These aren't my characters. They may belong to someone else,
but I love 'em enough to write about them.
A Song at Night
by "covenant6452"
with many thanks to "a_contemplative_life", editor extraordinaire!
An isolated cottage on the shore of a moonlit lake near the Swedish-Norwegian border.
It was warm so far this winter; no snow, just a crisp frost that bound the gravel together so it crunched under Oskar's feet as he approached the front step and open door of the darkened house. He stopped on the steps and looked back a moment. The moonlight sparkled on the frozen grass and trees, rimming the edge of the black lake ‘round its edge with a crystal pattern.
The sound of someone talking faintly echoes across the hills, but he couldn’t make out the words and so he turned away and went inside.
Even with the door left open, it was warm inside. The radiators ticked and pinged, trying to compensate for the cold air trying to cross the threshold. Oskar dropped his backpack to the floor and shrugged his jacket off. Looking around at the shabby interior, Oskar saw a pile of rubbish seeded with empty beer and vodka bottles against the wall next to the front door.
There was a painting on one wall, a house on a hill in springtime, and it looked familiar. Oskar walked back to the doorway and looking out across the frosted fields he saw the landscape from the painting, but in a different light.
He moved to a dresser against another wall and pulled open a drawer. He started to hum his favourite song--a bit louder than usual, though the sounds of Eli feeding just faded. His fingers moved calmly; with practiced ease, he picked through the possessions of a stranger, hoping for a trinket or treasure to share.
He pushed aside photos, an open box of old Christmas cards, an old camera and rolls of film. The drawers were filled with the same things as in most homes. Everything was slightly interesting because it was someone else's, but most of it was useless and of no interest to anyone but its owner.
He heard a rattle inside a metal cigar box in the back of the drawer. He lifted it out, feeling its weight as the contents shifted awkwardly, twisting his wrist. Flipping open the lid he found the box filled with old coins. He pushed through the coins with his finger, checking the dates, and decided they were worth taking. With a quick grin, he turned and put the box into the backpack.
He is the thief. He has become that for Eli because it helps them both. He provides; the master thief, stealing whatever is needed to survive. But there is more to it than that, he now knows. For a long time, Eli has been able to steal whatever she needs. He provides something else, something you can’t steal.
Just then, her arms hanging dejectedly at her sides, Eli glided out of the dark hallway from the back of the house. Eli glanced at him as she walked out the front door, and Oskar again felt that sharp stab of pain pierce his heart. The look of anguish and furrowed brow beneath all the blood said it all. He reached out to her, but dropped his hand when she passed without stopping. He sighed and his shoulders sagged.
He knew when Eli needed to be alone. Every few days, he would need to keep a quiet, respectful distance, just watching for her, waiting, never far away. After a while he would turn and she would be there looking at him through hanging strands of hair. She will be alright soon, he assured his aching heart, and turned to search the house further.
Opening a closet, he found a pair of boots similar to his, which were growing tight on him again. He put one boot against the bottom of his own and seeing they were slightly bigger, immediately pulled his own boots off, donning the more comfortable, fur-lined footwear. Then, digging further into the closet, he sweeps aside some hanging clothes and is startled by his reflection in a mirror on the back wall of the closet. Stepping back into the moonlit room Oskar illuminates himself and his reflection. His wrists poke out of the sleeves of his too-small jacket. His hair is long, thick and shaggy, spilling over his shoulders as he blows at a strand hanging along his nose. He likes it. It reminds him of someone from one of those new heavy metal bands. He notices that he is bigger now, his chest filling out. He puffs it out, his arms pulling further out the sleeves of the jacket. He gazed into the dark holes behind the hanging hair, the eyes of his reflection. Growing up, but growing up didn't have the appeal it used to anymore. I'd better take a warm jacket, he thinks, pulling the hanging clothes back to cover the mirror.
Oskar moved into the back hallway, dragging his comfortable new boots across the carpet and building a static charge. The right-hand door leading the bedroom at the back of the house was only slightly ajar. The one to his left was fully open. Moonlight glowing through grey, flimsy, half-closed curtains illuminated a home office desk and chair.
He turned to his right first, stretching out a finger toward the metal handle to feel the jolt of a shock on his fingertip, a blue spark jumping between.
The door squealed briefly and softly as he pushed it open. He held his breath as the body was revealed. The man was face down on his bed and wore only a bathrobe. One arm hung over the side and his hand lay on the floor, curled up like a dead spider. Oskar was relieved that he wouldn’t have to touch the body this time.
Eli had covered the man’s upper half with a thin sheet, but he could see that the head had been twisted backwards, his shrouded face staring up at him. Blood stained the sheet at his neck black in the dim light.
The man’s trousers were slung on top of a chair next to the bed, and Oskar skirted the body to search them. He always expected the bodies to wake and grab him, or to rise up slowly with raised arms like they did in those old movies—with coal-black eyes and ruby lips. He knew better now, but still shivered.
