Whoever they were, they seemed angry – but the argument was in Swedish. I hadn’t seen anyone else working on this farm, so who exactly was Osgaard arguing with? Or was it even Osgaard? I’d never heard him speak. Deciding to make a lot of noise to announce my arrival, I began whistling and humming as loudly as I could. The arguing stopped, and I heard footsteps heading from the other side of the barn into the forest. Good. I opened the door with, as Sookie would say, more than a little trepidation and stepped inside the damp, smelly barn. Aunt Hildegaard was a meticulous farmer, scrubbing the cow’s stall daily, but I decided nothing was less enchanting then the smell of old, wet hay. I ran for the milk pail.
When I passed through the door I heard, “Hissss.”
Sitting on a rafter above me was the black cat.
“Nice kitty,” I gulped, thinking at any moment it would leap from the rafter and slide its nasty claws across my scalp and down my back. I kept a wary eye up above. That cat had a menacing stare.
“Hissss …”
Its wide-open mouth revealed the longest fangs I’d ever seen. All pointy and sharp and directed at me … Carefully, I started backing away toward the cabin. What was Sookie thinking playing with such a nasty beast? It was practically the size of a lynx. The cat leaped at me.
Spinning around, I made a run for it. I didn’t look back. Not even after I tossed the milk pail in the sink, and Aunt Hildegaard repeated, “Good heavens.” Not even as Sookie kept singing an eerie song as she stared out the window into the fog. Instead, I threw on my pajamas and dived under my quilt.
Once my heart settled, I said, “I think you should stay away from that cat, Sookie. It might turn on you. It’s big enough to give you a horrible bite or scratch.”
“She’s a nice animal.” Then Sookie giggled, “You’re the scaredy cat.”
Shamed into silence, I tossed and turned all night, waking from the unsettling ghostly sighs of the wind as it blew through the cracks in the window frame.
Sookie spent Sunday tromping around in her boots, chasing chickens, and playing with the stupid cat. She was having a great time and didn’t seem to mind our aunt’s disapproval one bit. And she also appeared completely unaware of the farm’s eeriness – of the odd sounds, peculiar shadows and mists, or the strange reindeer herder whom we only saw at night. Maybe it was because she was too busy being a pain.
“You better get that cat out of here,” I said before dinner.
Sookie had snuck the cat onto the sunporch again.
“She’s cold. And she doesn’t like the barn.”
“Right,” I said shaking my head. “Well, too bad.
She’d better settle for the barn before Aunt Hildegaard sees her and gets angry.”
“Humph,” Sookie said. The cat hissed at me again, and I stepped back.
“Cat, she knows you don’t like her, that’s the problem,” Sookie said, stroking the cat’s head.
“Hey,” I said, “the cat started it.” I swear, it looked like the cat’s lips curled into a grin.
“Wash up for dinner,” our aunt ordered. “And Sookie, it is your job to set the table.”
Sookie quickly opened the sliding glass door and shooed away the cat. Sighing, she went into the kitchen. Unlike Mom, our aunt didn’t let Sookie get away with skipping chores.
Later that night I stumbled exhausted into bed again. Sookie was already snoring in the bed next to mine, tucked under a matching quilt of tiny leaves and red berries. I was having a hard time getting used to the strange nighttime noises; the wind’s gasps in the loneliest hours was making me shiver and pull my quilt close. At least being sleepless meant I wasn’t having nightmares. But then I heard a different sound. It was as if something was scratching at our window.
First I kept the quilt over my head, willing the sound to stop. It was as if branches of a tree were scritchscratching against the glass, but I knew there were no trees outside our bedroom window. Finally, when the noise didn’t stop, I forced myself to take a look.
My throat closed in as my gaze fixed upon two yellow ghostly eyes that had cat-like black slits in the center. The shadowy face pressed against the frosted glass pane. I choked back a scream, but still let out a quiet yelp. Sitting up fast, I ran to the window, but by the time I got there, the horrific face had disappeared. I yanked the curtains shut.
