Northern Frights

by Arthur Slade

  "Guess the plan changed."

  "Well, I need about ten more hours of being zonked out. It's always weird sleeping in a new bed."

  "You certainly rolled around a lot last night. I heard you kick the wall a few times." I tried to remember the nightmare again, but couldn't put together enough of the dream to explain anything to Sarah. It was like a big puzzle missing half its pieces. "It's not surprising," Sarah continued, "I don't think our bodies were meant to travel across the Atlantic in less than a day."

  I pulled myself out of bed and started digging through my backpack. All my neat packing had been jumbled together during the trip. I tugged out a pair of black jeans that were loose fitting, but didn't make my hips look too big. I slipped them on and wriggled into a dark blue sweater. For some reason my red hair always looked better when I was wearing that colour. There was a small mirror on the dresser, so I grabbed my make — up bag and examined myself.

  Bags under my eyes. Hair pointing every which way but straight. I looked like I'd spent most of the trip with my head out the airplane window. I did the best I could with my brush.

  Sarah's face appeared in the top corner of the mirror, a wicked smile on her lips. "Mordur won't be at the breakfast table," she whispered.

  "Oh, please." I stopped teasing my hair long enough to make a face at her.

  "I saw the way he looked at you. He kept staring at your hair. Maybe he has a thing for redheads."

  "Yeah, right, and maybe I'll get struck by lightning in the next five seconds."

  "Hope you brought a lightning rod." She went back to her bed, pulling on some socks.

  "What do you suppose is for breakfast?" I asked, changing the topic.

  "I don't know for sure, but I can smell it. Eggs and maybe bacon. Hurry up before Michael wolfs it all down."

  I gave up on my hair. It would pass for being combed. I took a moment to pull the curtain aside and glance out the window. Even though my watch read 10:15 am it was still dark out. What kind of holiday was this going to be if we couldn't see anything?

  The window was double paned and I noticed the outside one was etched with three scratch marks. A tuft of grey hair fluttered in the wind, caught in a crack in the wooden sill.

  "Sarah, take a look at this."

  She came to my side, put her hand on my shoulder. "What's that?"

  "It looks like dog hair. How did it get there?"

  "I don't know. It's kind of high up for a dog." She stared at it for a moment, pressing her nose up to the glass. "Maybe it was one of those Santa Claus imps — Gluggagægir, the window peeper — who came last night."

  "And left some hair?"

  "I'm kidding," she said, laughing. "I don't know what it's from."

  My rumbling stomach stopped me from brooding about it much longer. We went down the hall to the kitchen.

  Michael was too busy chewing to say hello, so he just gave us a little wave. Uncle Thordy stood by the oven, a greasy spatula in his hand. Eggs and bacon were frying in a big iron pan, spitting grease across the stovetop.

  "Sit. Eat." Uncle Thordy pointed at two empty chairs at one side of a heavy wooden table. The moment we sat down he plunked two plates in front of us and gestured towards a bowl of white stuff. "That's skyr," he explained, "made from cow's milk." I'd seen it before, it was like butter but white. Mom and Dad would slather it all over their toast or crackers whenever they could get their hands on some. It tasted much better than it looked. "Dish up!"

  Toast was piled on a plate beside a hill of fried eggs and bacon. There were sliced bananas, a box of Kellogg's Corn Flakes and a selection of cheeses. The cheese was a little old and musty. Maybe that's the way they liked it in Iceland. I dished up and started eating. The eggs had been fried so long that the yolks were solid and the whites partly burnt. The bacon was crisp. Michael was eating a bowl of some steaming porridge-like substance.

  "Where's Grandpa?" I asked between mouthfuls.

  "He's a little under the weather," Uncle Thordy said, bringing over a pitcher of water. "In fact I'm concerned about him. He's coughing and sweating a lot and has a bit of a fever, but won't let me take him to the doctor. He said he's been tired for the last few weeks, but something really hit him hard last night. He's going to stay in bed today and try to recuperate."

  Sarah, Michael and I exchanged worried glances. "We'll have to check on him after breakfast," Michael said. "Cheer him up with our youthful exuberance."

