Page 1 of When You're Close

PROLOGUE

As the storm lashed his boat, Ivar Ward peered warily up at the cragged rocks of Huldra Island that loomed high beyond. The rocks jutted out like huge shards of black glass in the night, and Ivar knew that if he struck them, the sea would become nothing but a watery grave.

Pulling desperately at the wheel of his small white fishing boat, he tried as best he could to push up against the shifting waves. Each one reached up from the blackened depths of the icy sea, and each one threatened to flip the boat over onto its back, taking Ivar with it.

Steering and letting out an almighty gasp, Ivar managed to avoid one large piece of rock in the bay by inches.

“Fool!” he screamed into the night air, the rain battering down on the roof of the tiny cabin. It cascaded down the glass in front of him, turning each shard of rock into a grasping hand, warped into something nightmarish.

He cursed himself for having been in the wrong waters for the wrong reasons. Now it looked to him as though those waters were about to claim his life.

Something smashed against the side of the bow, and Ivar lost grip of the wheel. The violence of the impact threw him downward. His body ached as it crashed against the wet wooden floor.

For a moment, he stayed there. Just a moment. A serenity started to creep in. The thunderous waves and rain became like the song of a siren, beckoning him towards them. But he knew what that was. It was the call of the abyss. He'd heard the tales before from the older fishermen back on the mainland. The moment when a man of the sea gives in to her embrace. Where death approaches, and he relinquishes his desire to fight any longer. Where he is dragged to the depths and the water fills his lungs.

That feeling was seeping into his bones, dark and insidious. Death was coming.

But that would not be this day, not if Ivar had anything to say about it.

He thought about his grandkids and then pushed himself back up onto one knee and then grabbed the wheel, standing up tall and strong in the tumultuous storm around him. Up ahead, another piece of jagged rock was in his path, and it would be only moments before he struck it. Ivar pulled with all his might. The boat turned, sloshing around the gigantic waves like a child's bath toy.

Ivar grinned in momentary triumph as his boat started to pass the outcrop of rock. But it was a grin come too soon. Suddenly, a rogue wave at least fifteen feet high battered against the boat. The force thrust the boat into the rocky outcrop.

The entire world around him shuddered, and Ivar heard a grating noise of rock cutting into wood.

“The hull's breached,” he said to himself with dismay. If it was bad, he'd only have minutes, seconds even, before the boat sank.

Now, there was nothing else he could do. There was only one way he could make it. He had to get onto the island, even if it was the last place on Earth he wanted to step foot. He had avoided it for years, but now it was his only hope. Ivar's eyes searched through the glass before him and then trained his gaze on what looked like a slope in the shoreline next to the steep cliffs. If he could just steer the boat there, he could at least get onto land.

But that land, the land of Huldra Island, was a place he had sworn to never step foot on again. Not since his younger days. Not since that terrible time. He did not want to be there. Not now. Not ever. He also knew the stories, and he believed them. He knew about the hidden folk and what terrible things they had brought forward into the world. Ivar's grandmother had told him the tales. He had never seen them or their foul offspring. Outsiders classed it all as interesting folklore, but he believed they were there. He believeditwas there. He could feel it.

Another wave crashed against the side of the boat, pushing it off course towards a line of rocks. Dread rocketed up through Ivar's throat as he pulled at the wheel, gripping onto it with white knuckles. The rain and waves continued to lash everything around him, but with one final, last-gasp effort, somehow luck had smiled upon him.

The boat juddered as it struck land. Ivar was thrust forward with the momentum, the steering wheel slamming into his chest. For a moment, he couldn't catch a breath. Looking up, he could see that the front of the boat was resting on a steep incline of sand and dirt. But he knew that the rear of the boat had probably been breached and was taking on water. He had to abandon her.

Grabbing an emergency bag and flashlight, he left the cabin and entered the fray. Above, the thunderous blackened sky wailed and bellowed at him. Lightning arched across the soaring clouds, followed by an almighty clap. Ivar shuddered at the noise. It was as though the world itself was telling him “get back, walk no further”.

But there was no way to listen. It was the island or certain death. There was no in-between.

The ocean waves battered all around him, and one clattered against the stern, thrusting its water forward and over Ivar. He fell forward and watched in horror as the emergency bag, complete with the flares and supplies he needed to survive, washed over the deck and into the water.

He gasped as another wave leaped onto the boat, this time clawing at his body, dragging him towards the edge of the deck. Ivar scrambled with his hands, his palms and wet fingers slipping against the wooden surface. He felt his legs sticking out over the edge of the boat, dangling above the water.

He let out a cry for help, but no help was coming. This much he knew. As his body slid over the edge, he flailed wildly, and in a last-gasp effort, his right hand caught a loose piece of railing that was still attached to the boat's frame at one end.

Another wave. Then another came. Ivar's body swung left and right like a pendulum striking midnight. Ivar thought again of his wife, of his kids, of his grandkids. A flash of the funerals he had attended arched across his mind as lightning did likewise across the sky. He remembered each and every one of them. Each man lost at sea. Each fisherman mourned by his family and the village community which raised him.

Ivar's hand began to slip on the cold metal of the railing. He reached up with one last ounce of strength and grabbed hold of the edge of the boat. With his old bones creaking with age, he found a last reserve of strength and pulled himself up onto the decking. The boat slid on the sand as another wave hit it. The stern pulled downward beneath the sea, and the bow rose up into the air in return.

A loud sound of sucking air gulped down by rushing water filled Ivar's ears. The boat was about to go down. As it bubbled and groaned with its final breath, the boat slipped down into the water. Ivar ran to the bow and leaped blindly. A leap of faith into the darkness.

Ivar fell at least ten feet downward, but the sand and soil of the ground caught him. His legs stuck into the wet surface for a moment, the impact causing a sharp pain in his right hip. Pulling his legs out of the blackened sand, Ivar turned, only to watch the cabin of his boat sink into the roaring sea.

It was gone. He felt a maelstrom of regret and relief surge through his body. He'd lost his ship. He'd lost his livelihood. But he had not lost his life. He was still there.

Looking around, he put his hand in his pocket.

“Thank the Lord,” he whispered under his breath.

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