“Sookie, did you see …?” I gasped, but Sookie lay in her bed cocooned under her quilt, fast asleep.
Should I wake up Aunt Hildegaard? Clearly someone was outside spying on us. The problem was, how would I describe what I saw? How could I explain that whoever was peering through my window wasn’t human?
My aunt didn’t seem like the patient type or exactly trusting of my judgment. It would have to wait until morning, when I could talk to the only other person who might understand – Jasper.
CHAPTER 16 - A Logical Explanation
EARLY MONDAY MORNING, my aunt dropped me off at Svartberg Academy. Fortunately, I still had jet lag, otherwise Sookie and I would never have survived farm time. Aunt Hildegaard stopped the truck at the edge of town in front of the old school building. Its steep, sloping roof and tiny windows were crouched under birch trees studded with green leaf buds.
When my aunt had said the school was called a gymnasieskolan, I got my hopes up that we’d be doing nothing but P.E. because that sounded like “gymnasium.” Sadly, that wasn’t the case at all. It was just the word for “high school” in Swedish.
Our headmistress, Ms. Grimmaar, greeted us and she asked me, “Where is your adorable little sister? Didn’t she come with you today?”
I said, “No,” and Ms. Grimmaar seemed disappointed.
“I was planning a lovely field trip for this morning, but I suppose it can be postponed while Ms. Dreeble contacts your aunt. Perhaps your sister will be able to join us later in the day.”
Great, I thought. Sookie had driven me crazy over the weekend. Now Ms. Grimmaar wanted Sookie to tag along at school events as well. So instead of the field trip in the morning, we had our first language class to learn phrases in Swedish. “Behaga, tack,” please and thank you, we’d droned for the twentieth time.
“Ursakta mig,” was “excuse me,” but when the guys practiced that one, they all felt compelled to belch first. Hilarity reigned, and it seemed Mr. Morrows didn’t have the energy to shout at us.
As things got out of control, Anne Britt paired us off with Swedish students so we could help them with their English. But they were a lot better at English than we were at Swedish, and we mostly just chatted with them – not that they seemed interested. The problem was, Swedish secondary school was like our senior high. All the students were older – like Anne Britt, who couldn’t have been less interested in hanging with us and kept rolling her eyes. At break, my friends and I huddled together in the long white corridor outside the classrooms.
“Why do you think we’re on exchange with this school?” asked Amarjeet. “Why not billet us with students the same age?”
Mia shrugged her shoulders, “Maybe because this is a private school?”
Clive fired Mia a scornful look. “Why would that matter?”
“Well, maybe they don’t usually do international school exchanges,” Mia said, “and didn’t realize there would be a big age difference between our two high schools.”
Clive opened his mouth and shut it again when he realized it had to be something like that. I wondered myself how Svartberg students would even fit in our desks when they came in the fall. Score one for Mia.
While everyone else continued complaining about the age difference, I pulled Jasper away.
“Jasper,” I began, “weird things are happening on my aunt’s farm.”
Jasper’s eyes widened. “What kind of things?”
I told him about the wraith-like mist that had rolled off the lake, the creepy reindeer herder, and the malevolent face I’d seen spying through my bedroom window. “Those eyes were pure evil,” I finished.
“What about
your feather. Has it, um, reacted?” Jasper asked.
“Considering it practically scorched me a few times, I’d say yes.”
“Funny,” said Jasper, “mine has been glowing as well this weekend, especially late at night …” He frowned. “I thought it was suspicious when Mr. Morrows and Ms. Dreeble just sat in our hotel lobby drinking coffee all day and staring out at that mist on the lake. We had the run of the town.”
“No,” I said, utterly envious. I’d missed so much fun! “How did you get away with that? Mr. Morrows and Ms. Dreeble had a ton of work planned for us.”
“I know, it’s not like them one bit.” Jasper frowned with concern. “Maybe they’re just jet lagged?” And it suddenly occurred to me that such a dramatic change in time and location could have affected me as well.