  "I'm sure he'd like that," Uncle Thordy said, "but don't turn on the light. He says his eyes are sore."

  We ate quietly for a minute or so. I grabbed a piece of toast and spread some skyr across it. "This is a great breakfast."

  "I'm glad you like it. It's just so ... so nice ... to have company out here. Makes me feel safer. I mean, makes the house seem not so empty."

  I glanced over at Sarah. She raised one eyebrow.

  "I've heard so much about you kids, too," Uncle Thordy continued. "Thursten's very proud of you three. Doesn't stop talking about you. And I know there's something special about you twins."

  "Special?" Sarah asked.

  Yeah, I wondered. Why were they special?

  Uncle Thordy stared straight at Sarah. "You twins have a certain skill for solving problems."

  "I don't know what you mean," Sarah said.

  "I just ... I guess, I'm just trying to say that I know you're good kids that's all. That we're leaving the family name in good hands."

  "Uh, thanks," Michael said.

  I wasn't sure if I should be offended. My last name was Laxness, not Asmundson — so I wasn't carrying on their family name. I decided Uncle Thordy wasn't intentionally trying to leave me out. Maybe he'd forgotten my last name.

  We ate silently. Uncle Thordy offered us more coffee, but we politely said no. "Aren't you going to eat?" Sarah asked Uncle Thordy.

  "I had some toast before you got up. I never did much like breakfast. Why don't we say good morning to your grandpa now?"

  Grandpa Thursten's room was down a low ceilinged hallway. The door was made of wooden planks and had a rounded top. It looked ancient.

  "It's all that remains of the original house," Uncle Thordy explained. "I had the rest added on about fifteen years ago."

  I knocked gently. We waited, but there was no answer. I knocked again, slightly harder, and listened. "Come in," a faint whisper drifted through the wood.

  I pushed on the door and it creaked open on a cramped, musty smelling room. The light in the hall lit enough of the room for us to see a chair and a desk, but Grandpa's bed was still hidden by shadows. It took a moment for my eyes to adjust. "Don't just stand around, get in here," a hoarse voice commanded.

  I took a few steps with Sarah and Michael right behind me. Grandpa was lying on his side, his head sunk into a pillow, his face pale and pasty — looking and his eyes dull. The rest of him was hidden under the blankets. He coughed. "I seem to have caught a little bug. I'll be up and at 'em by tomorrow morning. Guaranteed."

  I doubted it. I guessed he had a couple days in bed by the way he was looking. Maybe even a week.

  "Don't worry," Uncle Thordy said from the doorway. "Mordur promised to show them the croft house and the rest of the farm this morning."

  "Good, I wanted them to see the old croft. I spent countless hours out there with my Dad. It's where I learned most of the stories I know. It's an important part of our family history."

  "I'd take them," Uncle Thordy said, "but unfortunately I have some business to attend to in town. I'll pick up something for supper at the supermarket. A few of the relatives want to drop by tonight. Will you be up for visiting?"

  Grandpa answered in Icelandic. Uncle Thordy nodded solemnly then he forced a smile.

  "I'll be ready to give the whole world a good kick in the dustbins," Grandpa whispered and began coughing. I didn't know what to do. We just stood there listening to his painful gasping. Finally, I found a glass of water by his bed and handed it to him. "Thanks," he whispered.

&
nbsp; "We should let him rest," Uncle Thordy suggested.

  I patted Grandpa's open hand. It was clammy. "Angie, stick around for a moment," he rasped. "I want to talk to you about what I got Michael and Sarah for Christmas."

  "Sure," I said.

  Uncle Thordy put his hands on Sarah and Michael's shoulders and guided them out of the room, saying, "guess we better go. It's bad luck to hear what your Christmas present is going to be." He closed the door softly.

  "Actually, Angie, I have to ask you something," Grandpa whispered. "It's about the nightmares you had before we left."

  11.

  "What do you want to know?" My throat felt suddenly dry.

  "I'll explain. Just help your ol' grandpa sit up, okay?"

  I bent over him, pulling awkwardly on his upper arm until he was in a sitting position. He coughed once more. "Shouldn't you be going to a doctor?"

