Authors: Arthur Slade
The truck was the one I had spotted beforeâan old red Chevy with big tires, rectangular windows, and curved metal fenders. It gleamed in the sunlight.
“Is this a '57?” Michael asked.
“It sure is,” Brand answered. “Grandma said she'd give it to me when I turn sixteen. She'll probably change her mind after tonight.”
We piled into the truck and slammed the doors. Brand found the keys under the floormat. “Cross your fingers everyone.” He gently pushed the keys into the ignition and pressed in the clutch. “It's been a long, long time since this baby's been started.” He turned his hand.
The truck roared to life like it had been waiting years for this one moment. The loud rapping of the mufflers echoed all around us. Brand removed his foot from the gas and it idled evenly. “Well, I'll be damned.”
I saw that the gearshift was on the steering column. “Is that a three on a tree shifter?” I asked.
“Yes.” Brand gave me a bewildered look. “I'm surprised you know about it.”
I shrugged. “One of our neighbors had an old truck like this. He let me drive it once. For about ten yards. It was weird not to have the shifter on the floor.”
“You're full of surprises, Sarah,” Brand said. Angie nudged me hard, so that I was sitting right next to Brand. Then she moved over so that I couldn't move back.
I didn't try anyway. I was right against Brand.
Brand pulled the truck into reverse and started backing up. A moment later we were around the front of the house and turning onto the road. “Scream if you see Grandma,” Brand said, half serious, half joking.
We turned left, heading for Gimli.
The truck purred along the highway, rumbling melodically. It rode smooth and perfect. Brand drove the speed limit, scanning for potholes and deer.
The setting sun turned the rearview mirror red.
“Hurry, please,” I said. I was beginning to get a feeling of urgency. “Hurry!”
“I'm going as fast as I dare,” Brand said. “I don't want to attract any attention.”
About a mile later we turned off the road and went along the outskirts of town. Shortly after that we pulled up to the Gimli Cemetery. The main gates were made of iron, at least fifteen feet high, and set in two pillars. A stone wall surrounded the whole graveyard.
“It looks like a jail,” Michael said.
“Yeah,” Angie agreed. “It's almost like they don't want anything to get out.”
We putted through the gates; the rumbling of the truck was twice as loud here. There was no sign of life, just row after row of headstones, some huge and obviously expensive, others as small as dinner plates.
“I had no idea there'd be so many graves,” Angie said. “There are more graves than there are townspeople.”
Brand switched the lights to bright. “I wonder where we'll find this Kar's grave? Any ideas?”
“It's only a couple years old,” I said, “so it's probably farther back.”
We rolled down the road, passing columns of headstones until we were three-quarters of the way through the cemetery.
The sun was falling off the edge of the world. Soon we would have no light at all.
Michael pointed. “That grave was from two years ago.”
“Let's stop,” I suggested. “We'll have a better chance of finding it on foot. And we might as well split up.”
Brand pressed on the brakes, halting the truck. We piled out. Angie turned on her flashlight and she and Michael went one way, Brand and I the other. “Holler if you find the grave,” I yelled. “Scream if you see anything weird.”
Michael shrieked. It echoed through the graveyard. “Just practicing,” he said.
“You're not funny, Michael.” Angie pushed him ahead. “Let's get going.”
I clicked the light on my flashlight, finding it quite bright. We started walking past headstones. Some for children, some for adults. We were careful not to tread on any graves.
“How will you know it?” Brand asked after a few minutes. “It might not even have a marker.”
“I'll know it when I see it,” I said with certainty. It was the grave of my grandfather's enemy. All of Kar's anger would still be waiting there, radiating from under the dirt, making the hairs on the back of my neck tingle.
We walked on, keeping a quick, careful pace. The lights of Gimli were twinkling to my right but they didn't cast any brightness our way. It seemed we were in a twilight world of dark shapes and gray shadows.
Moments later the world turned completely black. Thick gray clouds had blotted out the last rays of the sinking sun. My flashlight wasn't very bright anymore. It flickered occasionally and when it worked it cast a dull yellow beam.
“I hope these batteries don't die,” I whispered.
“They shouldn't,” Brand said. “I've used the flashlight a thousand times. It should work for at least another hour.”
I glanced over my shoulder and couldn't see Angie or Michael. “I wonder if they're okay,” I worried.
“I'm sure they're fine,” Brand answered. “Your brother and Angie seem to be just as capable as you.”
