November 19, 1891

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I’ve seen stranger things, but not many.

I was in my library when I raised voices reached my ears. One I identified easily enough. It was Horatio, and he was using an impressive array of profanity.

The stranger’s high, shrill voice pierced the air, and the unknown speaker gave as good as he got.

After a few minutes of ceaseless bickering, I put down my book and followed the sound of the argument. I found Horatio and his verbal sparring partner in the kitchen. The monkey sat on the table; his arms wrapped protectively around a bottle of schnaps. Across the room from him, chewing on a biscuit from a batch I’d baked earlier in the morning, was a squirrel.

The argument stopped when I stepped into the room.

The squirrel continued eating, and Horatio opened the bottle and got himself a drink. I looked from one to the other, folded my arms over my chest and asked, “What in the hell’s going on?”

Horatio narrowed his eyes before answering, “He says he has a message for you. I think he’s lying.”

“Do you?” I asked.

The squirrel finished the biscuit. “That was good.”

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” The squirrel rubbed his face. “Yes. I have a message. My name is Ratatoskr.”

I frowned, and after a moment, I said, “I know your name.”

The squirrel straightened up, and he stuck his tongue out at the monkey, who responded with an unpleasant description of the squirrel’s parentage.

“What’s the message?” I asked.

“You’ve a door that shouldn’t be there. Out among your trees,” Ratatoskr replied. “You should make sure it stays closed.”

“Who told you?” I asked.

“My tree,” the squirrel replied. He grabbed another biscuit, hopped down and exited the house.

“I don’t like him,” Horatio observed, taking another drink.

“You don’t have to.”

“What tree was he babbling about?”

“Yggdrasil,” I answered.

“And that is?”

“The World Tree. Odin’s Horse.”

Horatio snorted, but as I started to leave the room, he asked, “Where are you going?”

“To get my Colts.”

“Why?”

“To check on my trees,” I told him, “and to make sure some damned door doesn’t open.”

#fear #horrorstories #supernatural

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Nicholas Efstathiou

Husband, father, and writer.

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