  "This is a minor ailment."

  His pillow was out of place, so I tugged on one edge, revealing a small stain of blood. "You're bleeding again."

  "It's that pin prick in my back. It itches like crazy. I don't know how I got it." He rubbed the top of his left shoulder and shook his head. "My father would be laughing now. He lost his leg to that bear and not once did he utter a word of complaint. And here I am whining over a mosquito bite." He leaned back. "Could you pass me the water, please?"

  I handed him the glass and he slowly sipped a mouthful. "That's better." He gave the glass back and I set it on the bedside table.

  I pulled the chair away from the desk and sat next to him. He stared, measuring me with his eyes. "Last night, I had the same nightmare as you had when you were back home. A wolf chased me across an open stretch of land. And he devoured me piece by piece."

  The wolf wasn't just in my head anymore. "How could you have the same dream?" I asked.

  "If I follow what I know of psychology, it's just my subconscious acting out the same story you told me. I somehow dreamed a similar dream because you had described yours to me."

  "And do you believe that? That you're just ... just mimicking me."

  He smiled and his face wrinkled up so it looked like old paper. "I've been around a lot longer than most psychologists. I've seen more strange things than the average person. And I've learned to trust my instincts."

  "What are they saying?" Each word he spoke was adding to my fear. I didn't want to know any more about that dream, I didn't want to think about it at all.

  "The dream is more than just my brain exorcising its demons. It's a sign. A signal. I think it means we should be careful."

  "Careful of what? We're safe here, aren't we?" I asked. I couldn't help but think of the fear I had sensed in Uncle Thordy.

  "As far as I know, but I ... well, years ago, if I was worried I'd never say anything to you kids. I'd just try and handle it all myself. But now you're older. I have to trust you and let you know what's going on in my brain, even if it sounds crazy. So tell me, do you remember anything else about your nightmare?"

  I shook my head, then paused and raised one finger. "Wait, yes, when we were in Hvammstangi I felt like I had been there before. The town was in my dream. I ran through it. And so were the Northern Lights."

  "It's almost like you saw the future."

  "I don't like to think that. Isn't deja vu just a trick your brain plays on you? It could be my imagination. It has to be."

  "Maybe," he said, sounding doubtful, "but you wouldn't be the first of our clan who's seen something before it happened. Or the last."

  I didn't want to know things before they happened. I didn't want those kind of dreams. They always seemed to be about bad things.

  "You probably think it's strange to dream of this place," he continued. "I know you were born in North Dakota and raised there, Angie, but this is where you come from. Where all of us Icelanders come from. This is your family's farm."

  "I had another dream last night," I admitted, and then explained it to him as best I could.

  "Armies that battle each other. A wolf who bites the sun." He counted on his fingers as he spoke. "Another wolf who swallows the moon. That's Skoll and Hati, they've chased the sun and moon for all of time and finally caught it during the final battle between the gods and the giants."

  "I dreamed of Ragnarok, Grandpa. Why would I dream of the end of the world?"

  He gave a half hearted shrug. "Don't worry, the world's not coming to an end. It's just about a personal battle, I think. Inside your head. The worst thing about dreams is they aren't meant to be understood by the logical part of our minds. So I don't know if I can make sense of this latest dream. And one thing we should remember is to never completely trust dreams."

  I crossed my arms and leaned back in my chair. "What's that mean?"

  "Well, for example, I once had a terrible nightmare where I went to a restaurant with your grandma. I ordered a chicken dish, you know that one with Swiss cheese and ham inside. And I choked to death on it. Well, I woke up before I actually died in the dream."

  "And have you ever choked on chicken?"

  "Not yet. But I refused to eat it. The dream felt so real it had spooked me away from chicken. Your grandma just laughed and after a few months she made me eat a whole plate of fried drumsticks." He chuckled. "It sure was good. But I shouldn't joke. I do think there is something important about your dreams. I just wish I could think straight; my sinuses are aching too much. There is something else bothering me in the real world."

  "What?"

