Villi Asgeirsson

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The Performer – a short story

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The minutes felt like hours. He played with the lighter for a while, then realised he hadn’t rolled one yet. Never mind. The snow, in a straight line. As the gust blew, it got sucked up and accumulated in the clouds. Falling to the sky, it felt like a hurricane. And still, the seconds felt like minutes.

A deep drone filled his mind. It was almost time. Feet stomping on the floor, hands clapping. His name drowning in the noise. His name being chanted by a mad crowd.

The leaves fell on the white paper, that looked like a snow covered ground, and he rolled it up. Put it in his mouth and grabbed the lighter. He didn’t notice the footsteps rushing back and forth in the hallway outside his door. The blizzard raged in his mind, and the smoke helped him calm down.

Thousands of people were calling his name, but he didn’t hear them.

He looked himself in the eyes in the large mirror, admired his own looks. He was older, but he still had it. Running his fingers through his hair, he felt grateful. At least I still have my hair, he thought to himself. He pulled a deep drag and leaned back in the chair. Looked at the ceiling. There was a hook. Why there would be a hook there was beyond him. Maybe they used it to haul things.

On the desk was a bowl of candies. All blue. It was a part of his rider, a bouquet of roses, a bottle of chardonnay and a single malt whisky, beers and a bowl of this candy. All blue. It started as a joke. Would they really put people to work sorting candies? It sounded ridiculous, but apparently they did. If the performer wanted blue candies, that’s what he got.

He looked up again. What a perfectly beautiful hook it was. Would be a shame to have it go unused.

There was a bottle of pills here somewhere. He searched his bag and found them. The drone of the masses sounded like a diabolic symphony as he emptied the bottle of pills into the candy bowl. The perfect blue was now sprinkled in white, like sea foam. He closed his eyes, filled his hand, and shovelled the blue and white into his mouth. Chewed and washed it down with the single malt.

The audience was still stomping and clapping, calling his name. It annoyed him slightly. What did they want from him? The same old songs he’d played for years on end? The same banter between the songs? I wrote this one after… blah, blah, blah. There was this girl I used to know, blah, blah. And then he would hit the chord on his guitar and they would go apeshit. Well into his fifties, he was singing songs about losing teenage girls, written when he was a teenager. What in the name of all that’s good was the point in all this? He still had his looks, mostly, but he was a caricature.

He removed his tie. Why he wore a suit every time was a mystery. He’d started doing it some years ago, probably thought it looked stylish. Grabbed a handful of candies mixed with the white pills. It was a delightful combination. The sweetness of the chocolate mixed with the bitter taste of the pills. The glass was empty.

The tie seemed to fit perfectly through the hook. Standing on the chair, he secured it. Tied the other end around his neck.

His name, the foot stomping and the clapping echoing in his mind. They were getting anxious. It was understandable. He was such fun on stage, telling funny stories, ripping into his old songs and making sure everyone was having the time of their lives.

Why am I so much fun on stage, yet here I feel perfectly miserable? What is this mask I’m wearing? He asked himself every night. Never did he get an answer. Why is it I need thousands of people to scream my name to feel satisfied? And then, why do I feel so empty?

Securing the tie to the hook, he stepped down from the chair. Filled his mouth with candy again. He was getting dizzy. The damn pills were all on top. He should have mixed the contents of the bowl when he poured them in. Too many pills, not enough candy.

He filled the glass again and downed it. Climbed back on the chair. Tied the tie around his neck. He felt how the chair was constantly threatening to roll away. Good wheels, they were. He stood there, dizzy, wondering what the hell he was doing. If he lost his balance and the chair rolled off…

They chanted his name.

A knock on the door and someone shouted, showtime!

This is the twenty-fifth installment in the Moments series

Jónsmessa – smásaga

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Jón gerði að útihúsunum, sá til þess að allt væri klárt fyrir nóttina, áður en hann fór til hvílu. Jónsmessunótt var að ganga í garð. Sólin myndi ekki setjast, en morgundagurinn yrði eins og hver annar. Verkin spurðu ekki að því hvaða dagur var, þau yrðu að vinnast og hann varð að vera úthvíldur. Enda var það öllum ljóst að það var slæm hugmynd að vaka á Jónsmessu. Ef kýrnar talandi gerðu mann ekki vitstola, yrðu álfkonurnar á vegi manns, með tilheyrandi freistingum. Nei. Jón færi til hvílu í kvöld, eins og öll önnur kvöld.