I walked on, letting the compliment sink in. He thought I was capable. I'd always felt a little disorganized in my life, like I wasn't doing things right.
He thought I was capable!
“I do wonder,” Brand asked, “what exactly you expect to find here?”
“It's . . . it's just a gut feeling I have. It might be nothing. But I need to look.”
“Well, Grandma always says to trust your guts . . . I thought she was talking about cooking.”
I snickered, glad to be able to laugh a little. We continued looking. I flashed my light at stone after stone, reading each name and forgetting it a moment later. Was that all there was to our lives? Would I one day just be a name on a stone, for strangers to pass by?
I felt an icy chill run up my spine.
A dog barked in the distance. Was it barking at us? Or was it a warning?
It stopped after a few seconds.
“Did you get to meet Hugin?” Brand asked.
“Yes.”
“Something about that dog just barking there sounded a little like him. It couldn't be, of course . . . could it?” Brand paused. “He was a really good dog.”
“I know. He amazed me.”
“My friend overheard his dad talking about how Hugin died. I guess his back was broken and his legs too. And he still crawled after your grandfather, trying to save him.” Brand drew in his breath. His face became hard and angry. “I really want to help get whoever did that to Hugin. That's one of the reasons I brought you guys out here. Just in case there is some kind of answer. Something I can do.”
I shone my light on the next gravestone. The words were worn by wind and rain, but I could read:
Kormak Grotson. December 6th, 1894âJune 30th, 1945.
“I think there is.”
We shuffled closer, careful not to step on the grave. I was afraid my feet would sink down and I would be trapped. Or a hand would come up.
“It's his father's grave,” Brand said. “Why didn't I think of that? Kar's final resting place is probably right around here.”
“I'll tell the others,” I said. I took a step to the side and started to yell, but in that same moment my footing crumbled below me. The flashlight flew from my hand and I found myself tumbling down, down a long slope into wet, dark earth.
I hit something hard and came to a stop.
It took me a moment to regain my senses. There were dark walls of earth all around me and a sore spot on my head. I inhaled a deep breath and smelled the rotten smell of decaying flesh.
I was surrounded by loose dirt. It could fall in at any time.
Panic bubbled up inside me. I pounded away at the ground, feeling trapped.
“Sarah!” Brand called from somewhere above me. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” I said. I stopped flailing. “I've fallen down a hole or something.”
I noticed that the flashlight was only a foot away, so I grabbed it and pointed it down.
I saw wet, cool earth, broken boards, and tattered pieces of clothing. I was standing on top of a casket.
It was empty.
I caught my breath. I was in a grave.
“Keep cool. Keep cool,” I repeated.
“What?” Brand said. “Did you say something?”
I shone the light up. I was only a few feet from the ground. It wasn't that deep after all. I saw Brand's face floating in the air. His hand extended towards me out of darkness.
Then my light hit a small grave marker above me. It read:
Kar Grotson. April 16th, 1942âJune 30th, 1993.
I was standing on Kar's casket.
Suddenly I remembered where I'd smelled the familiar earthy smell. In my room at Grandpa's, the night before. Right after the window was broken.
“Get me up! Get me up!” I yelled. “Now!”
I grabbed Brand's right hand. He held on tightly. With him pulling and me desperately digging into the earth I made it to the top in record time. I lay there for a second, breathing hard.
“You gonna be okay?” Brand was leaning over me.
“IâI think so.” I paused. “I want to get out of here, though. Now.”
I heard running footsteps, saw a bobbing light. Michael and Angie came up. “What's going on?” Michael asked. “We thought we heard screaming.”
By this time I had sat up. “We found his grave.”
Michael pointed his light down. “It's empty.”
“I know.” I stood, looked over the edge.
“Well, where is he?” Angie asked. They peeked down as if afraid something would grab them.
“I don't know,” I answered. It took all my will to just glance at the casket again. “But look at the boards. They're pointing upwards as if they were broken from the inside.”
My own words echoed around us. We stared at the open grave, two flashlights trained on an empty casket and a hole half filled with wet, loose earth.
On impulse I pointed my light at the gravestone. Then I pointed it at Kormak's.
“It's the same day,” I whispered. My knees felt like they would give out.
“What?” Brand asked. He held my arm, steadied me.
“They died on the same day,” I said. “June 30th. Different years but the same day.”
“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.”
“Brandâwe have to go,” 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 starsâeven 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 tonightâwhat 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 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 center 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 burned into the cross. It looked beautiful. Next to the cross was a wineskin 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 wineskin.
“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.