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Mysterious Carolers (6) : Caroling has been a tradition for years, so it’s not really unusual when you hear a soft chorus from outside. What is unusual is that it’s three in the morning, and the moment they start singing you feel a chill in the air. Maybe it’s a holiday song, maybe it’s not, but whatever it is it’s a song you know before--from this life? From another?--and something about this version makes you go cold. If you move to the window, you will find no carolers, but the song is loud enough that you know you should be able to see them. They sing one song, and then there is silence. An eerie chill lingers, and your dreams are haunted by strange voices. You’ll probably never be able to hear that song again without feeling unnerved.
Half asleep, Brynn stumbled from her room into the kitchen to get some water. As she stood at the sink, she heard singing outside. Well, caroling was a normal thing this time of year. What was not normal was the fact that it was three in the bloody morning and far too late (or early) for anyone to be out singing glad tidings. Shivering a little from the chill in the air, Brynn clawed her way out of the sleep fog and actually began to listen to the singing. Eyes going wide, she felt her jaw go a little slack. They were singing in Icelandic. She knew this song! She had grown up with this song!
The song was sending little stabs of ice up her spine. Jólakötturinn was already a creepy song (it was about a murderous, clothing obsessed cat, how could it not be), but the way it was currently being sung made it sound like a dirge. Why were carollers singing Jólakötturinn at her at three in the morning. Ignoring her current state of pantslessness, Bryn moved toward the window. Flipping the curtain back, she couldn’t see anything. Were they in the front? Maybe the cold and quiet was just conducting sound more efficiently than usual?
Stomping towards the front door, Bryn grabbed the knob after unlocking and yanked it open, determined to give the mystery singers a piece of her mind. Only, as she stepped out into the cold, there was no one there, but the singing continued for a few more moments before fading out ominously. Bryn stood on the icy porch for a few breaths after, until her bare legs began to protest at being exposed to the elements. Shivering, she stepped back inside and locked the door. Feeling as if she was surrounded by angry ghosts, she hurried back to her room and threw herself back under the covers, pulling her blanket up over her head to hide. Was it childish and silly? Yes, of course, but that unnerving rendition of Jólakötturinn made her feel as if she’d never be warm or safe again.
At some point, sheer exhaustion must have taken over because Bryn found herself tumbling in and out of sleep, haunted by nightmares of ghostly voices and cats hungry for flesh. It was, she thought when she finally gave up on getting anything resembling a restful sleep, insanely creepy. She would have preferred actual ghosts delineating her sins. As she sat up in bed, the whispered strains of Jólakötturinn still in her ears, Bryn wondered if it might not be worth it to try the melatonin gummies her cousin had sent her. But then, what if they worked too well and she couldn’t shake herself out of a nightmare? Glancing blearily at her alarm clock and finding it was only 4:30, Bryn gave up on sleep.
Grabbing her phone to check up on social media, she saw that one of her cousins still in Iceland had uploaded a video. Clicking play, she nearly launched her phone into the wall when her cousin and his wife began to sing Jólakötturinn. She was near going to be able to hear that song again without feeling like someone was walking on her future grave.
Word Count = 546
