Odin Blew Up My TV! (4 page)

Susie squeezed her eyes tight shut, expecting something like an electric shock as the mist took its paralysing effect. Instead all she felt was a slight chill. When she opened her eyes she saw Greg grinning at her.

“Hey, we’re okay!” he exclaimed.

“Yes, why is that?” said Susie.

“Maybe we’re just tougher than everybody else,” Greg suggested.

“No, I don’t think so,” said Susie, staring at her Asgardian ring. “It must be these.”

Greg gazed at his ring too. “Becauuse Odin gave them to us?”

“They must have some kind of power that’s protecting us,” said Susie.

“Well, that’s a relief,” said Greg. “I didn’t fancy spending the rest of my life as a statue in somebody’s museum.”

“Take it from me, Greg,” said Susie with a chuckle, “nobody would consider you a work of art.”

They picked themselves up and looked around. The mist was so thick, they could barely see more than an
arm’s length ahead.

“Do you think Lewis got away from the harbour in time?” Susie wondered.

“If he did get away, I expect he headed for home,” said Greg.

“That’s where we’re off to then,” said Susie.

A few steps brought them onto the bridge over the Kinnessburn. They could hear the faint trickle of the stream as they crossed over and turned right along Kinnessburn Road.

“Hang on a second,” said Greg in an urgent whisper. “There’s somebody following us.”

“You’re right,” Susie agreed. She could hear what sounded like footfalls behind them.

Suddenly there came a harsh cackling noise.

They spun round to confront their pursuer. Susie braced herself, ready to fight off something with three heads. Instead, a pair of ducks waddled past, still quacking at each other, totally unconcerned with the two humans.

Susie heaved a sigh of relief.

“It must be bad when we get spooked by Donald Duck,” said Greg.

“That stuff must not affect animals,” said Susie. “And look, the sun’s breaking through.”

The mist was thinning and in a matter of seconds the air cleared completely.

“Well, that’s a bonus,” said Greg. “Now we can put on a bit of speed.”

They jogged past the bowling club and up Pipeland Road, passing various people frozen in mid-stride or seated inside their stalled cars. A flock of sparrows flitted across the sky, further proof that only humans had been affected.

“We’re probably the only people in St Andrews who can still move,” said Greg.

They were headed along Lamond Drive when they heard a dreadful screech. It was the cry of the fiery hawk, which came swooping over the nearby rooftops.

“Freeze!” said Greg.

He and Susie stopped dead in their tracks, doing their best to look as if they had been paralysed like everybody else. They held their breath, not daring to move a muscle as the shadow of the bird of prey passed over them. They held their poses stiffly until the creature disappeared from view.

“I think it’s gone,” said Greg.

Susie relaxed and gave herself a shake. “I never thought pretending to be a tree in drama class would ever come in so handy.”

Hurrying along, they finally reached Bannock Street, where the McBride family lived.

“It’s just as well Mum and Dad are in Dunfermline for the day, visiting Aunt Vivian,” said Greg.

“What, that horrible aunt of yours that nobody likes?”

“Dad calls it a pre-emptive strike,” said Greg, “to keep her from visiting us and staying for a week.”

They were walking up the street when a large dog came racing past them, howling in terror. It belonged to their neighbours, the Larkins, and it was in serious trouble.

Chasing after it, spitting and hissing, was a large ginger cat. This cat had been in so many fights it had lost tufts of fur from all over its body, and it only had one ear, which made it look even fiercer.

“Mrs Mulheron’s cat!” said Greg as he and Susie dodged aside.

The two pets flew past, the cat slashing with its front claws and narrowly missing the dog’s tail.

“I hate that wee monster!” Susie exclaimed as the animals disappeared round the corner into Learmonth place.

“I can’t believe Mrs Mulheron calls it Tiddles,” said Greg. “It should be called Fangface or Terrorclaw or something like that.”

“My mum calls it Evil Cat,” said Susie. “It terrorises every pet in the neighbourhood.”

