Mørketiden

As what should have been morning began rolling around, Druknet noticed something peculiar out his window…

“It’s still dark.” He muttered.

The moon still loomed clearly and stars still speckled the sky. Despite it being close to seven o’clock in the morning, dawn didn’t seem like it was coming. It was as though time was standing still.

“And it will be for at least another three weeks.” Bjorge responded. The smell of fish filled his home, as he fried something on a griddle over the fire.

“What do you mean?” Druknet turned toward him.

“It's what we call mørketiden.” Bjorge flipped the fish up in his pan without looking. “Its a dark period of the year. Endless night for weeks straight.”

Druknet looked back toward the window. His mind wandered, searching the horizon for the faintest sign it was morning… There was nothing but black and gray.

No sunrise. No daytime. Just eternal night. He thought to himself.

The night he nearly drowned seemed like it was never ending.

“How can you tell the days apart?” He wondered.

Bjorge shrugged. “Most of us just keep count, but some don’t even bother.”

“I see…” Druknet murmured to himself.

“I hope you like fish.” Bjorge plopped a charred piece of cod onto a plate.

Abruptly, Druknet pulled his heavily bandaged body upright in bed. “Ah-!”

A sharp pain ripped through his spine. He gripped the side of the mattress, feeling nauseous.

“Easy.” Bjorge set the plate aside and stepped forward.

“Ghh-!... I’m fine.” Druknet insisted, despite his hands trembling. His body was stiff, as if his bones had turned into iron. Clenching his teeth, he slowly turned to the side of the bed, planting each foot on the ground.

“Don’t push yourself.” Bjorge cast a look of concern.

“I need to stand.” Sweat poured down Druknet’s back, as soreness ate away at every one of his joints. “I can’t just lie here.” He grabbed onto Bjorge's shoulder to steady himself. His sliced up shins burned with pain, as he shifted his weight onto his unsteady legs. With every ounce of strength he had, he forced himself to stand up.

Bjorge guided him carefully over to a wooden chair near the fireplace. “Sit and eat. Then we can see how much strength your body has.”

Ignoring the utensils in front of him, Druknet picked up the piece of fish in his hands and took a bite.

“Do you have any salt?” He asked, flatly.

Bjorge shook his head. “The waters have been too rough for supply boats to come in or out of the harbor. We’re making due with what we have.”

Druknet chewed slowly. “So I’m trapped here until the weather improves.”

“Not unless you want to take your chances trekking on foot for several days in the darkness and freezing cold.” Bjorge opened a cabinet and pulled out a pair of boots, a heavy gray overcoat, and a crutch. “If you insist on moving, why don’t you take a walk with me to get some more firewood.”

After stomaching what he could of his bland meal, Druknet dressed himself. Slipping both of his feet into the stiff leather boots and throwing the coat over himself, he rested the crutch under his right arm, standing up on his own. “Alright, I’m ready.”

Grabbing his own jacket, Bjorge led the way out the door.

As Druknet stepped outside, his body tensed up. The cold air hit him like a wall.

“This way.” Bjorge motioned.

The ground beneath Druknet’s feet was icy and slick. Trudging carefully, he probed around with his crutch each step he took to ensure he didn’t slip.

The village was small, consisting primarily of a dozen or so fishing cottages sandwiched between the sea and a rocky treeless ridge. The houses were painted bright colors, such as red, mustard yellow, and white, but under the dark veil of the endless night, they looked muted and depressing.

As they passed by, the light from a lantern was extinguished. There was a thud, as the shutter of a window slammed shut.

“Kom deg inn.” A woman suddenly pulled their child into their home.

A man standing in his doorway turned his back.

Whispers filled the air…

“Det er ham.”

“Utenforstående bringer ikke annet enn trøbbel.”

“Ikke se på ham.”

Druknet didn’t understand the words, but knew the murmurs were directed at him. He tightened his grip on his crutch. A sense of hostility emanated throughout the village. It was made apparent that he was not welcome.

“Don’t let them get to you.” Bjorge spoke quietly, as they reached the shed. “They’re just wary of outsiders.”

Druknet remained cautious, scanning the village as Bjorge gathered firewood. All was still at the moment. Only the sound of the sea filled the air.

He turned slowly toward the dock from the night before. The pier extended out over the dark waters. Waves rolled about beneath it. It was empty, yet it almost seemed to be calling to him.

Through the silence, a chill crept up behind him. He turned around, yet nobody was there.

Something’s off.

He turned back toward the dock. Once again, he couldn’t shake that same eerie feeling. The villagers were watching him like hawks, but that wasn’t entirely what made him unsettled. It was as if an invisible force loomed over him.

“Alright, I have what I need.” Bjorge closed up the shed with a bundle of wood in his arms.

“...” Druknet didn’t answer. He continued staring at the dock.

“Hey.” Bjorge grabbed him by the shoulder. “Are you good?”

“Y-yeah… Let’s head back.”

Walking back toward Bjorge’s home, Druknet glanced back over his shoulder at the dock, stopping in place.

“Is something wrong?” Bjorge wondered.

“N-no…” Drucket hesitated just before continuing.

Even as he reached the door, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something other than the villagers was watching him. With still no memory or end in sight to the night, he was beginning to feel like he was trapped in a never ending dream…