Never Fear (8 page)

Snorri had heard the stories of the
enormity of the Cat, but he’d thought they must be exaggerations.
They were not. The Cat was pure white and the size of two of his
largest cows. Its black eyes held malevolence and hate. It gave a
vicious twist with its mouth and wrenched Reynir’s head from his
body. Blood gushed over the Cat’s snowy muzzle and face.

It tipped its head back and swallowed
hard. The lump, which was Reynir’s head, vanished down its
throat.

The Cat turned and glared at Snorri,
blood dripping from its chin.

Snorri could have sworn it smiled at
him before returning to finish consuming his brother. He backed out
the door, feeling the gorge rise in his throat.

He couldn’t contain it. The evening’s
stew and bile spewed from his mouth in a violent gush, covering the
ground before him and his boots. He heaved several times, the Cat
ignoring him, intent on its meal.

Snorri’s knees buckled, stupefied by
the horror before him. His knees sank into his own vomit, his head
bowed low, hiding the unspeakable sight from his vision.

He turned away and stood, head still
bowed, grief-stricken, and trudged away. There was nothing he could
do for Reynir. His brother was gone… and so was Magnús.

He approached the remainder of his
family, who knelt in the snow over the corpse of his
son.

“
Oh, Snorri what has
happened? Magnús? Reynir?” Berglind looked imploringly at him,
freezing tears and new ones covering her cheeks. Helpless.
Hopeless.

“
Father, Magnús wanted to
see if the animals really talked on Christmas Eve,” Leifur said. “I
could not stop him.” He still held Magnús’ stiffening
hand.

“
They did speak, Leifur,”
Snorri muttered. “And he went insane.”

“
Reynir?” Berglind
whispered.

“
Jólaköttur, the Cat,”
Snorri choked out, the too recent memory causing him to heave once
more.

Berglind gasped. “No… why?”

“
He-he bought the candle
for everyone in place of a new piece of clothing for himself, and…
and…” He couldn’t finish. The bile at the back of his throat yet
again threatened to spew out. He collapsed in the snow over his
dead son and sobbed.

“
Oh Snorri…” Berglind wept
harder for all the loss and for her husband’s grief. The children
wept silently with them.

Then…

A horrific cackling burst through the
night.

Grýla.

The misshapen form of the aged-ageless
hag came from around the barn. She went to the still open door and
looked in. She nodded and made a gesture, summoning her
“pet.”

The enormous head of the Cat appeared.
“Ah, my Jóla, I see you have eaten well.” She cackled again and
brushed at the gore hanging from the Cat’s whiskers. “Oh, my pet,
watch your step. It seems someone has had mutton for his meal that
did not agree with him.”

The Cat exited the barn and went off
to the field. It sat and began to clean itself.

Grýla approached the grieving
family.

“
Ah, Snorri…” She cackled
brightly. “Did something upset you?”

A soft moan escaped Snorri’s
lips.

“
Father!” Leifur wailed,
dropping Magnús’ hand and throwing himself at him.

Snorri wrapped his arms around the boy
and held him.

Lilja wrapped her arms around
Berglind, mirroring father and son.

“
Now, now, Berglind. I
warned you many years ago. I foretold you would have more children,
but they must grow up and behave. Be good children… or I would come
for them.” She gave a low laugh. Did you think I spoke falsely? For
shame. Grýla always keeps her word.” Another low laugh.

Berglind found her voice.
“No, Grýla, I did not think you spoke false.” She stifled back
another sob. “They
are
good children. They cause no more mischief than any other
child. Why us? 
Why us?”
She could no longer suppress her sobs.

Grýla gave a long chuckle this time,
revealing browned and violently jagged teeth. She narrowed her eyes
at Berglind. “Why not?” She let her question linger in the air. The
family stared motionless at her. “And I am nothing if not an honest
woman who keeps her promises. Now here I am on Christmas—yes, it is
past the midnight hour. It is Christmas. Look above you to the
heavens. The light from the gods shines brightly
tonight.”

The family looked up, and indeed, the
aurora borealis flicked and shone in a vibrant display like none
they had ever seen before. Vast rainbows of ethereal lights covered
the dark sky. A magical sight amid all this carnage.

Snorri spoke, pleading, “Grýla, please
have mercy on us. You have taken Reynir and Magnús. Surely it is
enough? The children have been behaving better. Leifur has been
most helpful and takes care of his sister. Our Lilja helps her Mama
prepare the meals and—”

“
Enough!” Grýla snapped.
Then slowly, an evil grimace formed on her face. “I can be a
merciful woman. Since my Jóla has already eaten
heartily…”

Snorri and Berglind let out the
breaths they had been holding. “Yes, Grýla.”

The hag continued ignoring
them, “I am certain my pet’s stomach only has room for one more,
small… de-lec-table… child…
morsel.
” She gloried at the
look in Snorri and Berglind’s eyes as she slowly drew out each
word, the last word being drawn out the longest, followed by a low
malevolent cackle. She extended both gnarled hands to the children.
“Come here, children.”

“
No!” Snorri and Berglind
screamed and held the children to them hard.

“
Yessss… come, children.”
Grýla’s eyes grew even darker. She raised her bony arms higher,
then paused. “Hmm… I seem to recall something similar to this the
last time we met.” Cackling again, slower, more
pronounced.

Snorri and Berglind could not move. It
was happening again… their baby Stenn… Magnús… Reynir…
now…

“
Come, children.” Grýla’s
fingers beckoned, and the children left their parents’ arms and
were hypnotically drawn to her.

“
No, no, no…” Snorri and
Berglind pleaded.

