Chapter 3
1547 Words
3
I trotted upstairs and to my intact bedroom. Even the fluffy kitten sheets were unchanged, though cleaned by my thorough grandmother. I dropped my suitcases onto the floor and plopped my butt on the foot of the bed.
Introspection was never pleasant, and I didn’t find it so then. College, a job, life. None of it sounded appetizing. I looked down at my hands that lay in my lap. Surely there was something more that those pale hands could do with themselves.
“Jane!” Grandpa called from downstairs. “Your grandma’s dinner is ready!”
“I’m coming!” I replied. I stood and let life-choices drop to the background of my mind. Dinner was ready, and I needed to prepare my stomach.
My grandfather was an adequate cook, but my grandmother was insane. Boiled beets in jello was a staple of the table. Another favorite of hers was chicken drumsticks served cooked in a roast. How she got a dozen of those drumsticks into a single ten-pound roast was beyond either of us.
I girded my iron-clad stomach and proceeded downstairs. A hint of chicken gave me a hint, but it turned out I was on the wrong scent. I reached the dining room doorway and paused.
There, spread out on the table, was a sane meal. The drumsticks were on a plate that didn’t include a roast. Nothing floated in the jello. Even the orange juice was without its usual pulp the size of Alaska. My grandmother sat proudly on the right side of my grandfather with him at the table, and there-on his left-was my seat, pulled out and ready for me.
“I thought that after such a long time with that bland college food you might take some time to get used to normal food,” my grandmother told me.
I smiled. It was good to be home.
We supped on the delicious food and dined on a white wine dredged up from the rough-stone and dirt-floor basement. The conversation was more intelligent than most of my college lectures and wandered over such topics as gardening, Cicero, and deep-sea diving. My grandfather was a fountain-well of knowledge equal to the legendary Well of Urd from Norse myth. I considered him Odin, nickname he took as high praise, especially since he hadn’t even needed to trade an eye for his knowledge.
We finished dinner and after the dishes were cleared we all strolled into the living room. A more apt name for the room was a library extension. Half the walls were covered in bookshelves. A television sat in a corner, used only by my grandmother to watch the cooking channel.
A large window looked out on the backyard and a smaller one on the front lawn. The shadows of the trees loomed over the tiny house like a giant over David, but in the warm light of the living room we settled into our usual chairs. Well, except for my grandma. She sat in front of the television with her legs crossed and watched a chef roast a duck. I shuddered to think what evil ideas entered my grandmother’s mind.
A clock hung over the unused fireplace that was the centerpiece of the room. It stood opposite the doorway, an imposing piece of architecture made of rock taken from the local area and smoothed to near-perfection. My seat of choice, a well-cushioned armchair, sat near the chimney.
As I read one of my grandfather’s many books on medieval farm equipment a dry smell hit my nose. It was the scent of ash. I glanced at the fire. We hadn’t used it in a decade after the last fire nearly consumed the house. A few bits of ash floated down to the empty tray. My first thought was a stuck bird, so I closed my book and kept my eyes on the ash as it grew more pronounced.
“Guys, I think there’s a-”
A huge deposit of ash dropped from the chimney and splashed over the tray. The gray dust spread over the room, causing us all to jump up and cover our mouths. The ash invaded my mouth and I could hear my grandparents cough, but only their dim outlines were visible to me.
Another outline caught my attention. This one came from the chimney. The dark figure crawled on all fours out of the hearth and stood. As the ash cleared I could get a good look, and what I saw made my jaw hit the floor.
This was no Santa Claus. The creature was as bulky as the jolly elf, but that’s where the resemblance ended. Its face was that of a man, but with a piggish nose and tusks that protruded from either side of its mouth. The thing wore a dirty shirt of the roughest wool over which hung a vest of equal cleanliness. Its feet were covered in leather shoes and the billowing pants were made of the same rough material as the vest. At the thing’s waist tucked between its bulk and its belt hung a saber.
The thing unsheathed its weapon and pointed the blade at us. Its voice reminded me of gravel with a hint of a shoe squishing into mud. “Against the wall!”
My grandfather narrowed his eyes at the intruder. “Who are you?”
“I said against the wall!” the thing barked. We apparently didn’t move fast enough because the creature charged Grandpa with the saber as its battering ram.
Grandpa sidestepped the fiend and drew out his leg. The piggish man tripped and skidded snout-first across the hardwood floor. He hit the carpet in the entrance hall and flipped over. His nostrils flared and he fumbled for his sword that lay by his side.
“You’ll pay for-”
“That’s enough,” a new voice spoke up.
The intruder looked up. Another pig towered above him, but this new intruder wore a clean but old cloak. His spiny hair was neatly combed back and he smiled as he bowed his head to us.
“Good evening, Bee. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Sage.” The figure looked them up and down, and shook his head. “Time hasn’t been kind to you, has it?”
“Who are you and what do you want?” Grandpa snapped.
“Who I am is Gargan, leader of the Porcine Pirates,” he introduced himself. “As for what I want-” his eyes flickered to my grandmother, “-I’d like Bee to accompany me on a little adventure.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I’d rather not. I don’t like ham.”
“And we’re retired,” Grandpa added. “So just return from where you came from and never come back here.”
Gargan chuckled. “I’m afraid I went to a lot of trouble to find you, so I’m not leaving without some compensation.”
My grandfather grabbed the lamp closest to him. “I won’t let you take her without a fight.”
Gargan leaned his head back and let out a great, belly-jiggling laugh. “You? Fight me? Have you looked at yourself?”
My grandfather darted up to the pig and jabbed the sharp top of the lamp into Gargan’s gut. The man gave a wheezing breath and stumbled back. He doubled over, giving my grandpa ample angle to crack the lamp over the back of his head.
Gargan went down hard to the floor. His bloodshot eyes looked up at my grandfather with fury. “Men!”
More pigs stampeded out of the dining room and from the hall. They jumped my grandfather and tore the stumped remains of the lamp from his hand. Another socked him in the gut.
“Leave him alone!” my grandma shouted as she hurried forward. A pig grabbed her and pinned her hands behind her back, but she still thrashed and tried to pull away to go to her husband. “Sage!”
“Let her go!” I growled as I grabbed my heavy book and flung it at the beast that held my grandma. The spine hit the thing in the forehead. The thing flinched and whipped its head to me.
Two of the pigs marched toward me and yanked my arms behind my back so hard I felt my sockets pop. They shoved me to my knees and kept me down as my grandma was led to the front door.
Gargan climbed to his feet and brushed the creases from his old cloak. The pigs pushed my grandpa to his knees before their leader and Gargan scowled down at him. “You stupid human!” He knocked the back side of his hand against my grandfather’s head. My grandpa’s head whipped to one side and blood slipped out from the corner of his mouth where Gargan had struck him.
Grandpa’s eyes flickered back to Gargan, and there was a look in their depths that I’d never seen: anger. Pure, unrestrained anger. My grandfather twisted out of the pig’s grip and lunged at Gargan. Gargan drew a dagger from beneath his cloak and slammed the handle into the side of Grandpa’s head. He flew to the side and slid a short distance across the floor until he crashed into the wall separating the dining room from the hall.
“No!” I screamed. I tried to break the grip of my own captors, but they held fast.
Gargan sneered at Grandpa as he sheathed his weapon. “Let’s leave here.’ He turned toward the door. “The smell of humans disgusts me.”
“What about this one?” one of my handlers called out.
Gargan paused and half-turned to sneer at me. “We don’t need followers.”
There was a sharp pain on the side of my head and then I knew nothing.
- Writer
