“I missed the last ones, but I got you.” A booming deep, unearthly voice spoke over Glen’s shoulder; the kind of voice that gave him chills, and even penetrated Sandra’s screams. Glen got to his feet, dragged Sandra to her feet with him, and backed the two of them away from that voice. The creature stood nine feet tall and was so horrible to look at, Glen’s stomach nearly let go, and Sandra could not stop screaming. Glen had to turn Sandra’s shivering face into his shoulder where she did not have to look at the thing to get her quiet. This brute, and the word ogre came to Glen’s mind, looked covered in warts that sprouted little hairs that looked more like cactus spikes than hairs. He had several boils on the surface of his skin, if it could be called skin, and a few of those were open sores that leaked a pink and yellow puss. It had a mouth so full of yellow teeth; Glen could not see the back of that maw or count the teeth if he wanted to, not the least because of the green drool that leaked out over the edge of the lower lip. The creature also had a small spark in the eyes that glared at them, as if to say that this creature was alive and aware; but to be sure, it seemed a very small spark.

“I am going to have you for an afternoon snack,” the ogre roared, and he hefted a club the size of a small tree.

Glen heard the words “don’t panic” in his mind as his mouth sprang into action, though hardly aware of what he said until he said it. “Well, if you are going to have us for tea, make sure there are plenty of biscuits, and by all means keep the kippers to yourself. Those things are almost as slimy and disgusting as you are. Gods you are an ugly beastie.”

The ogre paused and lifted his head. “Do you think so?” He spoke with some doubt in his voice.

“Oh, yes,” Glen assured him. “Very ugly. Frighteningly ugly. You heard the woman screaming, didn’t you? Now, let’s get on to tea, you lead the way.”

“Huh?” The ogre paused while Glen’s words caught up with his little brain, and he guffawed. “Have you for a snack.” He guffawed again, and that is not a sound you ever want to hear. Glen had to swallow the bile to keep it from coming out and Sandra had to bite her lower lip, hard, to keep the screams at bay. “Say, now.” The ogre stopped laughing and a terrifying looked crossed his face. “Hold still.” He lifted the club.

Glen’s eyes got wide, but he looked a little to the ogre’s left side. He pointed dramatically in that direction and yelled, “Look!” The ogre turned to look.

“What?” The ogre wondered, but by the time he turned again, Glen had grabbed Sandra’s hand and they were running as fast as they could down the path. “Hey!” They heard the yell behind them, and heard the tromp, tromp of giant footsteps, following. Glen wanted to say run faster, but he was fairly-sure they could not run faster. Sandra did not want to say anything. She focused too hard on her feet. With all that, it sounded like the ogre started gaining on them, but shortly they ran into something, or rather, another thing they hardly expected. A wall of men, all dressed in dark armor, stood in their path. The men looked like ancient soldiers, and they all had spears pointed in their direction. Glen prepared to stop, but at the last minute, the men made an opening in the wall and Glen and Sandra raced through. The opening quickly closed. Glen heard the twang of bowstrings, and while Sandra collapsed to the ground, Glen found enough strength left to jump up and holler. “Don’t hurt him.”

A second volley of arrows followed, though the ogre stopped on the first volley. Most of the arrows landed in front of the ogre as a warning for him to turn around and go back where he came from, but one of the arrows went straight into the ogre’s shoulder. The ogre looked more surprised than anything else, and while the arrow did not penetrate deeply, when it fell to the ground some blood fell. Glen knew someone did not follow orders. This time he really shouted. “I said don’t hurt him!”

The archers were off to the sides of the wall of spears, hidden in trees and behind rocks. As Glen shouted, he heard a man moan and someone, or something, sounded like it fell to the ground. Glen could not be concerned about that just then. Instead, all his concern focused on the ogre who he now felt was like a poor child in need of protection. If he had thought about it, it should have been strange to think that way about a brute that just tried to eat him, but Glen did not think. He got too busy pressing up to the back of the wall of spear-men and shouting at the horrifying beast. “Prickles, go home,” he yelled. “Go home, Prickles. You need to go home right now.” He told himself that he did not want to see anyone get hurt, and it was not hard to convince himself of that.

“Go home?” Prickles the ogre tried to figure out what he heard.

“Go home.” A man stepped up beside Glen, and while Glen did not look at the man, he figured the man was probably the commander of this troop of soldiers.

“Go home, Prickles,” Glen repeated, and the ogre nodded.

“Go home,” the ogre said. “Go home.” He turned, walked back the way he came, and his long legs took him quickly out of sight.