“And a lot of the people too,” said Greg. “It should be declared a public enemy.”

In the distance they heard a savage squall from the cat as it pursued the hapless dog around the block.

Outside the McBride house a discarded bicycle lay on
its side on the pavement. Halfway up the front path they saw Lewis. He was frozen in mid-step as he made a mad dash for the front door.

They hurried over to him and Susie stared into his lifeless eyes. “Oh, no, the mist got him!”

“The mug!” Greg exclaimed in disgust. “I told him to wear his ring, but oh no, he was scared it would turn him into a toadstool or something.”

“If we can find his ring and stick it on his finger, maybe that will snap him out of it,” said Susie.

“Maybe,” Greg agreed. “But we can’t leave him standing around outside with Loki’s overgrown budgie out looking for us.”

“You grab his legs then,” said Susie, “and I’ll take his arms.”

Lewis was as rigid as a plank and his body didn’t change position at all as they carried him into the front room and laid him down on the sofa.

“Look at the state of him!” said Greg, shaking his head. “It’s as if he’s trying to run up to the ceiling.”

“Never mind how he looks,” said Susie. “Where does he keep his ring?”

“Probably in his room some place,” said Greg. He led the way upstairs. “He told me he could grab it quickly if he ever needed it.”

“I just hope we can find it,” said Susie.

“Don’t worry, it’ll be a cinch,” Greg assured her as
they entered the room. “He keeps this place as tidy as an operating theatre.”

A glance around Lewis’ room showed Susie that Greg hadn’t exaggerated. The books in the three large bookcases were organised into fiction and non-fiction and arranged alphabetically. The bed was neatly made and everything on the desk was sensibly arranged, sheets of paper and magazines carefully stacked, pens and pencils gathered in cups by colour.

“Is he expecting the Queen to drop by or something?” Susie wondered.

“No, he’s just nuts, if you ask me,” Greg replied.

A large glass tank near the foot of the bed was home to two goldfish. At the bottom of the tank were various pebbles and pieces of crystal as well as a plastic castle around which the fish occasionally swam.

“These fish are really cute,” said Susie.

“He calls them Ishmael and Ahab,” said Greg. “Heaven only knows why.”

He went to work on the drawers, tossing socks, jumpers and underwear in all directions. Susie meanwhile examined the desk and its contents. By the time she finished Greg was hauling the covers off Lewis’ bed and heaving the pillows aside.

“This is ridiculous,” he grunted. “You’d think he’d made it invisible.”

Suddenly Susie’s attention was caught by a ragged
orange shape at the foot of the bed, staring hungrily into the fish tank. It had one claw raised, ready to plunge in and snatch one of the goldfish.

“Evil Cat!” she yelled and rushed to shoo it off.

The cat recoiled, pressing itself against the wall and hissing. It bared its yellow teeth and raked the air with its claws.

“Get out of here!” Greg bellowed, plucking a pillow from the floor and flinging it at the animal.

The cat dodged aside, dropped to the floor, and dashed out the door with an angry snarl.

“It must have got in through an open window,” said Greg. “Really, we should get the police on to that monster.”

“There, there, Ishmael,” Susie soothed the goldfish. “Don’t you worry, Ahab. That horrid cat’s gone.” She peered more closely into the water and said, “What’s all this stuff at the bottom?”

“He puts all kinds of random junk in there,” said Greg. “He says it provides them with stimulation. Why anybody wants to stimulate a fish is beyond me.”

“There’s all sorts of stuff down there,” said Susie. “Rocks, pebbles, crystals—”

“And a stupid plastic castle,” said Greg. “So what?”

“I can see a glint of gold,” replied Susie.

“Right, let’s have it then,” said Greg, peering into the water and rolling up his sleeve.

He hesitated with his hand hovering over the water.
“You know, I’m sure those fish don’t like me. Look at the way Ahab is glowering at me.”

“Don’t be silly, Greg,” said Susie, plunging her arm in. “They won’t bite.” Raking through the sand at the bottom, she uncovered a golden ring, pinched it between her thumb and forefinger and lifted it out.

