The Yule Lads Diarys Pt 10

December 21st- Gluggagægir

I wish my shot had missed that night.

I wish I’d never seen one of Lads in the flesh.

I wish I’d made my offering.

I wish I’d just left Iceland forever with my brother.

I wish I’d never fought these Yuletide horrors at all.

Above all, I wish I’d never taken Sausage Swiper hostage.

At the time, however, I was ecstatic. I sat in my room with the basket, grinning like Captain Silver as he stood over his treasure. He had stopped screaming after the first hour, and now he just hunkered in his trap and grumbled. The grumblings and infrequent yells were the only proof I had that he was still alive, and that was good. I wanted him breathing for the second part of my plan, the part where I gave the lads their “gift”.

The twenty first would mark something of a lull in the conflict. I should have taken advantage of it and got some sleep, but instead I watched the fat little fae as he growled and wiggled and tried to get free of the bear trap. I say bear trap, but it was really a fox trap. There were no bears in Iceland, and it was something we used to catch the little beasts when they came to steal food or became a nuisance. Their pelts are pretty warm and very beautiful, but we tried not to kill them unless we really had to.

It was almost too small for this little porker.

He was trapped at the shoulder, the teeth biting into him as he pouted and groaned. The bike lock I had used to secure him to the metal frame was the only thing keeping him there as he lay at the bottom. He had figured out pretty quickly that he couldn't open the trap with his bare hands. Something about the iron the trap was made of sapped his strength, and he had only really struggled for the first hour or so. Now he lay there, piggy little eyes glaring at me, as he tried to find some way to get loose from this new prison.

Whatever the iron did to him also stopped him from using magic, so that was an added bonus.

At least I wouldn't have to worry about waking up with a mouthful of dung or teeth made of beetles or something.

Davin stretched as he woke up, but he drew back in surprise when he noticed the Lad in the basket sitting at the foot of the bed. He had managed to sleep through all of it, the kid really could snore through a bomb, but now he was wide awake and terrified. He cried out as the lumpy thing hooted at him, though whether it was a plea for help or an insult, I didn’t know.

“What the...what is that?” he said, making the Lad wince from the loudness of his voice.

“This is Bjúgnakrækir; Sausage Swiper.” I said as though it were obvious.

“Okay, well why is he in our bedroom?”

“I captured him.”

“You did what?” Davin asked, seeming scared and unsure of this revelation.

“I captured him, and now I’ll trade him for a cessation of hostilities. They can't have thirteen Lads if one of them is stuck here with me, can they? They’ll want to bargain, and if they don't give me what I want, then they can't have what they want.”

“But,” Davin asked, his face scrunching up, “What's to stop them from just coming in and taking him?”

I looked unsure as I tried to think of an answer for that one. Somehow, this was something that had only now occurred to me. Of course they’d just come and take him. Why would they bargain with me? There would be nine of them tonight, more than enough to take two humans and a cat. Even if I stood them off here, how long could I hope to hold them off? Hell, one of them could just open the door!

Unless.

Unless I got prepared real quick.

“Davin, watch him.” I growled and grabbed my coat.

“Me?” he asked skeptically.

“Yes, I just need a few things from the barn. I’ll be back in less than an hour. Don't let him out of that trap for any reason, do you understand?”

Davin nodded, though he didn't seem to like it. He threw a hug around my middle as I went to leave and I could feel wetness on the front of my shirt. He was scared, of that I was certain, but I hadn't stopped to think how strange this must be for him. He was used to living in the city where the most dangerous thing around was the pedophile on the floor below you or the stray dog who was hungry and looking for food. These things couldn't be picked up by the police or trapped by the dog catcher. These creatures were supernatural, and whether I had meant to or not, I had brought him into all this. I wrapped my arms around him, trying to remember that I had started out with the intention of making this his most memorable Christmas in Iceland.

I guess I had succeeded there, for better or worse.

“Don't worry, kid. This will all be over soon, and next year we’ll laugh about it.”

I pray now that I’m right.

When I poked my head in an hour later, Davin was still sitting on my bed, staring the little creature in the basket. Sausage Swiper was staring right back, trying to commit his face to memory, it seemed, and Grindle was sitting on Davines lap, his eyes intent on the little man in the trap. I looked at Davin and gave him a thumbs up. He returned it, and I closed the door behind myself. With the prisoner under watch, it was time to set my plans into motion.

