The Berserker

“Then try her house number,” he said, obviously.

Aimee-Lou done as instructed, holding her breath as the ringtone began in her ear, and she let it out in a long exhale when Lana’s mother answered.

She spoke to her, trying her hardest to not sound panicky.

“Hello Mrs Booth,” Aimee-Lou said politely, “Is Lana there?”

She held her breath again, in anticipation this time of what the answer was going to be.

“Hello Aimee-Lou,” Barbara Booth replied happily. “I'm afraid she is visiting her grandmother this morning dear.”

“Did she say what time she was going to be home?” Aimee-Lou asked, a little relieved that her friend was probably still at Broadacre.

The next sentence made the hair on the back of Aimee-Lou’s neck stand on end and a chill sprinkle down her spine.

“She said she was going to ride straight to your house dear, so she should be there by now.”

Aimee-Lou felt a choke in her throat as the fear strangled her.

There was a silence on the line for a second as Mrs Booth waited for Aimee-Lou to answer.

“Hello,” she said eventually.

“Yes, hi,” Aimee-Lou answered as she cleared her throat.

“Is she not there with you?”

“What is she saying?” Wilson asked urgently.

“We haven’t got back just yet,” she said, “I expect she is waiting for me at the treehouse.”

That reply gave Wilson the answer to his question.

“Ah, I see,” she said in her usual cheery way. “Okay dear, well I’ll speak to you soon.”

“Okay Mrs Booth,” she answered, hiding her sadness. “Bye.”

The other end had gone dead without Mrs Booth saying goodbye, and Aimee-Lou looked at her phone slightly annoyed.

“How rude,” she said.

Aimee-Lou actually like Lana’s mother, as she was one of the kindest people she had ever met, and as she would take care of her whenever she would visit straight her house from school. Take care of would mean feeding her and allowing her to drink unlimited amounts of cola.

“Well?” Pete asked as he turned into the High Street.

“She was visiting her grandmother at Broadacre Nursing Home,” she said without looking up from her mobile phone.

“That’s good then, right?” Marcus said with a broad grin.

“Then what?” Wilson asked, ignoring Marcus’s optimism. Aimee-Lou sobbed silently as she lowered her head even lower than it already was. “Aims,” Wilson pressed, “What else?”

Aimee-Lou spoke quietly.

“She is meeting me at the treehouse.” She looked up at Wilson with tear filled eyes. “Oh Wils,” she said, bordering on hysteria, “We have to get to the house, what if Clive is there and he has done what Pete says, he will ki...”

She stopped short of saying the whole word as Pete changed down a gear and sped up along the High Street, pinning them all to their seats.

“You don’t know that Aimee-Lou,” Wilson comforted her, seriously. “I doubt the Berserker even remembers were we live.”

The mention of the word made them all fall silent for a second, all worrying for the safety of Lana if the troll did remember.

“We’re here,” Pete said as he yanked the handbrake up before the RAV4 had fully stopped.

A spray of gravel and a cloud of dust followed the RAV4 to its eventual stopping place.

Aimee-Lou was out of the car first, running at full pace around the side of the house and past the rabbit hutch that contained Flo, or at least she thought it did, and she skidded her feet to a halt when she saw the chicken wire had bed torn away from the door of the hutch. She fell to her knees and pulled the small fluffy bits of fur that were attached to the jagged spikes of the mesh, holding them to her nose and sniffing the scent of her rabbit.

The tears had already begun before she opened the sleeping area door, and Wilson had managed to reach her and push it closed before she could see the sprays of blood that covered the inside if the hutch.

“Come on Aims,” he said as he grabbed her under her arms.

Pete had reached them and grabbed hold of Aimee-Lou, supporting her weight with Wilson, and she turned and placed her face into his chest, sobbing muffled cries as she did.

“Okay Aimee-Lou,” Pete said as he stroked the back of her head, and Aimee-Lou felt the happiest and saddest she had ever felt.

He supported her by placing his arm around her shoulders as they walked around to the oak tree, but they all stopped at the corner of the house when they saw that Lana’s bike was leaning against the trunk.

“Lana,” Aimee-Lou called out as she tried to wrestle herself from Pete’s grip, but he tightened his hold around her shoulders to stop her running off to the potential danger of the treehouse.

“Just slow down,” he said to her, and she relaxed back into his grip, enjoying the protection he offered.

Wilson walked forwards first, tentatively looking at the entrance of the treehouse as he did.

“Wils,” Marcus called after him, whispering in fear, as well as trying not to disturb whatever might be hiding in the treehouse.

Wilson stopped and turned around, startled by Marcus calling his name.

“What?” he whispered back.

“Be careful,” Marcus said with a sure nod of his head.

Wilson pulled a face at Marcus, the sort of expression that said that he planned to and he didn’t need him to remind him of it.

He stood at the bottom rung and took in a deep breath.

