Ruff had messed with Fishlegs' head. She had not done so intentionally, but the victory was still glorious anyway and she was going to take any pleasure she could out of his obvious suffering. And obvious it was. For someone who had been for years just content to do his own thing he was looking wonderfully jumpy and upset. All she had to do was scream and he would jump through the roof. She had power over him, sweet and delicious power. He might not care for her, but she had managed to get into his head enough to make him pay for her heartache.
All miserable day he had done nothing. No mind-numbingly geeky activity. He barely even ate, and he was capable of eating no matter what was going on. He just hung around as far from her as possible and exuded terror and discomfort.
Ruff still wanted nothing more than to cry her eyes out all over again, but being quiet had its advantanges and a tiny part of her was actually enjoying all of it a little too much. The longer she looked sad and angry, the worse it would be for him. He was a nice guy. She knew that. So even if he did not love her he should have enough of a heart to acknowledge what he had done to her.
Yes, it was good old-fashioned head messing. Tantrum had been right. It was fun.
Until she thought about it too much. Then the sick joy was gone and she was back to how she had been the night before sans crying. Even if she wanted to cry, she was not going to. It was not going to fix anything. She knew that.
She did like it when he tried to talk to her, even though it was probably just him being nice. Well, that was one reason she loved him: he was nice.
She had done her share of the speaking. She had actually iniated a conversation. One that she definitely did not want to have, but it had seemed… necessary, save for freak change in his feelings. Or hers, maybe back to before where she didn't care quite so much. Besides… that conversation… would be even worse to her. Was she just supposed to abandon everything after they had reached such a good place?
But if that was what he wanted, then so be it.
Except he didn't seem like that was what he wanted. Was that a good or a bad thing? Was he just so content with how things were going that he just did not want a change? Or…
Well, if that were the case, he should have said something last night!
She wished she had other thoughts to preoccupy herself with than that, but it was impossible to shake from her brain. She couldn't go anywhere else, she couldn't make Fishlegs go anywhere else. There he was, this mostly silent reminder of what had happened. Last night, the pregnancy, everything. The only good thing that kept her from going completely crazy was the knowledge he was suffering, too.
All. Day. Long.
So she pulled out sewing. Of all things, sewing. She didn't like it anymore now that she wasn't trying to please Fishlegs. But it was there and the needle was sharp and she could pretend the fabric was Fishlegs. Stab. Stab. Stab.
But it was cold. Whatever time of day it was, the air was cold, no matter what he said about snow trapping air and heat. So she had allowed him to chop an axe right through the house in some weird attempt to get wood. It had worked. It had been fun. She had been happy. He had looked happy.
Tragically, there had been nothing after that. Happiness could be very awkward.
Then what had to be darkness came. At least, the fire burned brighter. Night time already and she had not killed Fishlegs. They had both survived this mess. She had managed not to cry again.
She pushed the sewing under the bed. How long had she been doing that? Her fingers were stiff and she had drawn more blood than she could ever measure. And the sewing looked like crap.
Why had she burst out what she had burst out? What had she been thinking? Now that she looked at Fishlegs it was so obvious. Releasing that kind of information on him was like catapulting a boulder onto both of them. She had been a fool to think that just because she loved him meant he loved her.
He liked her. Why couldn't that have been good enough? And it had been good enough. He seemed to enjoy all of it, the kissing, the sex, just being around her. And things, oddly enough, had improved ever since the miscarriage. Or she had thought so. He really liked her, though. He had said so, and considering she drove half the village nuts, that was pretty good.
But it wasn't enough. She had that to think about plus the fact that she was trapped inside with someone she wanted to disembowel plus the fact that it was getting very dark. The snow only made it worse. She shivered.
"Do you want to hear a ghost story?"
Had she heard that right? A ghost story? She was sad and mad and a little scared of the dark, and he had the nerve to ask her if she wanted to hear a ghost story? She stared at him.
He must have seen the befuddlement in her face, because he sucked in some air and asked her again "Do you want to hear a ghost story?"
No, she did not want to hear a ghost story! Was he completely crazy? She rolled her eyes and pulled her knees into her chest.
"I just thought it would be really appropriate since we're trapped in here and it's dark and kind of eerie," he explained, apparently not getting the message she did not want to hear one of his stupid ghost stories.
Despite how fun it would be.
"Night and winter are always the best time for ghost stories."
Ruff was sure they were, but she did not want to hear a ghost story.
He scooted his chair about a foot in her direction. "Okay! Here it goes!"
Thor almighty, she was going to have to listen to one if she didn't open her mouth and yell at him.
Fishlegs' voice lowered to a raspy whisper. "It was a dark and stormy night."
Wasn't that how all ghost stories began?
"Despite the rain, thunder, and lightning, a rage of dragons took wing and attacked the seaside village. The Vikings fought hard, and in the end drove the dragons off. But a Viking woman's arm was bitten off during the attack."
Eww.
"To replace her arm, her husband had fashioned for her an arm made of solid gold."
No one in Berk ever used gold.
"The golden arm was the woman's pride and joy, and when she was died, she was buried in her barrow with it. But soon after her death, her husband began thinking of all he could do with that golden arm."
Hmm. What were the uses of a golden arm? Would Fishlegs start listening those next?