“Bingo!” said Greg, plucking it from her grasp. “Let’s go put it on him.”

They trooped downstairs, where Lewis was still flat on his back on the sofa, his limbs frozen in a running motion.

“He
would
have his hands in a really awkward position,” Greg complained, tilting Lewis’ motionless form towards him to get a better angle.

“I hope this works,” said Susie.

Greg forced the ring onto the third finger of Lewis’ right hand then stepped back. He and Susie watched anxiously, waiting for something to happen.

“I thought there’d be a flash of light or something,” said Greg.

“Give it time,” said Susie. “Maybe it takes a minute or two to take effect – you know, like aspirin.”

Just then Lewis made a choking sound and rolled off the sofa onto the floor. Seeing Susie and Greg, he croaked, “Big trouble – Loki’s back!”

“We sort of guessed that,” said Greg, helping him up.

“Have you seen him?” asked Susie.

Lewis nodded. “Down at the harbour. I was running to the house to get my ring. I had a notion it might protect me.”

“We had the same idea,” said Susie, “so we found it and stuck it on your finger. How do you feel?”

“A bit dizzy,” said Lewis, “but I think I’m okay. What are you two doing here? I thought you went to Dundee.”

“The bus got stopped by a forest,” said Greg.

“And a wild boar the size of a Mini,” Susie added.

Suddenly all three of their rings began to glow brightly and the TV switched itself on. The screen was a mass of static and it gave off a distorted noise that might or might not be a voice.

“The TV’s messed up like everything else,” said Greg, looking round for the remote control. “We might as well switch it off.”

“No, wait,” said Susie. “Look!”

The static cleared and in its place was the face of a man wearing a gold helmet. He had a long white beard and a black patch over his right eye.

“It’s just some old guy with a beard and an eyepatch,” Greg snorted. “It must be a pirate film.”

“Don’t you recognise him?” said Lewis. “That’s Odin, king of the gods.”

Odin raised a hand in greeting. His voice was broken and distorted and was not in sync with the movement of his lips, but they were able to make out a few words amidst the interference.

“Brzzzt… Loki… urrrzzzzz… staff… zzzzzeee… ount… dagger… urrzzzzz… bleeeeee… protect… oozzeeee… Asgard… rrzzzzz…”

Static flooded the screen once more and a piercing electronic whine filled the air. Flashing zigzags grew brighter as the noise grew louder. The TV began to shake violently.

“Take cover!” Greg yelled. All three of them dived behind the sofa.

The next instant the television screen exploded all over the carpet, leaving an empty frame behind.

Greg poked his head up and groaned, “We’ve only had that set a few weeks.”

“The alien energy must have overloaded it,” said Susie as they emerged from cover.

“The rings have stopped glowing,” Lewis observed.

“Now we know why Odin gave them to us,” said Susie.
“It was so he could contact us in a crisis.”

“Not that he told us much,” grumbled Greg. “It was mostly buzzing and crackling.”

Susie turned to Lewis. “Maybe you should tell us what happened at the harbour.”

“Let’s do it in the kitchen while I whip up some sandwiches,” Greg suggested.

“Ace idea!” said Susie. “I’m starved.”

Once they were seated round the kitchen table with cans of cola and a pile of ham and cheese sandwiches, Lewis gave them a brief account of Loki’s arrival by longship, his wolfling guards, and how he summoned the mist. Greg and Susie told him about their interrupted bus journey and all the strange things they had experienced since.

“So St Andrews is going weird because it’s been teleported to the land of Vanaheim, the land of the Norse gods,” said Susie, polishing off her last bite of sandwich.

“That explains the forest and the colour of the sea,” said Greg. He paused to drain his can of cola. “But what about the traffic lights, the cash machine and the rest?”

Lewis thought about that. “Normally they would be part of the national power grid, but obviously they can’t be attached to that now because we’re in a different world.”

“Since we’re in Vanaheim,” mused Susie, “all that stuff must be plugged into a field of cosmic energy that provides power for this place.”

