Estimated reading time — 32 minutes

1 – A Mouth to Feed

December 1865 – Vettheim, Finnmark, Norway

The frigid winter wind howled ferociously, driving the relentless blizzard hard against the rough wooden walls of the small house. In places, the turf of the roof had been torn away by the savage weather, exposing the birch bark beneath, birch bark which thrashed and rattled wildly. The old deer hide that covered the window billowed inwards, straining against its crude fastenings and providing little in the way of protection to the inhabitants of that small dwelling.

Inside, a young mother sat huddled on the cold dirt floor. Her back resting against one corner of the house’s single room. Her knees hitched up, shivers rippling through her small, thin frame. An old, threadbare blanket was wrapped tightly around her, but it did little to protect her from the bitter draft that found its way in from outside. In her arms was a small infant, held tightly to her breast.

Wood smoke from the small fire burning in the crude fire pit in the middle of the room hung thickly in the air. Its smell, sharp and acrid, coated the throat and stung the eyes. Shadows danced along the walls as the flames flickered. Not only did the fire provide meagre warmth, but it was also the only source of light in that hovel. The old oil lamp hanging from the wall was dark. The oil had long since run dry, and there was no money to purchase more. The family’s small stock of candles was valuable, saved only for those times when they were really needed.

“I know, Helga, this isn’t easy for me either, but we’ve spoken about it and there’s no other choice.” A man sat opposite Helga, his blue-eyed gaze focused on her intently as he rubbed his hands together over the small fire in a futile attempt to warm himself.

“I can’t do it, Bjorn! We can’t do it! It’s not right! She’s our only daughter!” Helga’s tear-reddened eyes met her young husband’s. Another shiver wracked her body as she spoke, her voice small and quivering. Unconsciously, her hand tugged at the woollen kerchief she wore on her head.

“What choice do we have, my love? It’s not even midwinter, and already we have barely got enough food to feed ourselves. You’ve stopped producing milk. She’s going to starve anyway, that’s if the cold of this winter doesn’t claim her first.” Bjorn spread his arms wide as he pleaded with his wife.

He knew that it was the only way. They would struggle to get through the winter with just the two of them. What hope did they have if there was another mouth to feed? Up and down the valley, families were starving and freezing to death. The summer harvest had been poor, and this winter was the coldest that anyone could remember.

“I can’t do it! I won’t let you do it!” Helga’s shoulders quivered as tears overflowed from her eyes and streamed down her cheeks. “I can’t lose my beautiful little Kirsten, not yet! Not like this!”

Bjorn’s heart felt heavy as a tear trickled down his own cheek. He looked deeply into his wife’s face, a face that was once so beautiful, vibrant and full of life, but now looked pallid, her eyes sunken into their sockets, her cheeks hollow through hunger and worry. He felt a tremor inside himself as his resolve began to soften. No, he had to be strong, there was no other way. Losing Kirsten would shatter his heart, but losing his wife as well was a thought that he just couldn’t bear.

“I’ll take her to the far bank of the lake. While we suffer and freeze down here, she’ll be in the paradise of Heaven. She’ll play at Jesus’ feet with all the other poor innocent souls that have been lost already this year, those beautiful children of the sky.” a lump formed in Bjorn’s throat as he choked on his own words.
“We haven’t even had the chance to baptise her yet, Bjorn. She’ll never ascend to that sacred place,” Helga’s voice came small and weak, her body shuddering under that old blanket.

“God is merciful, my love. He understands our plight. He’ll take in our precious, innocent girl,” Bjorn steeled himself as he spoke, pushing down the doubts that he himself felt in his own mind.

A sickening, guttural wail tore from the throat of the young mother, her body convulsing, tremoring uncontrollably with every desperate sob that burst forth. Inside of her, a battle raged. Deep down, she knew that what Bjorn said was the truth. Every day they would pick through what meagre provisions they had left. Every day, the hollow gnawing of hunger ravaged her insides. Already her body was beginning to fail her. Her breasts had dried up, and without milk she had no way to nourish her baby. Just as her body had failed her, she, as a mother, had failed her first-born daughter.

Slowly, her dark-rimmed, bloodshot eyes raised to meet Bjorn’s gaze.

“Is there really nobody that can help us? Is this really the only way?” Helga’s voice was weak and shallow, her eyes drifting down to the baby who still desperately tried to suckle, her tiny mouth opening and closing in a futile effort to find sustenance.

As she gazed on those small, delicate features, Helga allowed her mind to drift. It wandered back to the warm summer months, to that beautiful night when, under the midnight sun, she had given birth to such a precious baby girl. She remembered the bright, smiling face of her husband when he first saw that tiny, fragile human being. Of the tears in his eyes, tears of pure joy.

“Helga?” Bjorn’s soft voice snapped her back to the present. Blinking, lost in the moment, she hadn’t seen him approach, hadn’t noticed him crouch beside her. His musky scent filled her nostrils, his eyes were fixed on hers. Wide eyes, eyes in which she could see nothing but love and sorrow.

Bjorn stretched his arms out towards her and with a slow and reluctant movement, Helga peeled her helpless daughter from her body and gently placed Kirsten in her father’s arms.

2 – The Barmaid’s Welcome

August 2025 – Vettheim, Finnmark, Norway

The sun shone in brightly through the window of the bus as it trundled along the narrow road. It had been seven hours since we had first boarded that bus back in Tromsø, and the last signs of civilisation, save for the occasional tiny cluster of houses, lay over an hour behind us. We were now heading deeper into the untamed Norwegian wilderness.

I glanced over at my two children. Tom and Sarah, they were eight years old, twins. I watched them for a moment as they both giggled and laughed, crowding around their tablet, their eyes fixed intently on the flickering screen.

