After
dinner, Greta went to her room, and Joseph and I sat around talking
again. It
was then that I asked again about Greta’s bruise.
“We
told you,” Joseph said curtly. “She got into a fight.”
“That’s
not what I heard this afternoon,” I said.
He
stared at me and narrowed his eyes. “What are you getting at, Thomas?”
I
explained to him what I had heard from Hans, about trolls and
changelings, and
about Greta’s school troubles.
“I
hope you don’t think I gave her that
bruise,” he said. “I wouldn’t hurt my daughter that way. Hans must have
been
mistaken.”
“Will
she be okay?” I asked.
“She’ll
be fine, Thomas, she’s just adjusting. We both are.”
It
was obvious that that was the end of this discussion, and I changed the
subject. Part of me felt a bit of relief; this was Joseph, after all.
He would
never deliberately harm his own daughter, it just wasn’t him.
We talked into the night, until Joseph finally decided it was
time we got some sleep. I had a long drive tomorrow, so I agreed.
Joseph
led me to a room perpendicular to Greta’s; it was a sparse, square
room, but
comfy enough for me to settle into for the night. I thanked him and
placed my
bags inside.
“Here,”
Joseph said, handing me a glass of water. “It’s good to drink before
bed.”
He
went upstairs to his room after that; I was about to drink the water
when a
brief flash of movement out of the corner of my eye startled me. The
glass fell
to the ground, water spilling on the carpet. I turned to the doorway.
Greta
was there, in a white cotton night gown, her eyes focused intensely on
me.
“Greta?”
I asked. “Are you okay---?”
But
before I could say more, she went into her room and shut the door. Not
thinking
much of it, I simply read a few pages of my book, before finally
turning off
the lamp and going to sleep.
It
had to have been a little past midnight when I awoke to the sound of
voices
from outside; I sat up in bed and listened. It was Joseph and Greta,
and though
their words were muffled, they seemed to be arguing. I got out of bed
and made
my way down the hall, following the sound of the voices to the kitchen.
I saw
the pale light of the patio out the window, and the closer I got to it,
the
louder they got. I put my hand on the doorknob when I heard someone cry
out.
I
froze in place, listening some more.
“Give
her back,” Joseph said, his voice raised. “God damn you, give her back!”
“Daddy,
please!” Greta said, sounding like she was crying. “I’m your daughter!”
I
opened the door and stepped into the backyard, into the chilly evening
air. My
eyes widened.
Joseph
was tying Greta’s wrists behind her back with rope. Greta herself had
another
red mark on her other cheek, and her eyes were red from crying.
“Joseph!”
I cried out in horror. “What are you doing?!”
Joseph
turned to look at me, a mixture of fury and surprise in his eyes. Greta
stared at
me, too, pleading with her eyes for me to help her.
“Let
Greta go,” I went on, walking closer. “Why are you hurting your own
daughter?”
“This
isn’t my daughter,” he said, grabbing Greta tightly by the neck. “This thing… is unholy.” He dragged Greta away
from the patio and into the darkness of the backyard, holding her by
the arm up
to the mountain. Greta struggled against him, kicking and trying to pry
his
hand from her with her own, small hands.
“I
know you can hear me!” he cried out to the mountain, sounding like he
was going
to cry as well. “I know you’re there! Give me my Greta back before I do
something horrible to it!”
“Joseph,
no!” I said, running towards him. We had a brief struggle, before I
pulled
Greta away from his grasp. She fell to the ground, before scrambling up
and
running further into the mountain, into the darkness.
He
tried to chase her, but I held him by the arm; he turned to me,
confusion and
anger in his voice.
“What’s
gotten into you?!” I asked.
“You
shouldn’t be awake,” Joseph said. “That drink was supposed to put you
to
sleep.”
“Get
a hold of yourself,” I said, ignoring that last statement. “You could
have
seriously injured your own daughter!”
“That’s
not my daughter,” he replied, gritting his teeth. “My Greta was stolen
from me
and replaced with that thing. I have
to beat it tonight if I want to get her back.”
I
looked at him in horror. “Don’t tell me you believe that stuff, too…” I
began.
“I
tried last week,” he said, grabbing my shoulder. “I did! But it was
devious… It
cried and begged and fooled me.” He was rambling, and none of his words
made
any sense to me.
“I
have to find it,” he said, wrenching his arm out of my grasp. “I can’t
let it
get away; it’s the only way to get my daughter back!”
He
ran into the dark, and I followed him, using my phone’s light to keep
track.
