Behind Locked Doors

Stumbling through the doorway into Bjorge’s house, Druknet fell to his knees. His heart felt as though it was about to beat out of his chest. Blood from his wounded shins dripped onto the floor.

Bjorge was sitting up right in his chair with his arms crossed.

“What is this?” He spoke sternly.

Druknet ignored him, frantically looking for the deadbolt on the door, as his fingers fumbled around on the wooden surface. With shaky hands, he twisted it closed with a loud click.

Putting his ear against the door, he carefully listened. He expected the sound of footsteps pursuing him or even a knock at the door, but nothing came. All he heard were his ears ringing, as he felt the pulse in his neck pounding.

“Answer me.” Bjorge pressed. His eyes flickered toward the locked door then back to Druknet with suspicion.

“I was-. But then-. Something-. From the water-.” Druknet stammered incoherently, barely able to catch a breath.

Borge knelt before him and firmly shook him by the shoulders.

“Slow down!” He sharply snapped before lowering his voice. “I can’t help you if you can't put together a coherent sentence.”

Druknet forced himself to take a deep breath. His heart rate slowed.

“It was in the sea!” He managed to say.

Bjorge looked at him curiously. “What was it you saw?”

“It was a man… or at least it almost looked like a man…” Druknet shook his head in disbelief. “It walked right out of the water, unmoved by the waves. Whatever it is, I think it's following me!”

“That’s impossible.” Bjorge replied calmly. “You of all people should know firsthand how cold that water is.”

“I’m telling you!” Druknet snapped. “It had glowing white eyes and seaweed hanging from it.”

Bjorge stroked his beard, thoughtfully. “Sounds like you’re talking about a draugen.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Druknet shook his head.

“It’s an old legend passed down in these parts.” Bjorge said. “They’re said to be the restless spirits of sailors who perished at sea…” He shrugged lightly. “According to some old fishermen, seeing one is a bad omen… A sign of a tragic fate.”

Druknet stared at him. “So you believe my story?”

“No.” Bjorge responded plainly as he shook his head. “It’s just folklore meant to scare children and drunk sailors. In my medical opinion, I think your head injury is making your mind play tricks on you.”

“I know what I-.”

A sudden pounding sound thumped against the door.

“Bjorge, åpne deg!” An angry man’s voice shouted from the other side.

Druknet nearly jumped across the room.

“Jeg kommer.” Bjorge calmly responded as he made his way to the door.

Druknet crawled quickly toward the far corner of his room, trying to conceal himself.

When Bjorge opened the door, he was met by a muscular red-face man with long blonde hair standing on the other side.

“Den utenforstående skremmer kvinnene og barna!” The man shouted, pointing toward the interior of Bjorge’s house.

The man leaned forward, trying to peer inside. He momentarily locked eyes with Druknet before Bjorge stepped forward, blocking his view.

“Beklager, Agdar.” Bjorge spoke apologetically. “Dette er min feil. Jeg ga ham litt alkohol for å dempe smerten, men han ble for full.”

The man let out a grunt. “Greit, men ikke la det skje igjen.” He shot Druknet a final glare with his bloodshot eyes. “Jeg holder deg ansvarlig hvis han gjør noe.”

With that, the man took his leave. Even after the door closed, there was no sound of the man's boots crunching through the snow. He seemed to be lingering around, trying to listen through the door… A brief moment passed until his feet could be heard stomping off.

“He was upset about the commotion you caused.” Bjorge said matter of factly. “I told him that I gave you alcohol to dull your pain and that you got drunk. Next time I won’t lie to protect you.”

“I’m sorry to cause you a headache…” Druknet paused before speaking firmly again. “...But I know what I saw out there.”

Bjorge put his hand over his forehead. “I hope for your sake that me sticking my neck out for you isn’t a mistake.” He sighed. “If you really are that sure though, I’ll go with you in the morning to investigate that area. Hopefully then we can put this all to rest.”

Druknet nodded gratefully. “I really appreciate all you’ve done for me. I’ll repay your kindness one day.”

“Maybe you can start by cleaning the blood that you tracked across my floor…” Bjorge responded dryly. “...After I patch your legs again.”

Only then did Druknet notice the blood still dripping from his bandages. When he removed them, his wounds both itched and burned. Bjorge cleaned them out with alcohol-soaked clothes. Druknet clenched his jaw against the sting. The strong scent of alcohol filled the room as Bjorge worked.

After he was finally patched back up, Druknet mopped up the blood the best he could from the floor. Scrubbing as hard as he could, the dark stains smeared across the wood before finally fading. Even after though, a metallic smell still lingered in the room.

Eventually he returned to bed, but was unable to fall back asleep. He stared at the ceiling, the pocket watch resting in his palm.

I know what I saw.

He closed his eyes, trying to force any sort of memory to come back to his foggy mind. As hard as he tried, the only sense of familiarity he felt was toward the watch in his hand.

He flipped open its cover, running his fingers over the inscription on it, inspecting it under the dim light of the fire.

‘…am...’

‘…se...’

He closed his fingers around the watch. It still had the same peculiar warmth as it did when he found it.

For the first time since washing up on the frozen shores of this backwater village, Druknet wondered if remembering who he was might be more dangerous than forgetting…