Reindeer Games. Chapter 3

While we waited for Mrs. Ellis to return, Mike discovered some covered bowls (I would have sworn weren't there five minutes ago) sitting on the counter. One contained scrambled eggs. Another, oven baked cheesy hash browns. Further exploration turned up a tray of bacon and sausage.

Mike grabbed a plate and went to work. "Love that woman. Is she married?"

"I'm not sure." I helped myself to a plate. "She doesn't talk about her family."

"How much do you really know about her?"

I slid onto a counter stool and started in on the scrambled eggs. "Pretty much what you know. She's been with our family forever."

"Does she ever go out?"

"As far as I know. Only to go shopping or run errands."

"What kind of errands?"

I paused between bites. "I don't know. What's with the third degree? You're starting to sound like Columbo."

Mike shrugged. "Just curious. Don't get me wrong, I think she's terrific. But," He slid onto the stool beside me. "When you think about it, we really don't know much about her."

Before I could answer, Snowball, barking furiously, teeth bared and ready to go to work, bounded into the room.

He stopped at the kitchen door, scratching frantically at the lower frame.

"Snowball."

He turned, looked at me for a second, then continued snarling and scratching at the frame. Spittle flew from his muzzle.

I walked to the door.

Snowball charged past me the second it was open.

"That dog's pissed." Mike slid off the stool and joined me.

Outside a light snow was falling.

Snowball, a low growl issuing from his throat, was running circles around Mike's (built from the ground up) 1968 Dodge Charger R/T, parked in the driveway.

"You brought Emily out?" I asked surprised

"Yep, she wanted to go for a ride."

"Hey, check this out." Mike was kneeling looking at the ground.

Snowball's paw prints were easily identifiable in the snow covered ground.

But there were other prints. Hoof prints, cloven.

"Deer?" I asked, puzzled.

Mike stood, "They look like deer prints but..."

"But what?"

"The pattern's not right. Unless those deer were walking on two legs."

"I think you ate too fast."

Mike had made his way to the opposite side of the car. "Damn."

The car's rear quarter panel had three long scratches running from the door to the bumper.

I traced the grooves with my finger. They were deep but evenly spaced. A hand? Fingernails?

I looked at Mike, who was swearing under his breath.

He was an easygoing guy. Someone who would literally give you the shirt off his back, then drive you to a store, or give you money, for matching pants and sneakers.

But, from the expression on his face, I'd hate to be the one responsible for this damage. And on the receiving end of his anger.

Emily was more than a car to him. She was a labor of love.

At the sound of a sharp intake of breath, I shot upright in defensive mode, fists clenched.

Mrs. Ellis, Snowball at her side, was alternately staring at the cloven prints and the damaged fender.

I hadn't heard, nor saw, her approach.

Mike's earlier comment, "When you think about it, we really don't know much about her." raced through my mind.

She headed back to the house,

Snowball trailing behind her.

'Lig dúinn dul taobh istigh. Ní mór dúinn labhairt. ("Let us go inside. We need to talk.")

I nodded mutely, then started walking, pausing briefly to look over at Mike who, after giving out one last string of curses, followed us in.

I entered the kitchen, brushing snow off my shoulders.

Our unfinished breakfasts had moved from the counter to the table. Steaming cups of hot chocolate accompanied them.

Set near each cup, was a plain brown, fist sized, box.

As Mike and I sat down. Mrs. Ellis, holding a cup of tea, joined us.

She pointed at the boxes. "For you."

"Nice!" Mike reached for his box. "Early Christmas present."

Mrs. Ellis sipped at her tea, "Uimh mo bardaí óga. An amulets a thabhairt liom tú mar bhronntanais. Nach i láthair na Nollag. Creid agus beidh siad cabhrú leat, as an méid atá le teacht." (No, my young wards. The amulets I give to you as gifts, not Christmas presents. Believe, and they will help you for what is to come.

Mike's hand froze over the top of the box. He shot me a questioning look. "Is it me? Or the translation? Because I'm hearing, 'If you go, they will come.' Problem being I don't know who THEY are."

As I opened my box an aromatic scent wafted upwards.

Nestled amongst verdant green leaves, sat a round ornately carved amulet.

I reached in removing the amulet. It was attached to a thick braided cord and warmed to my touch. It seemed to shine with an inner glow. Both cord and amulet were embossed with hundreds of Runic symbols. Some were animals. The detail was astonishing.

I looked at Mrs. Ellis. "This is beautiful. The carvings,-the attention to detail...someone spent a lot of time making this."

"I appreciate the gift, but..." I reached over and held it out to her."I can't accept this. It must be very valuable."

Mrs. Ellis smiled, but didn't take the amulet from my outstretched hand. "It was foretold by the marking of the Coligny calendar this day would come. It took 330 cycles of the moon to create the amulets. I watched over each as they were made. These are for you."

"Whoa, hold the fort." Mike was examining his amulet carefully.
"I know the early Celts didn't measure the passage of time or days as we do. But 330 cycles? That's a long time."

As Mrs. Ellis smiled, the room seemed to fill with a radiant glow. "Great danger awaits. The evil you must face is a very old evil. It has walked in all the dark places that trouble men's souls. I am here to prepare you. You need not fear me. I am a daughter of Almha, Arch druid and high priestess, of the Tuatha de Danaan."

Mike lay the amulet carefully onto the table and picked up his fork.

My mind raced as I tried to muster a reply. I glanced over at Mike.

I wasn't fooled by his nonchalance. I saw him shift position slightly, and I didn't have to look under the table to know his legs were poised to spring.

Mrs. Ellis took a sip of tea before continuing. "You believe time to be linear. A fourth dimension. We do not mark time as such. However using your understanding of days," She looked pointedly at Mike. "I am 1332 yrs old."

The room went deathly quiet. You could have heard a pin drop from half a mile away.

Reindeer can't fly.

As this day progressed, two things were becoming abundantly clear.

Appearances can be deceiving. And, if even half of what Mrs. Ellis had told us was true, the proverbial shit was about to hit the proverbial fan.