“Can’t we just say it’s magic?” said Greg.

“A field of cosmic energy,”
Susie insisted. She pointed at the last sandwich Lewis had left on his plate untouched. “Are you going to eat that or what?”

“Help yourself,” said Lewis.

Susie grabbed the sandwich and took a big bite.

“Well, whatever you call this energy field,” said Lewis, “Odin used it to send us a message. But what was he trying to tell us?”

“It’s pretty clear he wants us to protect Asgard,” said Susie through a mouthful of sandwich.

“How are we supposed to do that?” wondered Greg. “From what you say, Lewis, Asgard’s been blasted away to the land of the dead!”

“That’s what Loki told me,” said Lewis.

“He could be wrong about that,” said Susie, “or he could be lying just to fool us.”

“Well, wherever Asgard is, we’re going to need a dagger to defend it,” said Greg. “Odin definitely said we need a dagger.”

“A dagger? I have to tell you, I don’t have one on me,” said Susie.

“Do you think a kitchen knife would do?” Lewis suggested.

“If Odin had meant a kitchen knife, I’m pretty sure he would have said a kitchen knife,” Greg informed him.

“Dagger it is then,” said Susie, taking a swig of cola. “So where are we going to get one of those? You won’t find one in the supermarket.”

Lewis frowned for a moment. “The museum’s got a Viking exhibition going on just now. Maybe there’s a dagger on display there.”

“A Viking dagger? That would be just the thing,” said Greg cheerfully.

“Then what?” asked Susie. “How do we protect Asgard when we don’t know where it is?”

“Maybe Odin will send another message once we have the dagger,” said Lewis.

“Then we’d better not hang about,” said Greg. He stood up and brushed the crumbs off the front of his jumper. “Let’s get to the museum. Where is it?”

“It’s in Kinburn Park,” said Lewis. “Have you never been there?”

“They made us go in primary school once,” said Greg. “All I remember is eating crisps in the tearoom.”

They left the kitchen and headed down the hallway to the front door.

“Once we get our hands on that dagger, the rest will be a piece of cake,” Greg asserted confidently as he flung open the door.

Two snarling wolflings loomed on the doorstep, swords in hand.

Greg slammed the door in their faces and turned to the others. “Maybe it won’t be so easy.”

The door shuddered under a heavy blow and the three
of them recoiled. There came a crash from the rear of the house.

“They’re coming in through the back as well!” Susie cried.

The front door bashed open and the wolflings bounded inside with a feral gleam in their eyes.

“This way!” yelled Greg and they all dived into the front room.

Growling deep in their throats, the wolflings followed their prey. Two more came barging in from the kitchen, fangs gleaming hungrily.

Lewis glanced right and left. “We’re trapped!” he groaned.

“You prisoners now,” one of the wolflings rumbled.

“I don’t know about you two,” said Susie, “but I’m not giving in without a fight.”

“A fight?” Lewis echoed incredulously. “There are four of them and they all have swords and very pointy teeth!”

“They’re not so tough, Lewis,” said Greg. “I bet we can take them.” He snatched a cushion off the sofa and got ready to throw it. Susie grabbed hold of a table lamp and brandished it like a club.

The wolflings closed in. Just then a savage “
SCREEOWR!
” from behind halted them in their tracks. Neck fur bristling, they turned to see who was bold enough to challenge them.

There in the hall doorway, swelling itself up to its largest size, its eyes blazing with malice, stood Evil Cat. Far from
being afraid of the wolflings, it looked eager to take them on.

The effect on the wolflings was electrifying. They turned on the cat as one, their yellow eyes flashing, savage growls vibrating in their throats.

Evil Cat spat defiance at them.

Prisoners forgotten, the wolflings lunged at their new enemy. With a malevolent hiss Evil Cat turned and fled. The wolflings instinctively gave chase, slashing at the air with their swords. In a pack they pursued Evil Cat out the back door.

“Wow!” said Greg. “You’d think Loki would have them better trained.”