The trees got thicker the further we went. The only sound was my feet
against
the grass, and my breathing becoming more difficult. Rain began to fall
out of
the evening sky. But I was too bewildered by the events of the last few
minutes
to care. I stopped in a clearing among the trees, shining my phone
light to try
and find either Joseph or Greta.
I
found Joseph standing in the middle of some trees, his hand around
Greta’s arm
again, fear in her eyes. Joseph reached into his pocket and pulled out
a knife…
“Joseph,”
I went on, “stop this—“
Immediately
Joseph turned and put a finger to his lips. “Quiet,” he said, his eyes
wide in
a mixture of fear and elation.
I
stopped in my tracks. “What is it?”
“Listen,”
Joseph said.
I
could hear a faint sound like thunder, or an earthquake. It slowly got
louder
and louder, and I realized it was the rumbling of feet, pounding all
over the
mountainside.
“They’re
out now—they’re coming to return my Greta.”
Greta
whimpered, and tried to pull away from Joseph. The ground shook, and
the trees
rustled, and suddenly I didn’t feel so alone. I couldn’t see anything,
but I
was aware of huge, bulky shapes moving about, amongst the trees; I
heard their
snorting, belching, and gnashing of teeth. It was as if the whole
mountain was
awake.
Joseph
let go of Greta and walked towards the trees. “You’ve finally come,” he
said to
the darkness. “Where is my daughter?”
At
first, there was nothing but the rainfall—then, suddenly, something grabbed Joseph by the arm and yanked him
into the darkness. Greta ran behind me as the sound of bones crunching
and
flesh ripping pervaded the clearing.
“Oh,
God!” Joseph’s voice echoed in the dark. “No, please—God help me…!”
“Joseph!”
I screamed. All around the trolls began to grumble and laugh; they were
hungry,
and they wanted more!
I
turned to Greta, her eyes wide in fear. “Run,” I said. “Run home. Now!”
Greta
nodded and made a dash for the house, the rain getting heavier.
I
ran right behind her, ignoring the sounds coming from the trees, from
the dark. This couldn’t be happening, I thought.
But it was! I only got a few feet away when I found myself stuck. I
choked back
a scream; something had grabbed my
leg, something cold and leathery.
From
my phone’s light I could see a pale, gray hand, and make out some
beady,
yellow, bulbous eyes. I could make out a horrid face with fangs the
length of
my arm. It was ancient, subterranean, and
hungry.
I
closed my eyes, prayed for some slim chance of a miracle, while
simultaneously
preparing for the worst to happen.
That
was when the lightning struck, a bright flash that lit up the sky.
After a few
seconds came the rumble of thunder, echoing through the valley.
The
rumbling noises stopped, I heard a low murmuring sound, sounding both
surprised
and… afraid.
Lightning
struck again, thunder immediately following it.
The
hand let go of me and I stumbled for a bit. In the flash of light I
could make
out more bulky shapes surrounding me, some human-sized, others as tall
as
homes. I was thankful for the darkness.
Suddenly
there was a loud howl amongst the infernal horde. It was a low, long
wail that
shook the countryside. I could have sworn it sounded something like
“THHHOOORRR!!!”
Immediately
I recalled the illustration in the museum. All at once there was a
rumbling of
feet, now running away from me, into
the hills, the fields, the mountains. I had been saved, but only by the
chance
of lightning, saved by divine intervention.
I
could have almost laughed at the moment, at my sheer luck of surviving
an
ordeal I never imagined coming. But I was too cold, and wet, and
shocked to do
so. Without a second thought I went inside, found Greta, grabbed my
belongings
and we both ran out the front door, down the hill and to my car.
I
started the engine and drove down the rain-soaked road, back to the
town; I
turned back briefly at the house that had once been the home of my
friend
Joseph. Before my eyes, a streak of lightning came from the heavens,
striking
the tip of the mountain, another loud clap of thunder following it.
Turning
back to the road, I drove further and further, never bothering to look
back.
“Where
are we going?” Greta asked me.
“To
find a place in town to stay,” I replied, eyes still on the road.
“We’ll be
safe from the storm.”
“Good,”
she said, lying back on the seat. “Thunder and lightning give me the
creeps.”
I
stepped hard on the breaks. A chill went down my spine.
“What?”
I asked, turning to face Greta.
Under
the indoor light, Greta smiled at me—a cold, mischievous smile. Her
eyes
appeared to have a yellow glow in the darkness.
“Did
I say something wrong?” she asked.