“Maybe I’ve been seeing things because my sleep pattern is all messed up. Plus, I’ll admit my experiences with fairy spells have left me a little paranoid. After all, this place is no Grim Hill.”
“Possibly.” Jasper ran his hand through his hair, which he no longer spiked. Instead of using gel, he now tousled it with wax. Since his transformation from bookworm to sports star, he was careful to keep his hair trendy. “Always look for the simplest explanation.”
I was glad Jasper hadn’t changed on the inside – he was as good a source of information as an encyclopedia. “But,” I added, “living in our town, sometimes the simplest explanation has to include what most people see as unbelievable: magic.”
“Right. Just in case, I’ll pull a little research in the library on this part of Sweden.”
I nodded. “Not to mention, there’s still the problem of my aunt. She’s kind of peculiar,” I whispered.
“How so?” Jasper did the thing with his hair again.
“She’s cold and unfriendly.” I shook my head. “I don’t understand – she was the one who wanted both of us to come to Sweden. She told my mom that she wanted to see her grandnieces, but I swear, it seems we’re just an annoyance.”
“It’s because of her age,” Clive’s voice came from behind.
With a flash of irritation, I spun around. How much had Clive eavesdropped? What had he overheard?
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“When you live with an older person like my gran,” Clive began explaining, “you’ve got to realize that she comes from a different era.”
“Uh huh,” I said, waiting for Clive to make some sense.
“When Skeeter and I had come to stay with our gran, we had to make a lot of changes.”
I saw a sadness settle across Clive’s face and I realized that I’d never thought about what had happened to his parents until now.
“We made way too much noise, we didn’t listen properly, and we fooled around too much,” explained Clive. “At first I thought it wasn’t fair how my gran seemed disappointed with us all the time.”
It was as if Clive was explaining exactly how I felt about my aunt.
“Then I realized,” said Clive, “my gran had grown up with a lot more discipline and rules about behavior. That’s how she measured us – and it wasn’t really that she was unkind or unhappy with us, but that she had a different set of expectations.”
I wondered if that was my aunt’s problem. The Greystone sisters weren’t like that and they were older. But, said my inner voice, we only visited them from time to time. We weren’t constantly underfoot.
“So how did you work things out with your grandmother?”
“I made sure Skeeter and I toed the line,” Clive said matter-of-factly. “Besides, it was for the best. Inner discipline gives you a big advantage in sports and school.”
And turns you into an impatient, arrogant, unkind … Then I realized that explained a lot about Clive – why he seemed more like a strict adult than like one of us.
“Thanks for the tip,” I said. “So I just have to realize my aunt’s expectations are for Sookie and me to be hard working and obedient.”
“Just remember those old-fashioned sayings,” explained Clive. “Children should be seen and not heard; spare the rod, spoil the child …” Then with an evil grin he added, “Girls are sugar and spice and everything nice, and the man is in charge.”
“Yeah, right,” I shook my head. So that’s why Clive always acted as if he’d stepped out of a time warp. Jasper stifled a laugh. Even though I couldn’t see myself ever agreeing with all that stuff, maybe he was right about my aunt.
A sudden commotion down the corridor next to the biggest classroom made me forget about my aunt and her strange farm. Ms. Grimmaar and Ms. Dreeble were back and they’d brought Sookie. And by the sounds of the complaints, some students didn’t appreciate it.
I rushed to where students and teachers gathered. Pointing at Sookie, one of the older Swedish boys leaned over to his friends and said not-so-quietly, “Bad enough we get a pack of kiddies to take care of. Now we’ve become a day care.”
Sookie stuck out her tongue at him, making the older students grumble even more.
“And you’d better teach your sister who’s the boss,” Clive said.
I sighed. “It’s not like Skeeter always listens.”
Clive had that cocky look on his face that I so disliked. “He listens to me at home. You’d do best to make sure your sister does the same and doesn’t act like a brat.”
“Hey,” I said sharply, “Sookie’s not a brat.”
I stormed into class and stopped next to the teacher’s desk just in time to catch my sister tattling.
“Ms. Grimmaar, that boy is mean.”