“We’d better get out of here before the cat shakes them off and they remember what they came for,” said Susie.

The three of them ran out the front door and down Bannock Street. In the distance they could hear the wolflings’ howls as they hunted Evil Cat along Lindsay Gardens.

“Right,” said Greg, “which way to Kinburn Park?”

“We should keep under cover,” Susie advised, “in case that giant hawk’s out looking for us.”

“Let’s take the Lade Braes Walk,” suggested Lewis. “There are plenty of trees there to hide us.”

They hurried down to the Lade Braes and followed the path that ran beside the burn. Tall oaks and beech trees shaded the whole route with their spreading branches. From there they turned up onto Doubledykes Road.

All along the way they passed people paralysed mid-step, which Lewis found unsettling. “It’s like walking through a huge waxworks,” he murmured.

“I just hope everybody will wake up again,” said Susie.

“No worries, Spinny,” said Greg, clapping her on the shoulder. “We woke Lewis up and he’s right as rain. Aren’t you, Lewis?”

“I guess so,” said Lewis. “Although, now that you mention it, my stomach’s a bit queasy. I think the cheese in those sandwiches was a bit off.”

“Never mind your stomach!” said Greg. “Here’s the park now.”

They entered Kinburn Park and followed a paved drive up to the museum. From the outside it looked like a miniature castle. A sign by the door advertised teas and coffees in the café.

All the lights inside were flickering an eerie green colour. At the reception desk sat a Goth girl in pink glasses, one hand stretched out towards the telephone. Beyond her was the café where several customers were seated, some with cups in their hands, one with a piece of cake on its way into his mouth. The flickering light made the motionless figures look like zombies, just waiting to lurch into unnatural life.

“I wish the lights would stop doing that,” said Susie with a shudder.

“Come on, it’s not like the place is haunted,”
said Greg.

An opening to their right led to a room where items from the history of St Andrews were on display. There were photographs of Market Street in Victorian times, a wartime gas mask, a sign from a cinema that shut down in the 1970s, and even some railway timetables from when trains stopped at the town. On the far wall was a screen that usually showed old newsreels.

“The Viking exhibit is upstairs,” said Lewis.

“No, come and look at this,” said Susie, beckoning them over to the screen.

On the screen they saw a lofty mountain with mysterious silver clouds swirling about its craggy summit. As if issuing from the mountain itself, they heard the voice of Odin. Lewis felt the ring on his finger begin to tingle as they pressed in closer to hear. All three of them strained their ears, trying to distinguish Odin’s words from the static interference.

“Rrrzzzzz… flash… bzzzt… rescue… urrrzzz… gurda…”

The screen flickered and the face of Odin, one-eyed and white-bearded, superimposed itself upon the mountain.

“Skkkrrk… staff… zzzeee… three… dziziz…”

There was a dazzling flash and the picture reverted to some horse-drawn wagons moving over a cobbled marketplace.

“It’s gone back to its usual film,” said Lewis.

“Well, that little message was about as much help as a Chinese crossword puzzle,” said Greg.

“But he’s definitely trying to tell us something. Come on, we’d best get upstairs and look for that dagger,” said Susie.

They climbed up to the first floor. The atmosphere here was even more unsettling. The strange light played over a Viking helmet on loan from a museum in Orkney, and made the dragon eyes on a model longship glint as if they were alive. There were some glass cases displaying old coins and ancient jewellery. Beyond them stood a dummy dressed in a monk’s hooded robe, recalling the days when the monks had to barricade their monasteries against Viking raiders.

“I don’t see any dagger,” said Lewis, disappointed.

“Me neither,” said Susie. “Let’s get out of here. This place is too spooky.”

“Do you think there are ghosts hiding in the shadows?” asked Greg with a grin. “Maybe we should call Scooby Doo.”

“Greg, don’t joke about ghosts,” said Susie.

They turned back towards the stairs, and as they did, the hooded monk lurched into motion and staggered towards them.

“Run!” Susie cried. “The place
is
haunted!”