  Grandpa leaned ahead slightly, speaking more quietly. "Your uncle. He's — I don't know if you can sense it — but he's not right in the head yet. He's still so full of grief over his wife. He forgot to pick us up because he's depressed. Many Icelanders get depressed in the winter, it's so dark for so long. It's only natural. But his sadness is deeper, somehow. And he's frightened, too."

  "I know. I could tell."

  "It's probably just his imagination, that's all. He has a right to feel scared, I guess. His wife died a strange, unexplainable death. Who knows what really happened in that cave." He paused. "You know, I'm starting to sound a little too paranoid. Your grandma always used to say I had more superstition than brains." Grandpa closed his eyes. He had the longest white eyelashes I'd ever seen. "God, I miss her," he said quietly, "I really, really miss her. Sometimes it's so hard to go on without her."

  I'd never seen him look so weak, so sad. He'd always been a tower of strength to me. I put my hand on his shoulder and he opened his eyes and smiled. "You've got some of her traits," he whispered. "It's funny, really, we're all like beads on a string following one after another, going on forever. Asmundson after Asmundson."

  "And Laxness after Laxness," I added.

  "Yes, you're lucky enough to have two strong blood lines running through your veins." He shook his head. "I do wish I'd paid more attention to your nightmare back home. Maybe I would have called the trip off. I just want you to tell your cousins to be careful. I didn't feel comfortable talking in front of Thordy about this stuff. That's all."

  "I'll tell them," I promised. I leaned down and kissed him lightly on the cheek.

  "Now I can sleep a little better," he said, closing his eyes.

  12.

  I found Sarah, Michael, and Uncle Thordy in the living room. Uncle Thordy was standing next to the fire. "I hope you don't mind spending the morning with Mordur," he said. I couldn't think of anything better. "He'll show you around the place. I have a meeting with the banker, otherwise I'd be your guide. I do apologize, I thought you were arriving later today, so I set up appointments in town. That way I'd murder two birds with one rock. I'm so stupid sometimes."

  "Uncle Thordy," I said, "you're not stupid. Not at all. You just made a mistake. Back home we call that pulling a Michael."

  "Don't even start with me, Angie," Michael warned.

  "Pulling a Michael," Uncle Thordy repeated. He furrowed his brow, showing confusion. "I'm not sure what you mean."

  "It's a joke," I explaine
d, "like Michael makes mistakes and so we ... uh ... name mistakes after him."

  "Oh, I think I see." Uncle Thordy stroked his beard, pretending to be thinking heavily. "I kind of like that."

  "I don't." Michael crossed his arms and feigned anger. "It's deflammatory."

  "I think you mean defamatory," Sarah corrected.

  "Sorry about that, cuz," I said to Michael, only half meaning it. "I was just trying to ... uh ... "

  "You were just trying to cheer me up," Uncle Thordy finished. "I catch on now." He put his hand on my shoulder, gave it a squeeze. "You're good kids. I wish I could spend the day with you instead of in some stuffy office asking for better interest rates. But that's what being a modern man is all about. Is there anything you need to know before I go? Like where I keep the coffee? Or the cookies?"

  "Actually," Sarah said, "I do have a question. What did Grandpa say to you?"

  Uncle Thordy frowned which made the bags under his eyes darken. "When?"

  "A few minutes ago," Michael said, "when he spoke to you in Icelandic while we were visiting him. What didn't he want us to know?"

  "It wasn't a secret. He was just thanking me for ... for taking care of you. And saying it was good to be home. And he reminded me that he was born in that room."

  "Born in that room?" I said. "Couldn't they get to the hospital in time?"

  "They probably didn't even try. People were pretty independent in those days. Home births were common."

  It sounded kind of scary to me. No doctors. No nurses. Just hot water and towels. Grandpa definitely did come from a different time than me. A whole different world. I couldn't imagine sleeping in the same room I was born in.

  "I have to get ready to go to town." Uncle Thordy went down the hallway and a moment later we could hear him opening drawers. "Mordur should be here soon," he yelled from his room. "I packed some lunch for your trip. It's in the fridge. Just throw it in the backpack hanging in the closet. It'll be easier to carry."

  Someone knocked on the front door.

  "Will you get that?" Uncle Thordy shouted.