I set up an array that would have put Kevin Mccallister himself to shame. I had swiped more traps from the shed, whole boxes of ten penny nails, wooden boards of carpet tacks that we had saved for some reason, barbed wire, and several horseshoes that I thought I might be able to rig up to fall on our would-be intruders. I set most of them up in the hall and the kitchen, around the fireplace too in case that's how they had gotten in.I strung the barbed wire up in the hallway, crisscrossing it low so I could step over it but the Lads would have a time getting around it. I finally just set some of the horseshoes up on doors, hoping they would fall on them, but I kept a few back for later. In a pinch, I could throw them I guessed. I put hay over the top of all of it, sprinkling nails and the nail strips amongst it so they would step on them and not realize it.

All the while, I felt like someone was watching me as I worked. I kept glancing around, trying to see if Olf or one of the farmhands had come to find me spreading hay in my house, but no one was ever around. It was a hard feeling to describe, like bugs crawling on me, but no matter how many times I looked, there was never anyone there. It made me work faster as I tried to get it all done so I could leave the front room for the quiet solace of the back of the house.

As the afternoon crept in like a thief, I grabbed what little food we had left and brought it to the bedroom so we would have something to eat while we held out.

“Who comes tonight?” Davin asked, munching on a granola bar as he leaned against his bed.

“Gluggagægir, the window peeper. They say he watches people through their windows, trying to find things he’d like to steal. At least we don't have to worry about him; there are no windows for him to look through back here.”

Davin nodded, but seemed unsure.

I finished up my meager dinner and sat to watch Sausage Snatcher. He was asleep, I thought, or was pretending, and it didn't take long before Davin was snoring too. I tried my best to resist the urge to sleep, but after so little sleep lately, my eyes were soon slipping shut. What if Sausage Snatcher was just pretending? What if he got away and joined the other lads? What if he...what if they...what if…

I was snoring a minute later, head pillowed against my arm, and I almost slept through their arrival.

I snapped awake when I heard the front door bang open and was on my feet in a heartbeat. My watch said it was ten o’clock, and I looked at Sausage Snatcher to find him awake and grinning at me. He garbled something in his flemmy language, but I didn't understand him. He started shouting, raising a yell from his prison, and I heard the sound of boots moving towards us. I pushed the basket lid back down, muffling him somewhat, but they had to know where he was.

I listened, expecting to hear sounds of anguish, sounds of surprise, but the Lads navigated my traps easily. They were in the hallway in short order and that was the first time I heard one of them come down on a nail or find a trap in the hay. That was when it hit me. How could I have been so stupid?

Gluggagægir had probably been watching me all afternoon. He couldn't see me putting traps in the back of the house, no windows back there, so the traps in the hallway were a complete surprise. They squealed and yelped as they found the nails, the fox traps, and the tack boards, and I was glad that something had slowed them down. I woke Davin, handing him a crowbar and telling him to get ready in case the door opened. Davin gripped the crowbar, looking nervous but ready. Grindle too seemed ready for anything, hunkering low as he prepared to pounce at the first thing through the door.

We stood for a count of thirty, before the door sprang open, the nails I had used to hold it shut flying back like shrapnel.

Pottaskefill was first, that armor juggernaut running in with his wooden armor clanking.

Gilajgaur was behind him and I launched my horseshoe at the bulbous head as he came screaming into the room. It struck him right between the eyes and I roared out my laughter as the armored Lad caught my ax on his hooked pole. It was hard to tell who was who after that. I saw Grindle jump on one of them, slashing and tearing as he rode him to the ground. I saw Davin swinging his crowbar as the little shadows moved in on him, but he drove them back and when I planted a foot on Pottaskefill and rolled him back into the hall, I saw many of them retreat after him.

We chased them out into the hall, the traps slowing them as they ran for the door.

The two of us came hooping and hollering into the living room, the nine of them in full slight. They were leaking tar and squealing in surprise, their attack thwarted, and as they ran out into the night, we gave chase. We stood in the doorway and watched them run, both of us winded, but knowing we had done well.

Our victory, however, came at a cost.

As the two of us returned, grinning and talking about tomorrow night's battle, we noticed the black shape laying on the floor of the bedroom.

Grindle was breathing quickly, but his flank was bloody, his left leg cut and dribbling onto the floor.

Davin went to him, crying but unsure how to comfort him. He’d been stabbed and kicked and he looked up at me with eyes that begged for help. Davin broke down, his tears spilled down his face, but I wasn’t about to let them take Grindle from us.

The Lads had taken too much already.

“Wrap him in a blanket,” I said, scooping up the basket as I turned for the door, “Sigrun will know what to do with him.”