Beside me sat my husband, Paul. His head was thrown back, mouth open and snoring loudly. Such an attractive look, I thought to myself sarcastically.

My eyes returned to the window, watching the landscape as it slowly drifted past. The sky was a brilliant blue. The sun, high in the sky shone down brightly. Forests of emerald green birch trees stretched out on either side of the road. Occasionally the trees would thin out, revealing shining lakes and the low, rugged hills beyond.

Eventually, the trees opened out as we entered the village of Vettheim. In reality, it was little more than a hamlet. A single road ran through the village, with no more than a couple of dozen houses on either side. Their wooden walls were painted a deep red, a red that contrasted sharply with the bright white of the window frames. The roofs were steeply pitched, covered in a grey slate.

The air brakes gave a slow, drawn-out hiss as the bus came to a stop.

Sharply, I elbowed Paul in the side, waking him from his slumber with a mutter and a moan. Then I quickly gathered up the twins’ tablet, books and other toys and bundled them into my bag. We stood and made our way towards the front of the bus. The other seats were largely empty except for an old man, who glanced up at us as we passed.

Stepping off the bus, the sun felt warm on my skin. A soft breeze brushed against the light jacket that I was wearing.

Rising up in front of me stood a large, wooden built church. It was made from the same weatherboarding as the rest of the houses in Vettheim except that it was painted white rather than red. The windows were tall and arching, glazed in clear glass and the dark tiled roof sloped steeply around a low, squat tower. The sign in front of the church read, St. Lucias Kirke.

With a loud grunt and making far more of a meal out of it than was strictly necessary, Paul tugged on the handle of bus’s luggage hold, swinging it upwards. Reaching in, he pulled out my all black rucksack and thrust it towards me. He was ever the gracious one.

Swinging it over my shoulder, I watched as he retrieved his own khaki camouflage pack before stepping back and pulling the hold door closed.

We watched as the bus trundled off down the road before gathering around each other for a quick selfie to mark the start of our adventure.

Across the road, facing the church, stood a small inn. It was wider than the houses of the village, although built from the same red painted panelling and with the same steep slate roof. Above the door hung a dark green sign. Written in bright gold writing were the words, ‘Skogkanten Kro’.

Crossing the road and climbing the three or four steps towards the door. I gripped the brass door handle, gave it a twist, pushed the door open and stepped inside. My family followed closely behind me.

We had decided to spend the first night of our visit here at the inn, one last piece of comfort before heading into the wilds for a few days of walking and camping.

The door led straight into the large open space of the bar. The room was bright. Two large windows flanked the door, allowing the sunlight to flood in and appeared to make the pale timber walls shine. The floor was laid with dark stained floorboards, and numerous tables and chairs were arranged at regular intervals. Directly opposite me, a bar ran half the length of the wall.

The place was surprisingly quiet. The only sound came from a brightly lit jukebox in the corner. Rising up from it were the soft sounds of a Norwegian folk tune, a tune that I didn’t recognise. The only other people in the bar were a blonde-haired barmaid of around thirty and an old man sitting on a stool, hunched over a glass of beer.

“Hei!” the barmaid called out to us in a cheerful voice.

Walking over to the bar, our hiking boots thumped out a heavy beat, which seemed to echo in the quiet room.

“Hi, we’ve got a room booked for the night. It should be under the name Thompson?” Paul spoke. He didn’t even make any attempt to speak the language! Sometimes I wonder why I bother buying all those phrasebooks when we go away.

“Yes, I’ve got you here. I’ve put you in room two. Just through the door and on the right. You’re English? That’s quite a journey. So, what are you getting up to, all the way out here?”

“We’re going to walk up to the lake, camp for a few nights there and do a bit of hiking around the area.” I spoke quickly before Paul had the chance to. I didn’t like that doe eyed look that he was giving her. I would have words with him later about that.

Suddenly, I felt a firm grip seize my arm. My eyes snapped towards the old man. I hadn’t seen him move since we’d arrived, but now he pinned me with a cold and surprisingly firm grip and an intense blue-eyed stare.

“You’re going up to Sorgvannet?” his voice came crisp and sharp.

I had forgotten the name of the lake, but yes, that was it, Sorgvannet.

I nodded.

“The Waters of Sorrow they call that place, it’s the unholy resting place of the Children of the Sky…” The old man continued.

“Oh, come on, Jakob! Don’t go scaring these nice people with your old folktales.” The barmaid interrupted with a tone that sounded bored. I guessed that this wasn’t the first time she’d had to reprimand Jakob.
“It’s no folktale, girl!” He responded sharply. “You watch yourselves up there. A Myling haunts the banks of that lake. The tormented spirit of a poor child denied the rites of a proper Christian burial and cursed to wander for eternity. Existing as neither part of this world nor the next.”

“Ok, that’s enough from you now. You’ll give the children nightmares.” The barmaid’s eyes flicked from old Jakob’s to mine. A kind smile spread across her face as she held out to me a small brass key. “I can either get you all a drink now or if you prefer, you’re welcome to go straight to your room and relax. I’ll be serving dinner between five and seven. It’ll be reindeer stew if that sounds good to you?”

Jakob finally released his hold on me, muttering words that were barely intelligible in his thick accent. “I’ll be seeing you all at church in the morning?”

I nodded my head, more out of politeness than anything else. We weren’t much of a church going family, I couldn’t remember the last time I’d stepped into one. We hadn’t even bothered to get the twins christened.

3 – Trek to Sorgvannet

I gave Solveig, the inn’s barmaid, a final wave of farewell before opening the door to the bright morning sun. The twins ran out into the street laughing. Paul hesitated, his eyes lingering on Solveig momentarily. A sharp elbow in the ribs would deal with that.

His head snapped around to look at me, eyes wide in feigned innocence.