Looking away, he pulled the trousers off the chair, wrinkling his nose at their funk as he checked the pockets. Not much: six hundred kronor and change. He checked a wallet on the dresser and found another twelve hundred. He wadded up the notes and stuffed them into his pockets.
Oskar was going through the drawers in the bedroom when he thought he heard music. He paused: nothing. He moved to the closet and as he reached for the handle, heard it again. No--not music, he realized, as the cadence rose and fell. Singing. Someone was singing.
Following the sound, he moved across the hall and into the office, where he pulled the chair from the desk and stood on it. Pulling the curtains aside, he saw an unkempt lawn that fell away to the fields surrounding the lake. The fields then gave way to rolling hills that were topped with a forest of dark trees.
The grass at the edge of the lawn was bordered with thick logs, and he spied Eli sitting on one of them in the wan moonlight, hugging her knees, her back turned to the house.
Another verse began, soaring across the yard and through the open front door. As Oskar watched, she crossed her arms across her belly, hands gripping her shirt at the waist, and rocked as she sang.
Vårvindar friska leka
Spring breezes weave and whisper,
Och viska lunderna kring
All through the trees, now green,
Likt älskande par.
As young lovers be.
He had heard choir music before. This wasn't quite like it, but he realized that Eli's voice would be welcome in any choir on earth. Never had he heard anyone sing as richly and purely as she was right now. His own voice was forever betraying him, constantly cracking and squeaking. Eli thought it was funny and had teased him gently about it, always with a smile.
The song felt sad, but he didn't think it was supposed to be. He recognized the words from somewhere--maybe from a children’s book he'd had years ago.
Oskar forgot about thieving and climbed down from the chair. He followed Eli's path out the front door and stopped to listen, wrapping his arms around a wooden beam that supported the front porch roof.
Strömarna ila,
Streams flow in a hurry,
Finna ej vila
No rest or worry
Förrän I havet störtvågen far.
Until their foam meets the sea.
Eli’s clear, soulful singing floated out into the night, rising softly, then fading to a near-whisper that drew him toward her. The night air was crisp, and he shivered in his T-shirt. Far across the fields, a light outside a house flickered on.
Klaga mitt hjärta,
Cry out my heart,
Klaga och hör
Cry out and hear
Vallhornets klang
The herdsman's horn
Bland klipporna dör.
Now echo, then pale.
Oskar crossed the frosted grass and quietly straddled the log next to Eli.
Strömkarlen spelar,
River sprites playing,
Sorgerna delar
Sorrows dismaying
Vakan kring berg och dal.
They wake in hill and dale.
Eli's wet tears darkened the knees of her trousers. Her bare toes crunched the icy stalks of grass, and she leaned slightly toward him.
"Eli . . . where did you learn to sing like that?"
Oskar slides a hand across her back, his other arm reaches across her chest pulling her head against his shoulder tight, resting his cheek against her back atop her hair.
"I don't know where that came from, Oskar. I don't remember. I wish I could."
"It was . . . beautiful. More than beautiful."
He felt cool tears falling into the crook of his elbow; felt her cold bones through her cold flesh. He hoped his hug would make her feel a little warmer.
A man called out from the distant light, his voice echoing across the lake. "Hey! Antosch, who do you have singing over there?!" The phone in the house began to ring, jangling loudly from just inside the open door. Then from the distant admirer came, "Tell them to sing something more!"
"Eli, we have to go. But I would really like to hear you sing again."
A final tear, darker in the moonlight than his pale skin, splashed on his arm. Oskar lifted his arm, licking the trickle quickly before the pink tear dripped off his elbow. It had a pleasant, salty flavour that tasted surprisingly like his own tears, but at the same time there was a different, stronger flavour at the back of his mouth.
He pulled the hem of his T-shirt up from his waist. Lifting Eli's face, he gazed a moment into her black, bottomless pupils, then gently wiped the dark tears from them, followed by the blood from the corners of her mouth and chin.
The voice across the lake called again. "Annntoosch! Are you there? I'm coming over! We'll have a party!" A moment later, they hear the sound of a truck starting, its engine revving loudly.
"That's better. Come on. We should hurry." Oskar said.
As they stood, Oskar wrapped an arm around Eli’s shoulders. He was almost a head taller than her and the dull ache he sometimes felt in his legbones told him he was going to outgrow her fast. Don't think about that now, he told himself.
As they moved to the house to get their things an owl hooted twice, flapping noisily from a nearby stand of firs to swoop low over their heads.
Soon they came out of the house and ran side by side around the back. Headlights wavered through the trees, but Eli and Oskar were again gone into the night, leaping and running across the fields to find a safe, dark place to wait out another day.
To be continued...