The Cat approached from the field with
a low growl of anticipation.

The children stood side by side.
Waiting.

The Cat stopped before
them.

Grýla reached up and began stroking
the Cat’s head. “Now, Snorri, Berglind, this is where I show my
benevolence. You begged for mercy. Here is my judgment.

I will leave you one child: the boy,
Leifur, or the girl, Lilja. Which will it be?”

“
No, please. You cannot do
this,” wailed Snorri.

“
You cannot make us
choose,” Berglind cried.

Grýla slowly nodded at the
desperate couple. “You are right. That would be exceedingly cruel.”
A low, insidious cackling started at the back of her throat, then
built to a crazed, high-pitched, hysterical laughter. “But I am
cruel!” she screamed.
Decide!
Decide!
Or my Jólaköttur will
decide
for
you!”

It was too much for the
parents.

“
Save my
Leifur,”
Snorri yelled.

“
Save my
Lilja!’
Berglind
shrieked.

Grýla’s voiced boomed, silencing them,
“Aaaahh, cannot decide?” she raised her arms above the children’s
heads and began to wave them back and forth.

Leifur and Lilja, both frozen in
place, silent as tears ran down their cheeks, looks of horror and
fear in their eyes.

“
All
right then, my pet.
You
will decide. Who will be the tastier treat, hmm?”
Grýla continued to stroke the Cat’s head. “The boy or the girl?
Which will it be?”

The Cat lowered his face to the
children, sniffing one then the other.

“
Yes, my
pet, smell them. Delicious, young flesh. My sweet Jólaköttur, you
must choose. Choose
now
!”

The Yuletide Cat opened its enormous
mouth…

…
and bit down.

A FAMILY CHRISTMAS
TERROR

CHAPTER
3

“
That was rough!” Nick
said.

“
How awful for that
family,” Judy said, holding the book to her chest.

“
Yeah, sorry, Mom,” Jack
said. “You being a mom and all.”

Judy said. “As horrible as the story
was, it’s only a story. Worse things happen every day in the
news.”

Jack jumped in, “But remember: basis
in fact. All legends come from somewhere.”

“
In ye olde Europe,”
Grandpa said in his best old Irish lilt, “many of the Christmas
stories are not happy. They believed in fear to help make their
children behave. You should use your Google or one of those other
fancy computer thingies, or maybe a library and research these old
legends.”

“
Really, Grandpa?” Nick
said.

“
Yes, those
legends—”

Nick cut off the old man. “No,
Grandpa... I meant, you really know what Google is?”

“
Of course I do.” Grandpa
held out his hand to Judy. “Give me that damn book; I’ll read the
next one.”

He took the book. “Hmm...”
rubbing his unshaven chin. “Now this one might be even rougher than
that last one.
Carol of the
Refugees
...”

CAROL OF THE
REFUGEES

AIDAN RUSSELL

“
Do not let go of my hand,
Sabra. Do not let go.” Her father held her hand and pulled her
along the side of the building. A screech echoed through the narrow
street as a rocket flashed by overhead, a shooting star with no
accompanying wish. Sabra in turn held on to the hand of her younger
brother, Fahim, the four-year-old squealing at her tight grip. She
dreaded losing him in all the confusion. Mother and her older
brother, Qadir, trailed behind them, but she would not risk losing
her younger sibling. If any of them were left behind, the militants
would give them one choice: convert or die.

The shelling had started
earlier that morning. The first rounds fell among the city of
Sahiliya’s residential bazaar. The militants adjusted their
artillery and mortar fire and resumed the bombardment on their
intended targets: The small Army base and police station. With
explosions tearing apart their position, the Army
jundis
and police
abandoned their posts.

With the city defenseless and night
falling, the militants advanced. That is when Father abandoned
trying to start the old truck he had been hired to fix and made the
decision to flee the city on foot. None of his three children
questioned the decision. Fahim was too young to truly understand
what was happening, but Sabra could read quite well for a
nine-year-old and would often study her schoolwork on the floor in
front of the television after dinner. The news reporters never had
much good to say.

The Islamic State’s advance into Iraq
gained momentum every day. Sabra had watched the suffering of the
Yazidi tribesmen trapped atop Mount Sinjar earlier in the year. She
recalled the tear-soaked faces when many had been rescued from
death by the Kurdish helicopters that had swooped down like angels
from on high to take them away from that hell. Sabra wondered what
her face looked like as her family fled a similar hell.

A sharp crack sounded behind them. The
entire family ducked low, just in case the gunshot had been meant
for them.

“
I said do not let go,”
Father scolded, latching on to Sabra’s hand again. She had not
realized she had let go to cover up Fahim’s mouth, to keep him from
screaming.

“
Where are we going?
Surely they have taken the roads and train station by now.” A line
of black grease smudged across Qadir’s forehead from where he had
wiped his sweat away.

“
We have to make for the
river. It is farmland on the north side. They are too busy taking
the city. We will be safe once we reach the farms.” Father
scratched at his short beard before peeking around the corner of
the house they had taken cover beside.

Sahiliya’s narrow streets offered them
no room to run if they were to be spotted, but the streets
crisscrossed and zigzagged, slowing the advance of the militants.
The close buildings cloaked the streets in shadows, giving the
family a bit of concealment and also hiding the ever-present trash
scattered across the streets. Mother scolded the children every
time they stepped on an empty plastic bottle, reminding them to
watch their step, even though they could barely see the ground
beneath their feet.

“
The river?” Mother said.
“How are we supposed to get across the river? Fahim cannot swim,
and if we are not caught, then we will freeze to death or
drown.”