“Hey Jane? What was that for?” He said in a voice almost as ridiculous as the look on his face.
“You know very well what that was for.” I nodded my head sharply towards the door, gesturing for him to move. Muttering something under his breath, he obeyed.

He’d been fawning over that poor girl all last night, during dinner and again at breakfast this morning. Did he really think she’d be interested in him? No such luck, I was stuck with him.

Stepping outside, another bright sunny day shone down on us. Maybe not as warm as the previous day, but still perfectly comfortable. The sky was blue with the odd, fluffy white cloud floating motionless.

The bells of the church opposite rang out loudly, a deep and resonant clang echoing off the wooden houses of the village. I stopped for a second to watch as a number of the locals walked hurriedly towards the large, arched doors. Among them, wearing a long dark coat and bent over a walking stick, was an old man.

“Hey, Jane! Look over there! It’s your mate, that crazy from the pub yesterday. What was his name, Jacob or something?” Paul looked at me laughing, it was a laugh that could really grate on your nerves.

“Jakob!” Was it really that difficult to pronounce the man’s name correctly?! The poor old boy was probably just a bit lonely.

“Looks like he’s going to church. Didn’t you say you’d join him? He’s probably going to save a pew for you next to him.” He laughed again, amusing himself with his own joke.

“Oh, will you behave yourself!” I chided him while digging the GPS device from my coat pocket. “We’ve got nine miles until we get to Sorgvannet. I want to get there at a reasonable time, and I don’t need you blathering on the entire way.”

Powering the small black device on, the screen lit up. We had already planned and programmed the route last night. There was a river just a couple of miles to the north, through the forest. After that, it was a nice simple case of following the river as it made its way up into the hills and eventually arriving at the Sorgvannet lake.

“He’s looking at you, Jane. See, I told you he was going to save you a pew.” Paul laughed again.

Glancing up, I looked towards the church. Jakob was standing there, his eyes fixed firmly on us.

“I reckon he’s got the hots for you.”

“Oh, will you just be quiet!” I was coming close to giving him a slap. “Come on, we need to get going. Tom, Sarah, come on, we’re going this way.”

The twins looked up from where they had been crouched, poking at something in the grass.

“Race you to Mummy!” Sarah shouted the challenge at her brother before jumping up and charging towards me. Her pink jacket, unzipped, streamed out behind her as she ran, her ponytail bobbing.

“You didn’t say go! That’s not fair!” Tom complained before jumping to his feet and giving chase. His little face was bright red and legs pumping as he tried to catch his sister.

It was Sarah who got to me first, barrelling into my leg moments before Tom came clattering into me at full steam. They were getting too big for this. One of these days they were going to send me flying.

“Beat you!” Sarah said, mockingly. Tom responded by sticking his tongue out at her.

“Don’t you two start. We’re going this way.” Laughing, I hitched my pack higher onto my back, put a hand on a shoulder of each twin and began walking down the street through Vettheim, with Paul following close behind us.

According to the GPS, there should be a path just past the last house.

The path was easy enough to find. It was just a small, narrow track leading into the green expanse of the birch trees.

The air under the trees was cooler, the bright sunlight filtered in through the leaves overhead. The ground was soft underfoot, with an earthy scent hanging in the air. The children ran ahead, excitedly pointing out the birds high in the trees or red squirrels that darted amongst the branches. Occasionally they’d come running back to tell me about a reindeer or even a wolf that they were convinced they had seen.

The ground was good, and we made steady progress. We had been going for probably just under an hour before we first heard the gurgling babble of the river ahead. The river was shallow and no more than a couple of metres wide. The water ran quickly, bubbling and rippling over the stony bed.

We stopped there for a bite to eat before pressing on, following the river north-west. Nine miles until destination according to the display on my GPS.

As the day wore on, the path began to climb. It wasn’t a steep climb, but it was just enough to cause a hot burn in the calves. The trees began to thin out, the ground grew harder and rocky until eventually the last of the trees were behind us and we found ourselves surrounded by rocky scrub land. The sun was still warm, but the breeze now had a noticeable bite to it.

Our chatter had stopped, the sound replaced by the steady huffing of breath and the rhythmic crunch of our walking boots. The twins had slowed down, instead of racing off in front of us, they were now lagging a few metres behind.

Just under a mile until Sorgvannet, according to the GPS.

“Not long now, less than a mile to go.” I called back to the twins. The only response from them were a couple of grunts and moans.

We walked for just over another twenty minutes before cresting the top of one last rocky ridge. Then, suddenly, the landscape opened out before us. My mouth opened in awe, my breath escaping in a soft sigh.
Sorgvannet.

The lake stretched out before us, its calm, pale blue waters shimmering in the afternoon sun.
“Wow!” I heard Tom gasp. His sister standing quietly by his side, her gaze fixed on the mesmerising expanse.

“Now, isn’t that something?” Paul looked at me, a wide smile on his face.

“It’s beautiful!” I replied with a voice that was full of wonder.

We stood there for a few minutes, frozen to the spot. Marvelling at the natural beauty that surrounded us.
Out of nowhere, Paul broke the spell. “Right, let’s get this tent set up!”

Dropping the pack from his shoulders, he unclipped the tent bag that was strapped to it. The children ran over, eager to help him unroll it onto the flat, stony ground.

I watched them as they fed the black poles through the eyes in the canvas and snapped them into place, the tent springing into shape.

I guess he did have some uses, after all.

It was then that I heard it, a muffled, high-pitched sound drifting on the wind. My breath hitched in my throat.

“Did you hear that?” I muttered the question more to myself than to anyone else.

“Hear what?” Paul looked up, taking his attention off the tent for a moment.

“I don’t know, it almost sounded like a small child crying.” I looked Paul directly in the eyes.

