Free The Haunted Igloo by Bonnie Turner

through
the cracks, swirled a bit, then melted in the warm room.
    Lise sat knitting in the
rocking chair, her face troubled. At times she looked up and
glanced over at the door, as if expecting Jean-Paul to walk in.
Suddenly, she could bear no more. She put the knitting in her
sewing basket beside the chair and stood up. She went over to the
window, wishing she could see through the shutters that Cordell had
finally fastened over the glass. But she would’ve seen nothing
anyway because of the darkness.
    Cordell’s eyes followed his
wife across the room. “He’ll be home soon, Lise.”
    She turned and stared at
him, accusing him with her large, fear-filled eyes. “It’s after
eight! Just listen to that wind! We should never have let him go
with those boys, Cordell, Ice Patrol or not.” She turned back to
the window to brood. In the morning there would be drifts over that
north window.
    Cordell got up and went to
Lise. “This won’t do you any good,” he said, putting an arm around
her. “Nor the little one, either. Jean-Paul will be home soon.
Those boys have been in this kind of weather before. They’ll take
care of him.”
    Lise sat again and picked
up the knitting needles. She thought of Jean-Paul as she worked
with the yellow wool Cordell had brought her in early fall. A
shiver ran through her small body. Could they be lucky enough to
escape disaster this winter? Outside was a swirling snowstorm, and
for some reason, her son hadn’t come home. The signs were
frightening. She bit her lip so Cordell couldn’t see how worried
she was.
    Cordell had returned to his
work and was lost in his own thoughts. More than once his eyes
turned to his wife. She was trying not to show it, but her furious
knitting told him how upset she was. The click and clack of the
needles said she was frantic with worry. Jean-Paul. Jean-Paul. Where are you? He looked at his watch, then returned to the typewriter. He
stared at the blank paper for a moment, then ripped it from the
machine, made a ball and flung it across the room.
    Cordell got up and paced
the floor, then stopped before Lise. “If he’s not back in half an
hour, I’ll go out and look for him, eh?”

    ____________

    I nside the igloo, Jean-Paul sat with his back propped against
the cold snow blocks, staring into the darkness. Sasha lay quietly
with her head in his lap. How much time had passed? More than two
hours? Why didn’t Chinook come to let him out? He shivered, and
huddled deeper into his parka. The wind was louder now. Blasts of
frigid air puffed down the smoke hole. There was no fire to keep
the inside of the igloo warm, and Jean-Paul knew his own body heat
would soon give out. It seemed that hours had passed. How much
longer could he last?
    Somewhere before him danced small lights,
pinpoint lights he had often seen while falling asleep at night. He
shivered violently and tried to wipe the lights away with his hand.
But when he looked again, they were still there. His skin prickled.
He heard and felt the dull thud of his heart.
    His heart almost stopped
beating when he heard the howl of the phantom wolves. Owoooooooo ! Owoooooooo ! Jean-Paul shrank back as the lights before him
changed to the green eye-slits of some horrible animals preying on
him in the dark. They were all around—waiting, watching.
    Jean-Paul clenched his
fists and screwed his eyes up tight. His skin felt clammy. His body
shook from nose to knee. The torngark —evil spirits! They were here
in the igloo! There came mocking laughter, then sobbing. But
Jean-Paul didn’t recognize it as his own. Struck speechless, he
then heard his name whispered in the darkness: Jean-Paul ... Jean-Paul ... Jean-Paul ... He clamped cold hands over his
ears and buried his face in Sasha’s coat. Soon, his weariness
overcame him. He lay down against his dog and slept.

    ____________

    J ean-Paul awoke with a start. For a moment he thought he was at
home in bed. Then he remembered. His head was much clearer.