Draugr Read Online Free Page A

and made my way to the front. I also picked up a copy of
The Interlake Spectator
from the pile that sat on the counter.
    â€œThat’s a good book,” the woman said softly. I looked up at her and almost dropped my money on the floor.
    She only had one eye.
    Her good eye was a swirling color of gray and I knew she could see right into my thoughts, right into the very center of my spirit. Her left eye was covered by a patch. She was in her sixties, her hair gray and tied in a bun, and she wore brown clothes.
    â€œUh . . .” I said.
    She grinned. Wrinkles formed around her eyes, made deep from years of smiling. “Don’t worry. I know I look a little . . . unique. I lost my eye a long time ago.”
    â€œUh . . . sorry.”
    She shrugged; her shoulders were wide. It seemed like she was made out of earth. “I see a lot more with one eye than I ever did with two. I guarantee it. By the way . . . what’s your name?”
    â€œSarah.”
    â€œSarah who?”
    â€œSarah Asmundson.”
    She nodded for a moment. It was as if I had answered an unspoken question. “You’ve got Grettir’s blood in your veins.”
    â€œOh . . . do I? Uh . . . good.”
    â€œHere’s your change.” She opened a wrinkled hand. Coins seemed to appear magically in her palm. Had she even opened the till?
    I took the quarters with shaky hands. They were warm.
    â€œIf you ever have any questions about anything in town . . . just ask me,” she said. “I’m Althea, Gimli’s answer lady.”
    â€œSh–sure . . . see ya.” Then I turned and went out the door, my brother and Angie following.
    â€œWhoa—she was big time weird!” Angie exclaimed when we were a few blocks away. “The way her one eye just kinda glowed. Bizarre woman, that’s for sure.”
    â€œYou don’t even know her!” I felt a little angry, but didn’t know why.
    â€œI could tell just by looking.”
    I fumed.
    â€œWake me when you kids are done fighting.” Michael took
The Interlake Spectator
from me. “Let’s see what’s happening in this burg.”
    He made a show of opening the paper. We all looked at it.
    The headline read: MYSTERIOUS DISAPPEARANCE RECALLED .
    The picture beside the headline was of the boy we had seen that morning.

5
    â€œI . . . I don’t believe it,” Angie whispered.
    â€œIt’s him. It has to be.” Michael was pointing at the boy’s picture. “He’s a dead ringer.”
    â€œI have to sit down,” I said. Which was true. My legs felt like they were suddenly transformed into wet clay. We went ahead to a small park and collapsed on a bench. Three pine trees cast three shadows across us and I shivered.
    We read the article silently.

    In the spring of 1941 young Eric Bardarson disappeared. The Bardarson family had been picnicking north of town. When they went to leave, their son had vanished. A search party was organized and though they spent the next few days searching, no trace of the boy was ever found. Donations to the Eric Bardarson Arts Scholarship are gratefully accepted.
    â€œI told you he was a ghost,” Michael said. “He has to be.”
    â€œIt could still be some kind of trick.” Angie didn’t sound very sure of herself. “Couldn’t it?”
    â€œI don’t know.” I examined the picture of Eric. He was wearing what looked like a school uniform: a tie, a shirt and suit jacket, shorts, long socks, and black shoes. He looked exactly like the boy we had seen. The only difference was that he was smiling in the picture.
    Staring at the photo made me feel uncomfortable. In it he was a happy, young kid who was probably thinking about playing baseball or riding his bike; he had no idea that in a few days he would disappear forever.
    Well, not exactly forever. If he was some sort of spirit.
    I