“You’re hearing things, woman. There’s nobody for miles. It’s probably just the wind,” Paul replied dismissively.

He was probably right. It couldn’t be a child, not all the way out here. Although there was something about that noise, something that caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.

4 – A New Friend

The morning sunlight poured in through the thin blue fabric of the tent, casting everything inside in an azure hue. My eyes flickered open.

The children were already up. I could hear them laughing and playing outside.

It would have been such a lovely, peaceful scene, if it hadn’t been for the deep, rumbling snore rising from the warm lump that lay motionless next to me. Paul was still dead to the world.

Slipping out of my sleeping bag, the slight chill of the morning air raised goosebumps on my skin.

Unzipping the door to our sleeping compartment, the canvas wet with morning dew, I made my way into the main area of the tent. The main flaps were wide open, rippling softly in the light, cool breeze.

Rummaging through my bag, I pulled out a pale pink fleece top and blue walking trousers. Once dressed, it was time to get breakfast ready for my adventurous crew.

The morning view outside was something spectacular. The lake shimmered in the early morning sunlight, and the sky shone in a beautiful light blue, streaked with light, feathered mare’s tails. I couldn’t see the twins, but I could hear their delightful giggles drifting up from behind a cluster of gnarled and tangled old bushes.

Smiling, I clicked the black switch on the front of our little camping stove, igniting the gas underneath the small frying pan. Peeling a few rashers of bacon from the cool bag we’d left outside last night, I dropped them in with a sizzle. Glancing back at the open tent, if the smell of cooking breakfast didn’t raise my husband from the dead then nothing would.

“Hey, love!” A few minutes later, I felt Paul’s arms wrap around my shoulders and a soft kiss planted on my neck. “That’s smelling good!”

Glancing up at him, his dark hair was a tangled mess, morning stubble roughened his chin. He could have at least attempted to look presentable.

“Where are the kids?” His eyes scanned the banks of the lake.

“Over there, playing.” I nodded towards the stunted thicket where I had last heard them.

A smile crossed his face as he sat down on the hard, stony ground beside me, eyes staring out over the lake.

“Mummy, mummy!” My head turned as I heard Sarah’s voice calling to me. Still wearing their pyjamas, the twins came running towards me. Their faces were bright, big smiles stretched from ear to ear as they bounded over.

“Mummy, can our new friend come and have breakfast with us?” Tom asked, his voice quivering with excitement.

“What new friend?”

“We just met her over there, Mummy. Just behind those bushes…” Sarah’s words tumbled out hurriedly.

“Her name’s Kirsten! Her clothes are a bit funny but she’s really nice!” Tom butted in, speaking over the top of his sister.

My eyes scanned the banks of the lake, skimmed over the rough, rocky landscape. There couldn’t be anyone else out here, could there? I hadn’t seen or heard anyone, well other than perhaps that child’s cry last night.

My body shuddered, a cold chill seemed to pass right through me. It vanished almost as quickly as it had come, so quickly in fact that I wondered if I had imagined it.

“I don’t think so, guys.” Paul’s voice interjected, “She should probably be getting back to her mummy and daddy, they’ll be wondering where she is.”

“Oh, but…” Sarah’s face melted as she began to argue.

“No buts, sweetheart. You two can play with her again later, but now she needs to go back to her family before they start to worry about her.”

Heads down, the pair trudged off, back towards the bushes.

Another shiver coursed through my body, a sudden draught rising up from the deep waters of the lake.
“There’s no one else out here, is there? Have you seen anyone?” I glanced up at Paul. I couldn’t tell you what it was, but something just felt off… wrong.

“Of course there isn’t! Don’t you remember the last time we went camping? When they made friends with the boy from Mars, that one who let them have a ride in his spaceship?” Paul chuckled to himself.
I guess he was probably right, but something about all this niggled in the back of my mind.

Once we’d finished breakfast, Paul and the kids went back into the tent to get dressed. I quickly washed the frying pan and then pulled out the GPS to plan today’s route. A leisurely walk around the lake seemed like a good way to spend our first real day out here. It shouldn’t take more than a few hours, that’d give us the rest of the afternoon to relax by the lake.

What was going on in that tent? There was a lot of giggling, but I bet not very much getting dressed happening. Peeking in through the open flap, I could see the twins rolling around on the floor, half naked. Oh, and what a surprise, Paul was in the middle of it all too. He was worse than they were!

“Paul, will you leave them alone so they can get dressed!”

“Yes, Mummy!” Paul replied sarcastically, an irritating grin plastered across his face.

Eventually, my little clan managed to get themselves ready, and we set out. It was a pleasant day, the sun was hazy but warm. The light breeze rippling the lake carried a slight but not uncomfortable coolness.
We made good progress. The path around the lake was flat, and although rocky and worn, it was smooth and made for easy walking. The landscape was unchanging. The same desolate scrubland seemed to stretch on for miles, rising into the rugged hills.

It was around 11am when we reached the far side of the lake.

“Right, time to stop for a quick something to eat, I think.” Paul announced loudly.

The sun passed behind a heavy cloud, the water of the lake turned from a bright azure to a leaden black. I pulled my jacket around myself closely.

The rest of the family didn’t seem to notice. The twins crowded around Paul as he dug around in his daypack, hunting for the chocolate bars and bottles of squash that I’d packed for them before leaving the camp.

After a few minutes of sitting on a large rock by the water, the children had finished their snacks and were starting to get fidgety. Constantly glancing around behind them.

“Mummy, can we go and play with Kirsten now?” Tom asked me, his eyes wide and hopeful.

“Kirsten?” I repeated the name of their imaginary friend.

“Yes Mummy, she’s behind those bushes over there. She just called our names, didn’t you hear her?” Sarah’s eyes were as equally wide as her brother’s.

