be alright. You're alive. I knew you would be. I'm going to get you out."

  He blinked. "I can't move. I feel like I've been in a freezer for ten years. Now I know what a sirloin steak feels like." He tried to smile, but couldn't.

  "Grandpa," I asked," is it ... the man ... thing ... is it what I think it is?"

  He blinked. "Yes. Too much hate inside him to stay dead."

  I swallowed. I said, urgently, "Kar has Michael and Sarah and Althea too."

  This seemed to wake Grandpa up. "Help me out of here. First close the door."

  I went over and pushed the door shut.

  "Now what?" I asked when I was standing over him again.

  Grandpa blinked. "Listen very carefully. You must—Oh no!"

  "What? What?"

  "I'm getting ... colder." A frightened tone had come into his voice, his words were slurred.

  "Colder? What do you mean?"

  "C-c-c-older ... colder ... whenever he gets ... close ... "

  "I'll dig you out. Now."

  "No." It seemed to take all of Grandpa's strength to get these words out. "No ... time. You must save ... the others. Leave ... me."

  "But ... "

  There was a rumbling sound outside, like thunder.

  "Go," he whispered. "Speak sofa um nótt." He seemed to be rambling, not making any sense. "Sofa ... um ... nótt. Go ... trust ... your blood."

  He closed his eyes.

  A weight hit the door and it rattled on its hinges.

  30.

  I jumped back against the wall. There was a soft sst sound as something sharp and thin poked into my back.

  Then I felt a wet warm liquid running down my back.

  Blood! I was bleeding.

  I felt behind me, discovered that the water skin I was carrying had been punctured and was leaking water down my back. I had hit an old nail.

  The consecrated water! I knew I needed it and here it was pouring out onto the floor.

  I pulled the water skin around to my front, desperately trying to find the hole.

  It had been punctured on both sides, was nearly empty.

  A second blow hit the door and the top hinge came flying off and tumbled across the floor.

  I couldn't just stand there. I leapt over the dead animals and threw all my weight into the door. I picked up a piece of wood and braced it across the frame.

  There was breathing outside, an angry tortured sound. Human and animal.

  "Blood. Hunnggr. Smell your blood." A harsh raspy whisper.

  With a roar Kar crashed into the door again and the planks snapped inwards.

  But the door held.

  There was a moment of silence.

  I couldn't hear any movement outside. Just the blood pounding in my ears, my heart beating loud as a drum.

  But he seemed to be gone.

  He can't have given up.

  I leaned against the door, pressing my ear closer, straining to listen.

  A fist came through an inch away from my nose. A hand as big as a shovel with thick, hairy fingers reached for me.

  I ducked but he caught my hair, started to reel me in.

  I pulled back. He had too much hair and was too strong—I couldn't escape.

  With a desperate movement I grabbed the water skin and poured what was left of the water onto his hand, yelling at the same time.

  His skin hissed, smoke rose up. He screamed on the other side of the door, let go of my hair and I fell to the ground.

  I could hear him snarling outside the door, stamping and smashing into things. The cabin felt like it would cave in.

  Then he ran crazily around, throwing his body against the thick log walls. The windows shattered, dust and wood and shingles fell in on me.

  Again he piled himself into the walls like a battering ram.

  He howled. But this time it was a retreating cry. Like he was running into the forest, away from the cabin.

  31.

  I listened for what must have been a full minute.

  Only silence. A whisper of wind in the trees. Nothing more.

  I went back to Grandpa.

  "Grandpa!" I whispered, urgently. "Wake up!"

  He didn't move. I touched his face. He was even colder. But he stirred slightly, seemed to be breathing.

  "I'm going to find the others," I said. "Then I'll be back. I promise."
<
br />   I turned, went for the door.

  But where would they be? Where would he hide them?

  I remembered the cellar out behind the house. Of course, the only place.

  I lifted the wood from the door, pulled it slowly open, peered out with one eye. The overgrown yard looked empty. The light from the moon had brightened, painting it all with white.

  I stepped out, a piece of wood gripped in my hand for a weapon.

  I went around the house, slowly.

  Nothing. Kar was gone.