“Here we go,” he said, so just he could hear it.

Aimee-Lou had her face half buried into Pete’s armpit as she watched with one eye.

Wilson lifted himself steadily up the rungs, his mouth getting drier by each one, until he reached the last one that would expose his face to the inside of the treehouse.

“Lana,” he called, quietly at first, “Are you in there?”

He took the next rung and froze in horror.

The inside of the treehouse had been transformed from its usual white interior, with the few colourful scatter cushions that were strewn around the floor, and the pile of blankets in the corner that the girls had wrapped Clive in, to a scene of barbaric devastation that had covered every inch of everything red with blood.

There were thicker lobs hanging from the ceiling and stuck to the blankets, but there was a clear patch that looked as though something big had been sitting there.

It wasn’t until Wilson saw the neatly stacked pile of bones that he released his grip and fell the ten feet to the grass below, banging his head on the solid ground and knocking himself out.

“Wilson,” Marcus cried out as his friend fell, and he ran to attempt to catch him, (even though he missed him by at least 5 metres).

Pete let go of Aimee-Lou and also ran to the aide of Wilson.

He grabbed him and rolled him onto his side, making sure he hadn’t swallowed his tongue, and lightly slapped him on his cheeks to try to rouse him.

“Wilson,” he called out, “Wilson, are you in there.”

A flicking of his eyelids was followed by the three of them sighing with relief, and the opening f his eyes was followed by Aimee-Lou throwing her arms around him.

“Are you okay?” Pete asked him. “Have you broken anything?”

Marcus didn’t give him time to answer Pete’s question.

“What did you see?” He asked him, his voice shaking in dread at the reply.

Wilson shook his head slowly as he lowered his chin to his chest.

“Was it, was it Lana?” Aimee-Lou asked him.

Wilson nodded without looking at her and she cried out painfully.

Pete grabbed her again and stood her up, holding her as her legs buckled. He flipped her legs up and carried her across the grass to the back door.

Marcus had grabbed Wilson’s keys and had run to the door to open it for Pete and Aimee-Lou, who rested her down on the sofa and went back into the garden to grab Wilson, but he had gotten to his feet and was walking across the lawn.

“Are you okay?” he asked him, which was answered with a nod. “What did you see up there, was it Lana?”

Wilson stopped and looked up at Peter, closing his eyes before he spoke.

“I think so,” he said. “What’s left of her anyway?”

Pete looked up to the opening of the treehouse and shook his head.

“This has to stop,” he said quietly. He tapped the top of his head and then nodded at his idea “Go into the house,” he said to Wilson, “Take care of your sister.”

“Where are you going?” he asked him as Pete walked to the side of the house.

“There is someone I need to speak to,” he said. “Alone.”

As he drove back through the village of Blaise, he knew he was about to do something that could result in him not only dying, but being torn to shreds like Lana.

What Pete had not told them about his encounter with the trolls is that he had spoken to an elder before he had dragged Mickey into the freezing water, an elder that was blowing a high pitched note on a bone shaped instrument.

“What are you doing here human?” It had asked him, as his friend lay dying.

“To see if you are real,” was Pete’s simplistic answer. “We came here for a joke, it’s what kids do,” he said, surprisingly unafraid.

“You will be punished for what you have seen,” the elder said. “Punishment is ravaging.”

The troll raised its hand and swiped at Peter, ripping through his shirt and slicing him from the top of his ribcage to his belly button.

Pete fell to the floor, holding his stomach as the trolls cackled at him. He began to bleed.

To the surprise of the elder troll, Pete stood up and grabbed Mickey by the collar and turned to rush to the water.

“Wait,” the elder bellowed, making Pete stand still. “You are a brave human,” it said.

The elder had then warned Pete that he should never visit the island again, even for a joke, and that they would tear him limb from limb if he ever set foot on their ground alone again. The threat had worked because he never did set foot on there alone again, and that was the reason they didn't attack him when he was there with the others. Safety in numbers is what he was thinking when he tried to get Lana to go to the island with them. This time though he was alone and the elder may not be so forgiving.

He rowed across the strait to the island and crept from the dingy, pulling it out of the water just enough to stop it floating away. He turned to trace his steps to the crumbling wall, but stopped and caught his breath when the elder was stood behind him.

The troll grabbed Pete on each arm and lifted him off his feet. He pulled him close, so that their noses were touching, the elder’s more than Pete’s, and it laughed a deep cackled chortle that caused spit and goo to splatter on his face.

“Look whose back,” it said in the gravelled voice. “And he’s alone.”

The elder troll sniffed the head of Pete, and immediately began salivating profusely.

“Lunch,” it said, and then cackled again as it turned and marched its prey to share with its family.

Pete heard the moving of rocks, but could see nothing behind him as the vice like grip of the elder was holding him solidly. The air in his lungs was being compressed from his system, forcing Pete to take shallow breaths, but that was causing him to feel dizzy with the lack of oxygen.