Had I heard anything? Perhaps there had been something, but no, surely it had just been the wind. There’s no way that another child could have followed us out this far.
Another shiver wracked my body.

“You guys go and play!” Paul piped up, his voice light and relaxed. “Just make sure that you let us know before you go off, flying in her spaceship!” A deep chuckle followed those last words.

Sarah’s eye narrowed as she looked at her father. “Don’t be so silly, Daddy! She hasn’t got a spaceship.” Satisfied with her retort, she gave a curt nod, jumped to the ground and charged off towards the bushes. Her brother followed, hot on her heels.

“I wonder where she gets her attitude from?” Paul muttered softly, giving me a slightly sideways glance.

That deserved another elbow in the ribs.

5 – In The Bushes

This wasn’t forecast, I thought to myself as I looked up at the thick black clouds that were rolling in overhead. The temperature had dropped considerably, a bitter breeze had risen up, blowing in from across the dark waters of the lake.

I tugged my fleece tightly around myself as I pulled my phone from my pocket to check the weather. No signal, just typical!

“I don’t like the look of this weather, we should probably get moving.” My eyes were fixed on the clouds.
“Oh, relax! What’s the worst that’s going to happen, a little bit of rain?” Paul said dismissively, his eyes gazing out on the water.

A knot twisted in my stomach, a tingle of unease stirring deep inside me. Something didn’t feel right. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly what it was, but something was wrong. It wasn’t just the weather, it was something else. It was too silent. There was no birdsong, no rustle of the bushes. Even the twins were quiet.

The twins!

“Paul, where are the children?” My words snapped out, my eyes darted from left to right. I couldn’t hear them.

“They were playing over in those bushes the last time I saw them.” Paul nodded his head towards a low, tangled thicket.

My head snapped around, eyes searching, ears straining for any sign of Tom or Sarah. There was nothing. A cold fist gripped my heart.

“What’s up with you?” Paul spoke, his brows drawn down into a low frown.

“I don’t like this, Paul. Something isn’t right.” I spoke before calling out, “Tom! Sarah!”

“Jane, calm down! They ran over there just a couple of minutes ago, they couldn’t have gone far. Knowing them, they’re probably hiding somewhere, waiting to jump out on us.”

Pushing myself up from the ground, I stood, eyes fixed on the bushes. My heart was beating frantically against my ribs.

“Tom! Sarah! Come on, answer me now!” The words tore from my throat.

“Come on kids, your mum’s getting worried now.” Paul’s deep voice rose over mine.

Did he still think that this was all a game?! I started forward, running towards the bushes, screaming the children’s names as I went. The cold from earlier had returned, it seemed to be gnawing deeply into me.

“Hang on, love!” I heard Paul call out from behind me as he scrambled to his feet.

The first icy drops of rain landed on my face as I charged forward. Every instinct inside me screamed at me, shouted out that there was something very wrong. I could hear Paul behind me, shouting at me to stop. He still thought that the twins were playing a game. I was their mother! I knew that something wasn’t right.

The thorns and branches tore at my trousers, snagged and pulled my fleece top, scratched my cheeks. The bushes themselves seemed to be trying to hold me back, but I wouldn’t stop. I fought my way through as blood trickled down my face and hands.

Eventually, after what felt like an endless battle, I burst through the tangled wall. I stumbled forward, falling to my knees. My hands landed in front of me, squelching in something warm, wet and sticky.
My stomach twisted violently inside my belly. Bile rose into my mouth as my eyes registered the scene before me. Vomit splattered on the ground beside me while I coughed and choked on the burning, acidic sensation in my throat. A raw, chilling scream tore from my breast.

“Oh, Christ!” Paul’s voice choked from somewhere behind me.

The stench! A sickly sweet, metallic twang hung heavily in the air. Where my hands had landed, a thick, viscous substance oozed up between my fingers. It stained my hands and splattered my jacket with a deep crimson red.

Blood!

My stomach twisted again, emptying its contents once more onto the ground beside me. I could hear Paul retching behind me.

The ground was covered, thick and glistening, dark and red.

In the middle of the thicket lay a twitching mass of red meat. A beast. Its skin torn from the body, leaving nothing but a bleeding, mutilated lump of flesh, exposed muscle, veins and tendons. Its belly had been slashed open, its entrails scattered across the ground haphazardly. A steady, rhythmic pulse of blood splurted from its lacerated limbs.

Its one remaining eye fixed on me, there was nothing but terror and agony in its glazed stare. The other eye was little more than a mangled, bloodied socket. It was alive, but barely, its legs twitching pathetically as the last remaining moments of the poor creature’s life bled out before me.

Springing to my feet, I turned on Paul. Fists clenched tightly, nails bit into my palms. I pounded on his chest, thumping him with everything that I had, leaving blood red prints on his white sweater. I had known something wasn’t right, but he had refused to believe.

“Why didn’t you listen! I told you something was wrong! Why didn’t you keep a closer eye on them?” I spat the words at him, our faces just inches apart.

“Jane, it’s a deer. It was probably attacked by wolves or something.”

“Wolves?! There are no wolves around here, you idiot!” I shoved my husband away from me, my eyes darting wildly from left to right. “Sarah! Tom!”

The rain was starting to come down heavier now. An ominous peel of thunder rolled overhead.

Something caught my eye, a glint of something shining in the blood-soaked dirt. I bent down, my fingers closing around a small plastic hair clip. The galloping unicorn, once brilliant pink, was now stained a dull brown red.

“Sarah!”

There was no reply. Paul’s voice now added to my desperate calls, an urgency, a panic had finally set into his tone.

Suddenly, a voice rose above our panicked cries. A girl’s voice.

“Sarah?” I called out my daughter’s name again.