"So he returned to the barrow, broke into it, and stole the golden arm right off of the body! He took it home and locked it into a chest. He then went to sleep, not worrying about a thing. Until he heard footsteps outside the house. Thump. Thump. Thump." Fishlegs said each sound effect like it was the most serious thing he ever had to say. "And then, a voice he could barely hear "Who's got my golden arm?" "
This sounded familiar. She had heard this before. "Fishlegs—"
But he just kept on with the story. "The man went for his battle hammer, certain that its great weight would protect him against any threat, natural or unnatural. But by the time he had the weapon in hand there was a pounding at the door. Thump. Thump. Thump. And the voice came again, a little louder this time "Who's got my golden arm?" Now of course the man was a true Viking and not terrified in the least. Even so, he did not approach the door."
Ruff would have probably opened the door and banged the crazy old one-armed woman over the head with the hammer right then and there instead of waiting for her to corner her inside a building.
"Nor did the man respond. He squeezed the hammer all the tighter. Then the door began to shake as the ghoulish creature outside tried to get in, all the while crying in a voice like wind through a cave "Who's got my golden arm?" But at last the door flew open and—"
It was more than Ruff could take. She sighed and pushed her feet out, as if that would be enough to end the story. "I know! I've heard this! Everyone's heard this story! The dead lady pops into the house and screams "You've got it!" or some equally stupid line while you jump at me and try to scare me."
Fishlegs reddened. "I wasn't going to jump at you."
Probably not. He was too terrified and weirdly uncomfortable. Good. She had messed with him. "Don't you know any other stories?"
He almost smiled. "Yes!"
Obviously she should not have asked that question. "Well, don't tell them."
"But it's the best time for telling ghost stories."
"You already explained that." Still, he was right. It was now so dark that the only light came from the fire and the wind outside was louder than any dead woman. "But that wasn't even a decent ghost story. It was a lame story for scaring little kids."
"It scared me when I was little," Fishlegs replied.
The truth was it had scared her, the first twenty times she had heard it. "I'm sure it did."
He sighed and was silent for so long that Ruff finally assumed he was done trying to talk to her for the time being. "How about this one?"
Maybe she should throw one of the needles at him. "I don't want to hear one."
"This one is good, I promise."
He looked so eager and excited that Ruff just vaguely nodded her head and decided she would just try to think of something else."
Fishlegs moved even closer and began in the same over-dramatic whispering voice. "A certain boy and girl once lived nearby. The boy was in the habit of trying to frighten the girl in a variety of ways, till she became at last so accustomed to his tricks, that she ceased to care for anything whatever, putting down everything strange that she saw and heard to the boy's mischief.
One washing way, the girl was sent by her mother to fetch home the linen, which had been spread to dry in a pasture. When she had nearly filled her basket, she happened to look up, and saw sitting on a barrow near her a figure dressed in white from head to foot, but was not the least alarmed, believing it to be the boy playing her, as usual, a trick. So she ran up to it, and pulling its cap off said, "You shall not frighten me this time."
Then when she had finished collecting the linen she went home. But, to her astonishment the boy was the first person who greeted her upon her return. Among the linen, too, when it was sorted, was found a moldy white cap, which appeared to be nobody's property, and which was half full of earth.
The next morning the ghost, for what else could it have been? was found sitting with no cap upon its head, upon the same barrow as the evening before. Nobody knew what to do or to get rid of it, so they asked a neighboring village for advice.
An old man declared that the only way to avoid certain evil was for the little girl to place the cap back on the ghosts, in the presence of many people, all of whom were to be perfectly silent. So a crowd collected in the pasture, and the little girl, going forward, half afraid, with the cap, placed it upon the ghost's head, saying, "Are you satisfied now?"
But the ghost, raising its hand, gave her a terrible blow, and said, "Yes, but are you now satisfied?"
The little girl fell down dead, and at the same instant the ghost sank into the barrow upon which it had been sitting, and was no more seen." Fishlegs finished, and fell into a rather pleased silence.
In spite of herself, Ruffnut shuddered. She really did hate scary stories. "That's a terrible ending."
Fishlegs shrugged. "What would have preferred? A happy ending? The best ghost stories have really creepy and awful endings. Trust me. The more gruesome and sad, the better."
He did have a point to that. Ruff fiddled with a strand of hair that had come loose. She could barely see anymore, it was so dark. "I think it's cool that you like all those old stories." She didn't sound like she thought it was cool, he didn't deserve that much.
He shrugged again. "Well, they're really awesome to hear. They're just neat."
She couldn't believe he had bothered to tell her a story. Well, she could believe it. It was just like him to blather on when no one cared. Even so… "Was that just to be nice to me?"
"Um…" That sent away all the recently gained comfort for him. "Well, yeah, I thought you might want to hear a story and it seemed like the perfect time, so I told you a story."
"Because you felt bad?" She couldn't keep a small hiss out of her voice.
There was another long period of silence where the only sound came from the fire. "No. I really wanted to tell you a story. I like telling stories."
He sounded honest enough. She didn't reply. She really did not understand him or anything that he did. She liked it, but she didn't understand it. Maybe that was half the fun. If only it didn't leave her feeling so miserable.
He claimed he liked her. He claimed he cared about her. Okay, fine. Couldn't he prove it?
Kisa wandered over to her with a meow that meant she wanted to be picked up. Ruff did so, and spent the next time playing and wrestling with the kitten. At least somebody in the snowbound place wanted to be with her. But at last even she grew weary of that. Without saying another word to Fishlegs or even looking at him, she crawled into bed. So much more comfy than the floor. The perfect place to hatch a plan.
Note: Actual folklore pieces we thought were cool.
