Free Draugr by Arthur Slade

obviously busy. I padded over to the table and looked at the first one. It was as aged as all the others, a book that looked like it had been brought over here on a Viking ship and carried across the land in a treasure chest.
    It was open to a dark ink drawing of a huge man in a tattered tunic with a fur vest. His arms were bare and bulging with muscles. He was kneeling on a giant, ugly, black shape that could barely be called human looking. He seemed to be holding the creature down. The thing’s eyes were glowing in a frightening way. And the moon was shining on them both.
    Not exactly what I wanted to see first thing in the morning.
    I carefully turned the book over, afraid it would fall apart, and saw that it was titled
Grettis Saga.
It was the story of Grettir, the man whom Althea said was our ancestor.
    I set it down. I glanced at the other two books and realized they were journals. I peered at the writing inside the one on top. It was all scribbled, written by someone in a hurry.
    The smell of bacon finally drew me towards the kitchen.
    â€œSarah, you’re up!” Althea was standing by the stove, scraping a huge pile of scrambled eggs from a black iron pan into a bowl. She was wearing a dark brown dress that reminded me of an oversized potato sack. Except it looked really comfortable. “I thought I’d have to bang on your door with a hammer.” She smiled and winked with her good eye.
    â€œUh . . . no you wouldn’t have to do—” I started and before I could say anything else, Michael and Angie stumbled into the room behind me, rubbing the sleep out of their eyes.
    â€œYou’re all awake. Good.” Althea was still smiling, though I noticed now that she looked tired and strained, like she hadn’t slept for ages. Had she been reading all through the night?
    â€œDid you hear anything about Grandpa?” Michael asked.
    Althea nodded. “I talked to the police this morning. They . . . they haven’t found him yet. They’re going to continue looking today. They’re organizing a search party.”
    â€œDo they know what . . . who he was fighting with?” I asked.
    â€œNo,” Althea answered. “But they probably didn’t tell me everything. That’s the way the police do things.”
    â€œWhat can we do to help?” Angie’s voice sounded as worried as I felt.
    â€œI don’t think you can really do very much. I’m sorry but that’s the truth. It’s in the hands of the RCMP now—they’ll take care of everything.” She came over with a plate of fluffy yellow scrambled eggs and bacon. “I know this is bad for your arteries, but eat up. You have a long day ahead of you.”
    We ate. And despite my mood, the food tasted delicious. The bacon crispy and perfect. I followed it all with a small glass of orange juice. When we were finished, Althea looked at us. “Just leave the dishes. I’ll get them later. You better hurry, we have to get to the bus depot in the next hour. The bus leaves at 10 am sharp. And they don’t wait for anyone.”
    â€œWe can’t go,” Michael said.
    Althea looked down. She spoke softly, her voice persuasive. “I understand, Michael. You’re worried about your grandfather. That’s only natural. But what do you expect to do? Help the police? They know what they’re doing. It will be better if you three go home, to your parents.”
    â€œAnd wait?” I asked.
    â€œYes. Wait. That’s all we can do now,” she answered.
    â€œBut—” Michael started.
    Althea still spoke softly. “No, Michael. I promised your grandfather I would send you home. That’s what I intend to do. You’ll be safer there.”
    â€œSafer?” I asked. “What do you—”
    Althea shook her head. “It will be better for you, is what I meant. Better for all of you. Now, please, go and get ready. I’ll