The Yule Lads Diarys pt 8

December 18th- Hurðaskellir

Arnar came to see me the next day.

Davin had left early that morning, and I had been asleep on the couch when he had knocked. The farmer looked embarrassed, and I figured that Olf had something to do with him showing up. He took one look at my stiff gate and my blotchy face and shook his head. He must have known they would come for me, and I couldn't help but feel that his insight might have helped me get the better of them.

"I'm sorry for the way I spoke to you, lad. We had no sheep go missing last night, no damage to the cows either, but it looks as though you may have been the reason why."

“Yes, sir. They were too busy breaking into my house and stabbing me in the backside to worry with the livestock, I suppose.”

I told him what had happened, and he tried not to laugh when I told him how Pottaskefill had nearly blinded me.

"You had to know that old goblin, Giljagaur, would want revenge for what ye did to him. How are you set for food? I can bring you some pots and pans if you need them."

"I'll be fine. I can make it through this." I said, not really sure if I could or not.

He smiled at me and smacked me sturdily on the shoulder, "You may not be of the land, boy, but you have the grit, for certain. If we can help you in any way, let us know."

I perked up a little, "I could use some hands tonight. It's two again six and…"

"Seven tonight," he added, looking sheepishly away, "I can't promise any of the men will come to your aid. They are superstitious. This is an old place and, up until now, we've lived in peace with the fairies and the old things. There's... there's talk that you and your brother are the reason they are so angry this year." he confided, spitting it out like a sour taste.

"Us? How? I've been here longer than any of the other hands, and I’d never even seen one of the lads until this year."

"I know that, but they hear your brother talking about Father Christmas and...Lad, that's not of our land. They think that his talk has angered the Yule Lads, and they're taking it out on us."

I looked at him steadily, "I hope that you and Olf don't think that."

"Never think it, boy. To me, you and Olf are my sons, and Davin is quickly taking a similar place in my heart. I love you, boy, and I don't want to see you hurt."

"So," I built up my resolve to ask the question, "will you and Olf stand with me tonight?"

He breathed in a long breath, and I could see the mustache rustle under the assault of his nasal inhale, "I'm sorry, boy. I love ya, but we can't stand with you against Fae. Maybe if you apologized to the Lads, made a sacrifice of some kind, they might be placated and leave you alone."

I shook my head, finding myself more hurt by his refusal to help than I thought I would, "I won't placate them. They attacked my house, and I can't let that stand."

"Be reasonable, boy. You can't fight the Fae and win. They are older, craftier, and stronger than we mortals are."

"I'm tired, Arnar. If you need me tonight, I'll be here, defending my home. I'm probably going to take a bit of leave until this situation is resolved."

He sighed but nodded.

"Good luck, boy."

With that, he left us to our fates.

Davin came back around lunchtime. He flopped onto the couch and looked upset as Grindle hopped up onto his chest. He stroked the cat and watched me clean up the little bits of grime left behind. I noticed how quiet he was after a few minutes and asked what was wrong. I wasn't sure, at first, that he was going to answer.

"One of the farmhands said he wouldn't work with me. We were supposed to be herding sheep, but he told Olf that he didn't want me around him since we had offended the Fae."

I felt anger creep into my guts, "Who was it?" I asked through clenched teeth.

"Olf told me not to tell you. He says it's not their fault. They're all afraid of what could happen to their homes and their families. Olf said we should make an offering to the Lads, maybe try to make amends?"

I lifted the leg of my jeans and showed him the wounds from last night's assault.

"You think I should reward them for this? I'm not giving into a bunch of little ankle-biters who want to attack my house. Tonight I'll show them what they're up against, and we'll see who makes a fool out of who."

I realize now that it was the lack of sleep talking, but at the time, I was filled with rage that these things were coming into my home. At first, they had just been a cute little legend about holiday pranksters, but now they had become some kind of ever-present boogie man that waited until nightfall to strike. I wouldn't have it. I wasn't going to get sliced up in my own home and just let it lie.

I'd be ready tonight.

I wouldn't be the only one bleeding this time.

Little did I know that tonight would be a change of tactics for them.

When the sun went down, I set about preparing my home for war. The windows were secured with caulk. The doors were locked, bolted, and weather-sealed along the base. The chimney was plugged with an assortment of blankets and barbed wire from the shed. I lit no fire that night, and as I hunkered in the living room, I shivered against the cold. The wind was howling outside, and I found myself nodding as the hours passed in silence. Davin and Grendel were in the bedroom, snug in their bed, and hopefully safe from all this. I had given Grindle the night off after his hard work last night. He was sitting on my brother's chest when I left the room, licking his wounded leg and watching me go with a sense of determination.

If any of them made it into that room, they would have a fight on their hands.

I shook my head to clear the sleep.

They would be here soon, they had to be; what kind of game were they playing? They were never consistent in their arrival, and I suddenly wondered if they were still going about their usual holiday duties? Was I just a box on their checklist? Were they still leaving presents and causing a little mischief in other houses? The more I thought about it, the more heavy my eyes became, and before I knew it, I was snoring against the arm of the couch.

I was roused from sleep around midnight by the last sound I expected to hear in my house.

The front door creaked open before slamming shut hard enough to rattle the windows.

I bounded up from beside the couch, my hurt leg stiff and asleep after having knelt for so long. I ran to the door, expecting to see all seven Lads waiting for me on the mat, but there was nothing. I checked the door and found it was still locked. I looked at it sleepily, trying to decide if I had imagined it or something.

That was when the cabinets started slamming.

It started with the pot cabinet. It was empty, of course. The lads had stolen all my cookware, and the door crashed open and shut, open and shut, in a quick three lick pattern. Then it moved up to the pantry, the door creaking as it opened and the thick wood slamming shut with enough force to rattle the hinges. I had run into the kitchen, weapons at the ready, but there was nothing there.

The doors opened and closed, opened and closed, and all the while, there was no hand to do it.

Then the cupboard under the sink joined the chorus. The dented refrigerator door swung drunkenly open, the light blinking before the door slammed shut again. Even the sliding door to my breadbox was opening and slamming shut, the glass shattering as it connected with the frame, though that didn’t stop the track from running back again. It was like something out of a poltergeist movie. All the doors slamming shut of their own accord, their rhythm hellish its volume. When the hallway door slammed as well, I jumped and spun, ready to attack, but found nothing but air. They were all doing it before long, a thunderous cacophony of slamming doors and creaking joints. I put my hands over my ears and tried to block it out, but it was impossible.

Finally, I went and sat in the bedroom, Davin sitting up in bed and holding a squirming Grindle.

I shrugged at him tiredly.

"Guess we just have to put up with it until daybreak."

How wrong I was.