Read Online Draugr by Arthur Slade - Free Book Online

past that were trees and underbrush.
    I thought I could hear a rustling sound.
    â€œGrandpa?” I whispered. I couldn’t take another step. I felt safe in the yard, in the dim light. “Grandpa?”
    The bushes moved. A twig snapped.
    I moved backwards. Could I hear breathing? Deep, animal-­like inhalations?
    â€œDo you see something?” Michael asked.
    It took me a second to find my voice. “Y-yes. We better call the police.”
    I was still stepping backwards but looking ahead. Finally I turned and started running quickly towards the cabin.
    Angie and Michael followed.
    Michael slammed the door behind us and put his weight against it.
    Angie was standing behind him, her hands tight on her steel poker. “Phone the cops!” she yelled. “Phone the cops!”
    I dialed 911, hoping emergency numbers were the same in Canada as they were at home. An operator answered and I quickly told her what had happened, trying not to sound panicked. I must have spoken too fast because she commanded me to calm down and repeat everything slowly, which I did. “Make sure you stay in the house,” she said before she hung up.
    Michael was staring out the door’s window. “I don’t see anything,” he said. “Do you know what you saw?”
    â€œI . . . I didn’t really see anything. I just . . . thought I heard breathing.” I paused. “I could just feel it there . . . looking at me.”
    â€œMaybe it was Grandpa,” Angie suggested.
    â€œNo. It was like an animal or something.”
    I went to the living room window. The yard was still.
    â€œOh . . . geez,” Michael exclaimed.
    â€œWhat?” I asked.
    He was gawking down at his sleeve. There was a small gash on his upper right arm. “I must have cut myself. Not too deep but it’s bleeding.”
    I stayed at the back door while Angie helped him wash the wound and wrapped a handkerchief around it. I noticed Michael was limping when he returned.
    A few minutes later I could hear a siren. We went out the front door and huddled together on the driveway, holding our weapons. We looked like rejects from some sports team.
    I imagined lights flicking on and people looking out their windows as the cop car zoomed past. The whole neighborhood was probably waking up.
    A police cruiser turned into the driveway and came skidding to a halt on the gravel. The siren stopped, but they left the flashing lights on. Two officers got out at the same time, both tall, wearing dark uniforms.
    The driver introduced himself. “I’m Sergeant Roberts.” He had a mustache and serious dark eyes. “Is the intruder still here?”
    â€œNo,” Michael said. “At least we don’t think so.”
    Then I explained quickly what had happened, adding that I thought I heard an animal just outside the fence.
    â€œShow me to the backyard,” Roberts commanded.
    They followed us through the house and outside again. Sergeant Roberts and his partner looked around with their flashlights.
    The other officer pointed his light at the wall. It
was
a splash of blood. He moved a few steps closer and examined it. “There’s pellet shots here from a shotgun,” he said.
    Sergeant Roberts was walking around shining his flashlight in different areas of the yard. He bent over and eyeballed the shotgun. Then he walked to the edge of the fence. I watched, holding my breath, wanting to tell him not to go too far.
    He stepped past the fence line. Into the underbrush. He was shining his light there.
    â€œOh dear,” he said suddenly. “Oh no.”
    Something in the tone of his voice frightened me. I had to see what he was looking at. I took a few steps towards him. He was pointing his light on a pile of grass and upturned dirt. I glimpsed a gray shape—but it seemed so far away—it looked like the mangled form of an animal.
    A dog. Hugin. Legs and head at crazy