“Jane!” Paul gestured towards the edge of the thicket.

Standing with her back to us was a young girl, probably around the same age as the twins. Blonde hair, knotted and unkempt, fell to her waist. She wore a dark woollen dress. Softly she sang a haunting lullaby. The tune seemed vaguely familiar, but the words in Norwegian, I couldn’t understand.

“Kirsten? Are you Kirsten?” Paul spoke in a low, slow voice.

My body shook. I didn’t feel the rain that was now hammering down on us. Inside I was seething with raw emotion, somewhere between panic and rage, it seared my insides, twisted my gut.

“Where’s Tom and Sarah? What have you done with them?” How could Paul sound so calm when my words came out as a screech?

“You’re a good mummy, but they’re going to be playing with me now.” The girl’s voice scraped and rasped as she spoke. No longer the sweet voice of a young girl. It was the voice of something else, something ancient.

6 – The Valley of Horrors

Paralysis gripped me, freezing me to the spot. The world around me seemed to slow, each second dragging on for longer than the previous.

I watched as the young girl ran into the bushes, seemingly melting into the tangle of branches. I watched as Paul let out a deep cry before charging in after her. I watched as the raindrops, heavy and fat, splashed around my feet. The water mingling with the blood and dirt, pooling into puddles of murky, rust red. I watched as the stricken deer looked at me one last time, as its body gave one final twitch before the last flicker of life vanished from its eye.

My mind was a jumble of thoughts and emotions, each one tripping and tumbling over the next as they spiralled in my head. The horror of the dead deer before me, the words that the girl had muttered.
I snapped myself back to the present!

“Tom! Sarah! Paul!” My vocal cords scraped raw as I screamed the names of my family.

I was desperate for any reply, desperate to catch any sign of movement that might give them away. But there was nothing, just silence and stillness. I was alone.

Why had Paul gone blundering off on his own, chasing that girl? I had to find him. With that thought, I launched forward, hurtling in the direction that I had seen Paul go, diving through the bushes.

Low branches caught my ankles, tripping me. Thorns tangled in my hair as I forced my way through the thick undergrowth.

I could see nothing except for leaves and twigs. I’d lost all orientation. I had no idea where I was headed. All that I knew was that I needed to find my children and my husband.

Suddenly, the ground beneath my feet seemed to give way. A steep slope dropped away from under me. My boots skidded and slid on the loose scree. I tumbled, sharp rocks scraped my legs and arms. The world spun around me as I tried to grab anything to slow my descent. Thorns tore my hands as I grabbed at branches, which just slipped through my grasp, raking into my flesh like barbed wire.

A large boulder pounded into my chest. The air forced out of my lungs, a searing, white hot pain spread out from my sternum. I lay there on that boulder, unable to move, unable to scream, just gasping for the breath that had just been knocked so savagely out of me.

Eventually, as my breath slowed and returned to normal, I pushed myself up. My trousers were torn, I could feel the warm, tacky trickle of blood running down my leg.

Looking around, I could see that I had fallen into a valley. Steep, birch covered hill slopes rose high above me on either side. There was a faint gurgling of an unseen stream coming from a thicket of trees.

Paul, I needed to find Paul!

Pulling my phone from my pocket, I pressed the little button on the side. The glass was smashed. Random colours danced meaninglessly across the screen. I must have broken it on my fall. A desperate scream rose from deep within my core. As it burst from my mouth, I hurled the useless device at a nearby tree.

A guttural cry split the air. A scream coming from close by, from within the trees to the left of me. It was a man’s cry.

“Paul!” I shouted my husband’s name.

I leapt to my feet, searing pain stabbed instantly through my thigh the moment I hit the ground. My leg threatened to give way, but through clenched teeth I pushed the pain down. My family were in trouble, they needed me.

Screaming Paul’s name again, I dashed forwards, into the trees, in the direction of the cries I had just heard. My leg howled at me in protest, every step brought a sickening jolt of agony. My walking trousers were sticky with my own blood, but I knew I had to push on.

Movement in the trees, a manic rustle of the leaves before the branches parted and a lumbering figure came stumbling and staggering towards me. One arm swung lifelessly at its side, the other was little more than a torn, red stump, a mangled mass of flesh, bone and sinew that poked from the torn off sleeve of its sweater. A sweater that had once been white wool but now was stained a deep claret.

From a face that was covered in mud and smeared in blood, Paul’s eyes fixed on me.

“Jane, go!” His voice came, taut and raw.

“Paul! What’s happened?” Running forward, I threw my arm around his waist. His sweater was wet and warm, coating me in dark, cloying gore.

My breath caught in my throat, my ears pricking at the sound of a twig snapping in the undergrowth behind us. Then came a soft sound, the sound of a young girl, laughing.

“Go, Jane! Just go!”

Together, with me supporting his weight, we blundered forwards. He leant on me, but his weight was too much. My foot catching on a root, I tripped. With what felt like a red-hot poker driving into my injured leg, I collapsed. Together we landed side by side on the forest floor with a heavy dull splat.

Frantically, slipping and sliding in the wet mud, I pushed myself up onto my hands and knees. My eyes instinctively finding my injured husband.

He lay there, his face white, eyes wide and dilated. His gaze, not focused on me, was fixed over my shoulder, behind me.

My head snapping around, I saw her. At the edge of the trees stood a young girl. Her head was down, staring at the ground. Her dirty blonde hair falling over her face.

“Kirsten?” I muttered her name with a voice that quivered and shook.