  I came to the cellar door. It took most of my strength to lift it. Creaking, cracking, moaning in protest it came up. The hinges squealing like they hadn't been used in years. I pulled it all the way open.

  The light of the moon shone over the first three earthen steps.

  I started down, my wood in front of me like a sword. It felt flimsy and small. I knew it wouldn't help me in the slightest.

  But just holding it made me feel better.

  After a few steps I was covered with ebony darkness. The stairs seemed to go quite deep. It was cold in here. The cold of December was still seeping out of the earth.

  I could make out a small cramped room stuffed with old rotten potato sacks. Two support poles held the floor up. This seemed to only cover half the bottom of the house.

  A step later I heard a small noise. A whisper of breath.

  I tightened my grip.

  But there was more than one person breathing. There were two then three. I looked down.

  Only inches from where I was walking were the faces of Michael and Angie, buried in the dirt, a newly made mound over top of them. A foot or two away was Althea.

  All with their eyes closed.

  I bent down.

  Michael's cheek was igloo cold and covered with small cuts. Had he been dragged on the ground all the way here?

  Angie was freezing too, her one eye seemed bruised.

  Althea had lost her patch. Her blind eye stared whitely at me, her good eye closed.

  None of them were awake. When I spoke no one moved.

  I started digging Michael out. The dirt was soft and I found it easy. Within a minute he was free. It took a huge effort to pull him out of the hole.

  Through it all he stayed sleeping.

  I worked on Angie next, quickly unearthing her body. When I was finished I pulled her over beside Michael.

  I started on Althea. About half way through I heard a creaking noise above me. A heavy inhalation of air.

  I turned to see the moonlight blocked by a huge shape coming down the stairs one slow step at a time. He brushed against the walls with his shoulders, hands out.

  Then finally I saw his eyes. Cold, yellow, pitiless—they had changed. There was nothing human in them anymore, no emotions but anger and hunger. He stared right at me through the darkness. His elongated face was twisted into a grimace.

  He slouched ahead, unblinking. He stopped to sniff at Michael and Angie.

  I backed up, farther, farther.

  Then I hit the earth wall.

  Kar trudged towards me, his breath rattling in his throat. His hands out. His mouth moved in a chewing motion and I knew he could no longer speak. All he had was a lust for my blood.

  Saliva dripped from the edge of his thick lips to the floor below.

  I threw the piece of wood at him. It bounced off, harmlessly. He didn't even blink.

  His form filled the cellar. He stepped over Althea. Lumbered closer and closer to me. Both his hands were out like huge claws, opening and closing.

  I could see strangely shaped muscles bulging and flexing. He could tear me apart in an instant. Turn me to jelly.

  He reached out. I put up my arms to ward him off. But still he pressed in on me, his hands touching me. They were cold and covered with earth, slime and blood.

  He forced me harder against the wall, squeezing now, his grip inescapable. His face was closer to mine, I could feel his breath—a cold harsh wind. His deformed body smelled of rotting flesh.

  My ribs felt like they would give, he was going to crush me against the wall.

  His face leaned closer in. I saw his eyes, the color of a harvest moon, glowing with huge pitiless pupils. "Blood ... ." he whispered, his words slurred through his thick, grey lips. Spit spattered my face. "Blood of ... Asmundson ... must bleed."

  I could see yellow thick grainy teeth in his mouth. Sharp.

  I closed my eyes. Felt myself curl into a ball, suffocating under his weight.

  I would be dead in a moment.

  This was the end.

  One of these breaths, now so hard to breath, would be my last.

  I surrendered. Waiting. There was nothing I could do.

  Then I felt a stirring. Deep inside me. A swirling. Of hope. Of the past. A place I had only visited in my dreams.

  An old ancient space inside my fourteen-year-old body. Echoing with voices.

  Sarah. Sarah. Sarah.

  For a second I felt all of my ancestors back for a thousand years, in my blood, my heart, my spirit—urging me on. My grandmother, my great grandfather, even Grettir the Strong were all there. I felt their power added to mine. They were telling me to breathe, reminding me who I was, lending me their strength, their knowledge. I inhaled and they seemed to cheer.

  Sarah Asmundson. Sarah.

  I set my legs. Then I pushed. Hard.

  It was like lifting the weight of a truck, a boulder, a mountain.