The headmistress quickly dismissed the boy from the room, saying sharply, “You will not be the tour guide today.” Sookie looked smug.
Clive shook his head. Okay, maybe Sookie could be a little bratty, but only I was allowed to say it.
“Today, Darkmont students, you are in for a wonderful tour,” Ms. Grimmaar explained enthusiastically. “We will be going to Gamla Stan.”
“Isn’t that in Stockholm?” asked Amarjeet. Right – that was where Sookie and I had gotten lost, I remembered.
Ms. Grimmaar smiled and said, “‘Gamla Stan’ means ‘old town’ – and that is what I have planned for today. We will be doing a historical walk through the medieval section of the town.” Mr. Morrows and Ms. Dreeble didn’t say anything; for some reason they looked exhausted, but they nodded even as their eyes seemed to glaze over.
When we walked outside the school, a queer fog rolled in from the lake. Mr. Morrows and Ms. Dreeble seemed to slump from exhaustion.
Ms. Grimmaar ploughed ahead with our plans, but a sinking feeling told me that Jasper was right. It wasn’t just my aunt’s farm – there was definitely something weird going on in this town.
CHAPTER 17 - The Witching Years
WE MADE OUR way down the narrow cobbled streets of the old town. The low stone buildings with dark, tiny doors made me feel like I should be wearing a medieval gown and cape.
While most of the fog had lifted, there was still something unsettling about this part of town that I never noticed in Gamla Stan in Stockholm. It could have been the shadows that the sun couldn’t penetrate, or the chilling draft as the wind worked its way through the maze of buildings, or the shivers that went up and down my arms when my jacket brushed up against both sides of the narrow alleys. Either way, the hair on the nape of my neck stood up, and goose bumps broke out all over my body.
Ms. Grimmaar beckoned us to gather at the main intersection of cross streets, where a crumbling stone statue stood at the center of a square. Jasper and I made our way to the front to get a better look at the statue.
“Gruesome,” Sookie said admiringly.
The statue showed a woman in a long cloak and a towering witch’s hat. She had a wicked-looking troll on a chain. When I counted the fingers on the troll’s hand, there were only three! I couldn’t help but think of when I’d seen a hand like that before. But the grimacing, hideous face of the troll looked purely inhuman – not like our rei
ndeer herder.
“It was common for our ancestors to depict witches in a grotesque and fantastical way.” Ms. Grimmaar had that tone Mr. Morrow used when he was rattling off historical facts. I was surprised he didn’t jump right in and join her as our tour guide through the ages.
“It was a tragic time,” she continued. “Often, women who were mercilessly persecuted as witches in the Middle Ages were really wise village women – valuable citizens who helped heal the sick and brought new babies into the world.”
Ms. Grimmaar was right that they’d made the witch’s face ugly and evil; no one looked like that. Except … the statue’s eyes had narrow cat pupils, just like the face I had seen staring through my bedroom window.
I began shivering and sucked in a ragged breath.
“What is it?” asked Jasper.
“The simplest explanation might be that the townspeople are frightened by a real witch. Like the one I saw outside my window.”
Jasper blinked several times before scratching his head and saying, “What?”
Instead of answering right away, my mind raced as I followed our tour group to a squat yellow building outside the square.
“After the accused woman was brought to the square,” explained Ms. Grimmaar, “she was sent into this building for her trial. Here her accusers were given the power to declare whether or not she was a witch by simply staring at her.”
“That’s not fair,” a few of us murmured.
A couple of the older boys laughed and made some remark in Swedish. My stomach took a dive when Sookie pointed the boys out to Ms. Grimmaar. The headmistress said something sharp, and the boys broke away from each other and came up to the front to stand beside the headmistress. They didn’t look happy. All of us followed Ms. Grimmaar in a silent procession until we were on the outskirts of town, close to the towering spiked mountain of Blakulla. I hadn’t realized the mountain was cut off from the town by a wide channel, and we gazed at it over the treacherous waves.
Grim Hill: The Family Secret Page 8