Her head snapped up, her eyes locking onto me. A freezing, suffocating grip seized my heart as I laid eyes on her face. It wasn’t the face of a young girl. Her sickly, pallid skin was drawn tightly against her skull. Eyes of pure white stared back at me. There was no life behind those eyes. Her lips pulled back, letting out a sharp and menacing hiss. With unnatural speed, she lunged forward like a viper striking out at its prey.
She leaped onto Paul’s chest, her teeth tearing at his throat, ripping and shredding. I felt the warm splatter of his blood on my cheek. Screaming uncontrollably, I scrambled backwards until my back struck a large, solid tree.

I watched helplessly as she slashed at his chest with her nails, lacerating his body, cleaving him open, spilling bloody coils onto the surrounding ground.

His gurgling, bubbling cries had gone silent. His eyes now stared lifelessly forward.

Frozen in terror as I was, Kirsten slowly looked up at me. With those undead eyes meeting mine, her mouth widened into a horrific grin. Her teeth sharp, red and jagged, glistened.

“Hello, Mummy.” Her voice rasped from her throat.

7 – The Burden of Torment

Sitting astride the red, glistening, mutilated remains that had once been my husband, she looked at me. Her white, clouded eyes, unblinking, locked onto mine. Her mouth drew wide into a cold grin. Her sickly pale face was red, wet with my Paul’s blood. It ran down from her mouth, forming droplets, which fell, one by one, from her chin.

My lungs burned. Breathlessly, I scrambled backwards. I stumbled to my feet. Turning, I barrelled into the trees. Fled from the undead abomination that had stalked us, running away from the scene of my brutalised husband. I didn’t even let myself begin to think about the children and what might have happened to them. I forced myself to cling to the desperate hope that they were safe somewhere, that they had managed to find somewhere to hide.

The ground was uneven beneath my feet as I ran. My boots slipped on the wet rocks. Roots grabbed at my ankles. Branches whipped at my face, but still I forced myself onwards. Driven ever on by the horrific spectacle that I had just witnessed, pushed by a deep, primal instinct.

The surrounding trees became nothing more than a blur of brown and green. My breath was heavy and laboured as I plunged forward.

She was chasing me, I could hear her. Not the sound of panting or heavy breathing that I would hear when playing chase with the twins, just the rhythmic splash of footsteps behind me. The occasional snap of a twig, a low hiss or an unsettling giggle that would turn my stomach.

Left and right, I would duck and dodge, dipping under a low branch or jumping over a fallen stump. Through the trees, my lungs stinging, my injured leg burning with a deep, searing pain, but still I ran, desperate to lose my pursuer.

I dared not look back, for I knew she was still there, the rustle of her woollen dress, the muffled scuff of leaves, whispered words from behind me, getting ever closer.

Suddenly, something struck me from behind, a heavy thump into my back. It sent me lurching forward, my arms flailing out to the side. My knees threatened to give way, to pitch me headlong into the rocky ground.
Claw-like hands grabbed at my neck, dirty nails scraped at my skin. Legs wrapped around my waist, filthy, bare feet gripping me tightly. Her touch wasn’t just cold, it stung me with a deep frosty chill, a raw bitterness from beyond the grave. The repulsive stench assaulted my senses, a sickening scent, thick and putrid that filled my nostrils.

My voice shattered into a primal scream.

“You help me! You help me!” Her dry voice rattled in my ear.

“What are you? What have you done to my family?” My body trembled uncontrollably, the sound of my blood thumped in my ears as I shrieked those words.

“I am abandoned! I am forgotten!” The creature hissed as she clung tightly to my back. “The man, he wouldn’t help me. You, you will help me?” The creature’s voice hardened as it spoke the last sentence, her nails digging into my neck, piercing the skin. Her words were laced with threat.

The words of the old man from the inn rang loudly in my ears, ‘it’s the unholy resting place of the Children of the Sky’, ‘A Myling haunts the banks of that lake.’

“What do you want from me?” My voice quivered as I spoke to the Myling.

“Sleep!” Her rancid breath was cold on my cheek. “Sleep, rest in the holy ground.”

More of old Jakob’s words sprung into my mind, ‘The tormented spirit of a poor child, denied the rites of a proper Christian burial and cursed to wander for eternity. Existing as neither part of this world nor the next.’.

“A burial? You want to be buried?”

“Yes, burial. A burial in the holy ground.” Her grating voice softened momentarily as a giggle escaped her lips. The sweet sound of a young girl’s giggle, a chilling reminder of what this creature had once been. When she spoke again, her voice had returned to that guttural rasp. “Yes, and you will help me. Bury me!”
My mind raced, a manic jumble of thoughts and emotions. The rain pelted down on us, my thin fleece top clung to me. Lightning forked overhead, the loud crashes of thunder were deafening in my ears. I wanted nothing more than to throw this thing off my back, curl up under a tree and weep for my family. My insides felt torn, my body was cold and wet, yet I knew I had to do as she demanded.

“What holy land, where is this holy land?”

“Church!” Fingernails dug deeper into me as it spat that word.

Of course, a church. The church back at Vettheim. My hands dove into my pockets, madly I fished around trying to find my GPS. My pockets were empty. I must have dropped it during the fall into the valley. Desperately, I looked around. Just trees, endless birch trees rising up the steep slopes of the valley. I was disorientated. I didn’t know where I was. How was I ever going to find my way back to Vettheim?

I started walking, my injured leg shrieking out in agony with every step. My torn trousers stuck to my skin, sticky and wet with my own blood. My heart thumped against my ribs, but I pushed myself on. I didn’t know where I was going, but at the same time, I did. I felt myself being pulled along by something unseen, compelled by something that tugged at me from deep within my subconscious. I didn’t need my GPS, the Myling was my compass now.

Trees, bushes and streams passed by in a barely noticeable blur. The cold, dead weight of the Myling on my back was a constant reminder of my ordeal. Her sharp, bony knees dug into my ribs as she clung on to me like a parasite. A soft whimper escaped my lips as I forced my body to press on through the driving storm that still lashed the forest.

