Return to Bjorge’s

The storm began to calm, as Druknet approached the crutch sticking out of the ground with caution. It sat loosely buried in the dirt, swaying slightly in the wind.

Reluctantly, he reached out and placed his hand around it. The moment he pulled it free, something felt off… The wood was rougher and more splintered than before.

His brow furrowed as he brought it closer to his face… Immediately his stomach dropped. Jagged engravings of the word ‘kom tilbake’ covered every inch of the crutch’s surface. The words overlapped over each other. Some cuts were so deep they split the grain. Splinters jutted outward like broken teeth. It looked less like carving… and more like something had been scratching at it.

Druknet’s grip trembled. “I didn’t do anything!” He shouted with a hoarse voice.

He hurled the crutch away in desperation. It hit the ground with a dull thud.

His bones ached without it, but he forced himself upright. He preferred gritting through the soreness in his legs to holding onto that thing any longer.

The wind began to die down to a low howl. The village remained silent… almost too silent.

Druknet glanced around with a combination of caution and paranoia before making his way back through the path between the houses. He kept close to the shadows as he moved. It would be morning soon, not that that meant much in the endless darkness, but the villagers would start to wake.

He couldn’t be seen out here, not after everything.

When he reached Bjorge’s door, he stopped. His hand hovered over the handle, as the cold bit at his fingers.

Can I go back?

The thought lingered in his mind…

He drugged him, lied to him, and used him… And now he was just going to walk back inside like nothing happened?

He tightened his jaw.

I had no choice… The draugen would have gotten me.

Cold water dripped from the collar of his soaked jacket, sliding down his neck. His teeth chattered, as his entire body shivered uncontrollably.

He wouldn’t last out here much longer like this.

He’s probably still out…

That thought settled it. If he was going to escape this forsaken village, he would need supplies.

Slowly, he turned the handle. The door creaked open and he slipped inside, quietly locking the door behind him.

The house was dim. The fire burned low, leaving the room bathed in a faint orange glow. Distorted shadows stretched across the walls. The silence felt eerie.

Bjorge’s silhouette still sat slumped over the table in the center of the room, exactly where Druknet had left him.

“Are you awake?” Druknet whispered.

There was no response.

He waited a few moments longer… still nothing.

Slowly, he removed his soaked jacket, setting it aside. His hands trembled as he moved toward the dresser. He rummaged through it until he found dry clothes. The fabric felt warm over his cold skin, as he quickly changed into them.

Every few seconds, he glanced back. Bjorge hadn’t moved, not even slightly. Something was off. Even unconscious , he should have occasionally shifted or breathed.

Druknet swallowed. “Bjorge?”

Still nothing.

A faint metallic smell drifted through the air.

Iron? Druknet thought to himself.

His stomach twisted, as he slowly stepped closer. Each step felt heavier than the last.

“Bjorge?” He repeated.

He took another step… His foot landed in something wet. He froze instantly. A dark liquid was pooled beneath his feet.

His pulse began to race. The smell intensified and the silence in the room grew deeper.

“B-bjorge… wake up…” He desperately whispered.

His chest tightened, as his eyes caught sight of it… A kitchen knife… A kitchen knife buried deep into Bjorge’s back. The handle protruded out at an unnatural angle.

“N-no…” Druknet staggered backward.

His hand shook as he reached forward, pressing two fingers against Bjorge’s neck. He was cold and had no pulse… Bjorge was dead.

Druknet stood in shock. The room suddenly felt claustrophobic.

“I-I didn’t...” His voice broke. A sense of guilt washed over him.

If he hadn’t drugged him and left, Bjorge would probably still be alive.

His eyes suddenly darted around the room. The tarp on the window appeared to be untouched, but that was meaningless, since he had left the door unlocked.

Who could have done this?

A sudden pounding slammed against the door. Druknet jumped.

“Jeg må se deg, Bjørge.” Agdar’s voice shouted from the other side.

Druknet didn’t move nor did he breathe.

The door rattled, as Agdar hit it more aggressively. “Åpne opp!”

Druknet’s heart pounded in his chest. He was trapped alone with a corpse.

“I’m sorry...” He whispered to Bjorge's body.

With his hands still trembling, he reached into Bjorge’s shirt pocket and pulled out a small box of matches. He hesitated, then grabbed the kerosene lantern from the mantle.

“Åpne opp nå!” Agdar rattled the handle violently, as he began to kick at the base of the door.

The door wouldn’t hold much longer, as the frame began to splinter around the hinges.

Druknet turned and stumbled toward the window. His hands frantically worked to tear loose the tarp that was pinned to the windowframe.

Cold air rushed in. For a brief moment he paused, looking back at Bjorge’s lifeless body.

“You didn’t deserve this.” Druknet muttered. “Thanks for everything…” He quietly added before slipping through the opening.

Behind him was a crash as the door gave way.

“Bjor-.” There was a pause, then Agdar let out a scream. “Utenforstående!”

Druknet didn’t wait and he didn’t look back. He turned from Bjorge’s house and forced his legs to move.

Pain shot through him with every step, but he pushed forward, limping into the darkness beyond the village.

Behind him voices erupted. There were shouts of anger and confusion. Then in the distance, he thought he heard something else…

Come back.

Druknet clenched his jaw. “No.” He muttered.

He didn’t stop moving because ahead of him there was nothing… only a cold dark void waiting for him…