  And still I used this new strength, lifting higher and higher.

  Kar made a confused almost startled noise. He tried to squeeze me tighter, to fight back. He succeeded in pushing me down a little.

  I felt a rush of strength and gave one final heave. Kar suddenly flew backwards, crashed onto the floor and rolled into one of the support poles. It cracked. A small clump of dirt and pieces of wood fell from the roof, covering him.

  He lay there on his back, waving his arms and twisting his neck, looking for me. He was like a beetle that couldn't right itself.

  He screamed.

  The voices, my ancestors, were gone.

  Just me. Alone.

  I knew I had to act quickly.

  I stood up, rising to my full height and stepped towards Kar. My feet were steady.

  Kar turned to me. His yellow eyes blinked. His face seemed confused and angry. He tried to move his arms, to reach towards me, but his hands fell uselessly at his side. He closed his fingers.

  He opened his mouth to scream again, but all that emerged was a hissing of air.

  He seemed broken. Whatever gave him power was dying bit by bit.

  But would it come back? I didn't know how long I had.

  I stood right above Kar, looking down. He bared his teeth, yellow sharp spikes. I knew he would tear open my throat if he could reach me.

  I remembered what Grandpa had said. The words. Icelandic words. They came to me as natural as English. "Sofa um nótt," I spoke slowly, soothingly. He glared at me.

  I knelt next to Kar. This time I almost sang the words—a lullaby. His eyelids slid closed. Then they opened and stared at me, anger making them glow red.

  Was he waking up?

  Didn't Grandpa say something about them cursing people? With their last bit of strength. A curse that lasted a lifetime.

  "Sofa um nótt," I whispered. "Sleep. Sofa um nótt." His eyes held mine and I felt a dark emotion entering my thoughts, my spirit.

  His curse.

  He moved his lips, trying to mouth something.

  "Sofa um nótt," I repeated, desperately.

  There was a final flare of anger in his eyes. I felt a stabbing pain in the back of my head. My heart stopped.

  Then nothing.

  His eyelids slid together.

  32.

  He stayed still.

  Satisfied, I turned to the others. Althea was getting up, so were Michael and Angie, rubbing their heads.

  "What happened?" Michael whispered. "I feel like I've been hit by a bulldozer. Where are we?
" He turned to me. "Oh ... Sarah, I had the weirdest dream ... we crashed the truck and then I was dragged upside down through—"

  "Quickly!" I hissed. "Get out of here!"

  Michael blinked. Angie stared at me.

  Only Althea seemed to understand. "She's right, get up, get out, now!"

  With her voice added to mine, they listened. We stumbled up the stairs. Out into the open air.

  "Where are—" Angie started.

  "C'mon, you've got to help me!" Then I ran around the front of the cabin. "In here!"

  They followed me inside. I started tearing at the floorboards, madly throwing them behind me.

  "Hey watch it!" Michael said. Then he paused. "Grandpa! That's Grandpa!" He pitched in and Angie helped too.

  Grandpa opened his eyes a moment later, stared up at me. He couldn't speak but he smiled.

  It took all of us working together to drag him out of the cabin. We stopped when we were about a hundred feet away.

  Then we sat there catching our breath.

  Suddenly the cabin started to moan, to pitch and twist like a gale of wind had hit it. And with a final crash it collapsed in on itself, imploding, falling and falling down so that not a board was standing.

  We stared at the dust, the wreckage.

  "Someone's going to have to explain a few things to me," Angie said.

  Grandpa looked right at me. "I have a feeling that a lot of this won't be easily explained."

  I felt tired, all my strength was leaving me. Something brushed my shoulder and my heart leapt.

  I turned to catch a glimpse of glowing light with a figure inside. A little boy smiled at me then flew upwards. He seemed to be going towards the stars.

  "Goodbye, Eric," I whispered.

  With my last bit of strength I limped to the house. It took me a moment to find two good sized planks.

  I placed them across each other in the form of a cross.

  33.

  We didn't forget about Brand. We tied our belts and clothes together and lowered our makeshift rope down and pulled him out. Then we walked through the trees silently.

  The police found us on the road and after wrapping us with blankets and asking us a hundred and one questions, they took us back to Althea's.