Hours passed as I drove myself ahead, one step at a time. The gloom of night had begun to descend over the world. A frigid wind rose, biting at my skin through my sodden, wet clothes, which no longer offered me any protection from the elements. A dull throb had settled into my spine, my calves burned deeply. With every step, the Myling seemed to grow heavier, with every step, I sank deeper into the thick mud. I shifted her, tried to hitch her up higher on my back, but it never gave any relief.

The weight became too much to bear, I let out a gasp as my legs crumpled beneath me. Cold and wet, the dirt splashed up my arms, soaked through my trousers as I landed on hands and knees. The increasingly heavy mass of the Myling pushed downwards on me, causing me to begin sinking into the ground.

No, I had to continue. If there was any hope that I’d see my children again, I had to reach the church.

Through gritted teeth, I crawled forward, my knees grazed and bleeding from the sharp rocks that cut into them. My hands tingled numbly in the biting surface water. Tears stung my eyes, sobs rising pitifully from my chest. Kirsten’s voice rose as I toiled, a soft, haunting lullaby that sent a shiver through my soul.

Eventually, after dragging myself agonisingly through the dirt of the forest floor, the trees opened out and before me were the dark shapes of houses.

8 – Unholy Ground

As I pulled myself out of the forest and onto the road, the Myling began to fidget impatiently on my back, chattering words that I couldn’t understand.

I didn’t know what time it was, but it was late. The houses were dark, save for only one or two that still had lights shining from the upstairs windows. On the opposite side of the road, the Skogkanten Kro stood silent and lifeless. Facing it, rising into the sky, its bright white paint standing out in the darkness, was the church.

The weight of the Myling had grown so intense that I could no longer crawl on hands and knees but was now crushed flat against the rough surface of the road.

Centimetre by slow centimetre I pulled myself on, struggling as arms and elbows rubbed raw against the rough, abrasive tarmac under me. My boots scraped on the ground as they propelled me towards the white gates of the church and up the gravel path, which led to the small graveyard around the back of the building.

“Ja! Ja! Ja!” The voice on my back began to repeat the words excitedly.

As my eyes rose towards the dark shapes of the headstones, the rain suddenly stopped and a crack appeared in the dark clouds. A small copse of trees seemed to shine a brilliant silver as the light from the full moon spilled through the thick clouds.

“In there, in those trees?” I muttered the words more to myself than to anyone in particular.
“Ja! Ja! Ja!” The Myling repeated again, jumping up and down on my back. Each jump knocked the air from my lungs and left me gasping for breath.

Summoning the last of my strength, I pulled myself off the path and towards the shimmering trees.
As I hauled myself in amongst the low, gnarled and twisted birch trees, the weight of the Myling suddenly seemed less.

The smell of damp earth and rotting leaves rose up from the ground, replacing the stench of the Myling, who now leapt from my back onto the ground beside me.
Something else was different here too. Hushed whispers drifted out from the trees surrounding me. The voices of a man and a woman.

“My sweet, Kirsten. We’re sorry, we’re so very sorry.” The words came like wind in the leaves of the trees.
A tear trickled down my cheek as a sudden and profound sense of sorrow washed over me. Not just the sorrow at losing my own family but a sorrow for all those who had lost theirs. A vision swam before my eyes, a woman looked up at me. A young woman, her red, tear-stained eyes meeting mine. An understanding passed between us before she faded away, replaced by another vision. A small baby, lying alone on the side of the lake, frozen among the ice and the snow.

“Dig! Dig!” The Myling hissed, white eyes fixed on me, lips pulled back into a hideous snarl.

A slow sigh slipped from my mouth as I drove my hands into the soft earth. Handful after handful, I shovelled out, barely able to see what I was doing through the tears that blurred my vision.
Deeper and deeper I dug down into the cold earth. My nails were broken and bleeding, my hands raw and torn. Deeper, until finally I had carved out a hole that was big enough for the Myling to lie in. Slowly standing and stepping backwards, I looked at her.

Little more than a shadow in the pale moonlight, I watched as she silently climbed into the hole.
“Bury me!” Her rusty voice grated once more.

Bending down, I scooped up the loose earth into my hands and began to throw it into the hole. Handful by handful, I covered the Myling’s body, filled in the grave that I had just dug for her, until a mound of disturbed earth was all that was visible of Kirsten’s ultimate resting place.

My heart was still torn by the loss of my own family but somewhere inside myself I hoped that Kirsten would now find peace.

Taking a deep breath, I took a step to leave…

I felt something grab my ankle in a hard, icy grip. A hand bursting from the freshly dug grave.
A frantic scream erupted from me as I tried to fight it, tried desperately to kick it away. It held tightly, pulling me, pulling me down into the cold ground.

First to my ankles, I sank into the ground, then to my knees, then to my waist. I could no longer kick, the earth pressed firmly around me. My fists pounded on the ground as I slid down deeper to my chest and then my shoulders began to sink under. Soil tumbled into my mouth, silencing my frenzied cry. Soil entered my nostrils, my lungs screaming for air that I could no longer breathe. It stung my eyes, pressed down on my skull as I sank down.

My chest burnt, screaming for oxygen. Bright lights flashed around me and then silence.
Darkness.

________________________________________

A freezing wind blew over the waters of the Sorgvannet but the ripples that skittered across its surface weren’t caused by that wind. In its depths, something lurked.

Two childlike figures broke the surface of the lake. A boy and a girl, twins, once children but children no longer. Slowly the mylings shambled forward, out of the water and onto the banks of the lake. White, milky eyes stared lifelessly from their pale, pallid faces. Dark, dank hair hung down as their lips drew back into a sharp toothed snarl.

Credit: Maya Robertson

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