Then Glen breathed for all of a second before two of the spear carrying men grabbed him by the arms. “Bring them.” The man who had been standing beside Glen commanded, and they moved to where Sandra also got held against her will. Glen and Sandra were directed to fall in line, and the guards gave them no choice.

“This is getting too weird.” Sandra finally got a word out. She pointed at the men’s faces and Glen realized, for the first time, that all of the ears looked classically pointed, and these were not men at all.

“Elves,” Glen named them and Sandra shrugged as if to say that she had adjusted, that she was not surprised, and maybe she would never be surprised again.

“And the beast?”

“Ogre,” Glen said, but then they had to concentrate on the walk because they were moving up into the hills.

It took several hours to reach a camp where Glen guessed there were perhaps a hundred or more elves, all dressed for war. The sun slipped down in the sky when Glen and Sandra got escorted to a tent. They were left alone, but Glen felt sure there were guards near enough.

Sandra sat quietly and hugged her knees, which she pulled up to her chin. She seemed to be in her own little world. Glen paced and tried to make sense of what happened. It felt weird, as Sandra said. Elves and ogres were unreal, impossible, and no human being would ever believe such a tale. Glen felt stupid, like he was in the midst of something out of a children’s story, or an old wives’ tale, or a folktale where some anthropologist would point out the underlying meaning but would never believe that it might be real. Elves and ogres did not really exist. Glen told himself that several times, but here he was and here they were. He had long since rejected the idea that this might be a dream. “That would have made this B-movie extra bad,” he mumbled. Sandra took Glen’s mumble as an opening to speak.

“My grandmother.” She paused and shook her head before she started again. Glen sat down beside her, not touching, but close enough. “My grandmother used to talk about her grandmother like she was, I don’t know, strange. She said her grandmother had the magic. That is what she called it. She said her mother had some, but not like her grandmother, while she could hardly do anything at all.”

“When was your grandmother born?” Glen felt curious, but not sure why he asked that particular question. Someone, whoever it might be, seemed to be giving him thoughts. It felt like someone had gotten inside his head. Glen probably should have been frightened by the invasion of his mind, but there were two mitigating feelings. First, he felt that the someone, whoever it was, felt so comfortable. Glen could not imagine any harm coming from that direction. Second, there were far more frightening things happening all around him on the outside, he hardly had time to worry about what might be trying to help him on the inside.

“1908,” Sandra said. “She would have been seventy this year if she was still alive.” Glen nodded. It was presently 1978. After a pause, Sandra added the word, “Cancer.”

“And her grandmother?”

“I don’t know.”

“Say, 1870?”

Sandra shrugged. “Grandma said her great-grandmother was a half-blood. I remember asking once half-blood what? I got the strangest answer.” Sandra looked like she did not want to say it, but as an elf chose that moment to enter the tent with a tray of food; Sandra found the courage to verbalize what had always seemed loony. “Fairy.” She said. “My great-great, whatever-grandmother was a half-fairy.”

Glen nodded. “1849 gold rush,” he said as the elf put down the food and turned to leave. “Wait a minute.” Glen spoke up, and the elf paused. “What are you going to do with us?”

The elf turned and shrugged. He looked skinny, terminally skinny, the way certain elves were and his ears were very pronounced and pointed but they matched his pointed nose. “Nothing that I know of.” At least his voice sounded normal.

The elf decided to sit and as he crossed his long legs, he leaned forward to place a hand over the fire. It rose-up with new life. Given the circumstances, neither Sandra nor Glen were surprised by that bit of magic. Sandra scooted a bit closer to the fire for the warmth. Glen decided to take a good look around.

The fire burned in the middle of the tent floor with a small hole in the tent roof straight above it. Curiously, the smoke from the fire went straight up and out the hole without the least bit of it filtering into the rest of the tent. Neat trick, Glen thought. He noticed that most of the light in the tent did not come from the fire, but from several globes near the tent roof. Glow-balls, he called them, and he imagined they were like fairy lights. Of course, they were not plugged into anything, and they were not battery run, so he was at a loss as to what powered them. But they glowed just fine and the light felt warm and comfortable.

Their night in that tent did not look frightening, but then it did not look all that comfortable if they chose to sleep. There were only two blankets rolled up on the dirt floor, but Glen did not get to examine them closely because by then Sandra found the courage to ask a question.

“Do you have a name?”

“Macreedy, son of Macreedy, son of Macreedy, son of Macreedy.” The elf said. “My sire had many daughters, but only one son of Macreedy.” He smiled and cocked his head back to look toward the tent door and said, “You might as well come in, too. These people do not appear dangerous and I don’t believe they rub off.”

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MONDAY

Glen and Sandra have entered a strange world but are determined to find Sandra’s baby no matter how strange it gets. Until Monday, Happy Reading

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