Behind him he could hear the thud thud thud of troll feet on the ground, and the air was temporarily sucked back into his lungs as the grip was loosened by the elder troll as he was handed to another. The same cackling chortle now came from three or four trolls, Pete couldn’t be sure, and again his lungs were crushed by three thick, stubby fingers.

“Take him down,” the first elder troll barked, and Pete’s vision blurred with the lack of air he could breathe in.

He wasn’t sure whether he blacked out or he entered a tunnel, but the next time he could see, he was underground with flames flickering on the walls, guiding the way.

By the smell in the hole was in he could tell that the flames were flickering because of the petroleum that was seeping through the walls, and the smell was causing him to heave slightly, even though it was nearly impossible to, as the hold that the troll had on him had only decreased enough to stop him dying of suffocation.

Pete figured that the rest of the trolls had retreated behind whoever was carrying him, as he had a clear sight of what was coming up in front of him. The rhythmic thudding of the troll feet was matching the beating of Pete’s heart, which quickened as the fire and spit came into view.

For the first time, and he was unsure why it was the first time, Pete began to struggle.

“Let me go,” he screamed into the echoing cave. “Let me go so I can fight you all.”

Suddenly, as though they had obeyed him, Pete found himself lying on the floor in a heap, gasping for air to fill his lungs, and gagging against the putrid smell of petroleum. He coughed violently as the harsh vapour caught the back of his throat and then rushed down to burn his lungs. The lacing of his thick jumper over his mouth gave him a respite from the fumes, and he relaxed his breathing when the fresher air overcame the bad.

Two trolls, smaller than the elder who had first grabbed him, picked Pete up to his feet and forced him towards the spit, roughly pulling his hands behind his back and turning him to see where they had walked from.

In front of him now were three more trolls of varying sizes, but none as big as the elder that stood in the centre of the flickering cave, and the beady eyes that he had seen before stared intensely at him.

“Foolish human,” the elder said. “You do not listen or you did not believe the warning we gave.”

The elder nodded his head at the two junior trolls, who had hold of Pete’s arms, and one held hold of him while the other grabbed the thick jumper and ripped it up the middle, revealing the scars from the previous encounter.

The elder took a step toward Pete and reached to touch the scars, and it laughed deeply, evilly, as Pete pulled away from its touch.

“I need your help,” Pete shouted, so loud that it echoed through the tunnel that led to the cave.

“We do not help humans,” it bellowed. “We only eat them.” It cackled at Pete, who stood still and emotionless. “The banishment from the lands will only be punished by death to all who saw us.”

“Your Berserker is being hunted,” Pete said flatly. “It will be dead by tomorrow.”

“Your people must pay for what they have done and seen,” it roared in a deep voice, ignoring Pete’s warning. “You must pay for what you have seen, and this time you will pay.”

“I can stop it,” he said, as forcefully and as brave as he could.

The elder looked closely at Pete and then stretched its already (naturally) smiling mouth a little wider.

“The Jötunn get what it deserves,” the troll said, after a pause.

The elder nodded at the juniors once more, and they proceeded to tie Pete to the spit.

“You can have me, but release my friends and family,” he pleaded. “Recall your troll and save my people.”

Pete struggled as he began to feel the time running out, and he thought desperately of a way to get out of the situation as the elder ignored his pleas. A plan suddenly burst in his brain when the words of his grandfather stirred an echo.

“Only they can stop them, or the wheel of heaven.”

“I can get you the wheel of heaven,” he shouted.

The elder nodded and the juniors stopped.

“How could you deliver the wheel of heaven,” the elder asked, slightly interested.

“Would you call your Jötunn back if I could?” Pete asked the elder, knowing he had bought himself some time.

“How?” the elder asked again, louder and deeper this time.

“I can give you it, but a new one will replace it almost immediately.”

Pete had a plan and the troll was following it.

“I will recall the Jötunn, if you can deliver the wheel of heaven,” the elder said. “But if you do not keep your word, I will send an army of Jötunn to destroy you all.”

Its voice bellowed in the gravelly tone, and it sent a shiver through Pete. He gulped down the nervous saliva that was filling his mouth.

“I will return tomorrow,” Pete said, “But I will not be alone.”

The elder troll straightened himself and faced Peter full on.

“If you do not bring the wheel of heaven, it will not matter how many humans you bring.”

The elder reached forward and scratched a line down Peter’s front, and it seeped blood almost immediately, making the elder laugh loudly and its nose bounce gently.

“To remember,” it said as it nodded at the juniors, and they released Peter in a second.

Before he knew it the Sun was blazing in his eyes and the coldness of the air was burning his cheeks and stomach where the trolls had ripped his jumper open.

Pete felt safe for now, knowing that all he had to do was get the Sun from the sky and give it to a family of trolls.

“Simple,” he said to himself with a frown.