Sólin skein á kotið þar sem hann lokaði hurðinni og lagðist til hvílu. Úti glitraði lygnur sjórinn þar sem hann strauk svartan sandinn. Það eina sem raskaði spegilsléttu yfirborðinu var selur sem stakk hausnum upp fyrir yfirborðið og horfði til lands. Sandurinn vék fyrir grænu grasinu sem þakti undirlendið, og jökullinn, baðaður í kvöldsólinni, sameinaðist rauðglóandi himninum.

Fætur hennar snertu blautan sandinn og aldan lék sér við tærnar. Hún teygði úr sér, hendurnar yfir höfuðið, eins og hún væri að reyna að snerta himininn. Leyfði hlýrri kvöldsólinni að gæla við líkamann. Hún brosti, dró andann eins djúpt og hún gat og gekk upp sandinn. Grasið kitlaði fæturna, en það var allt í lagi. Það var ekki oft sem hún gat gengið hér. Einu sinni á ári.

Kotið birtist henni þegar hún kom upp á hólinn. Tvær kýr voru á beit, litu á hana, buðu gott kvöld. Spurðu hvað hún væri að gera hér. Bara í heimsókn, svaraði hún brosandi, og lét sér það engu skipta að kýrnar töluðu við hana. Annað eins hafði gerst.

Hljóðlega opnaði hún dyrnar og læddist inn. Það var dimmt og svalt inni í bænum. Hann lá sofandi, og hún smeygði sér upp í rekkjuna, naut hlýjunnar. Hann rumskaði, hreyfði sig lítillega þegar hún snerti andlit hans með kaldri hendinni. Hún snerti bringuna og strauk. Hann vaknaði og snéri sér að henni. Leit í djúp augun. Hann snerti ljósa og silkimjúka hárið.

‘Í dag er Jónsmessunótt,’ sagði hann. ‘Ertu álfkona?’

‘Nei, auðvitað ekki. Álfkonurnar eru allar uppteknar á vegamótum.’

‘Hver ertu,’ spurði hann.

Hún snerti varir hans létt með fingrinum og kyssti hann á ennið. Strauk á honum andlitið, lét fingurna renna niður hálsinn og niður á bringu. Bóndahjartað sló hratt. Óttinn og spennan börðust innra með honum. Hver var þessi gullfallega kona? Hvað vildi hún í hans rekkju? Hvaðan hafði hún komið? Hann reyndi að stilla sig, reyndi að standast freistinguna, en hann var einmana. Hún var fallegasta vera sem hann hafði nokkurn tíma séð. Hvort hún var mennsk eða ekki, gat hann ekki dæmt um, en það skipti hann litlu máli. Ef hún var mennsk, gat hann ekki látið þetta tækifæri frá sér fara. Hún gæti verið mennsk, og hún yrði þá vonandi konan hans.

Hún dró af honum klæðin og þau elskuðust. Miðnætursólin varpaði daufri birtu inn um norðurskjáinn og lýsti upp konuna, svo að hún líktist helst engli af holdi og blóði.

Það næsta sem hann mundi var fuglasöngurinn sem boðaði nýjan dag. Ef hægt var að tala um nýjan dag í landi þar sem sólin ekki settist um mitt sumar. Jón horfði í kringum sig, undrandi og hálf hræddur við það sem hafði gerst. Hvar var elskhugi hans? Hvar var fallegasta vera sem hann á allri ævinni hafði séð? Hann vildi ekki trúa að þetta hefði einungis verið draumur. Hann reis snöggt úr rekkju og horfði í kringum sig. Hvert hafði hún farið?

Jón hljóp út úr kotinu, mundi að þetta var nóttin þar sem bændur veltu sér upp úr morgundögginni svo að draumar þeirra mættu rætast, og henti sér í blautt grasið. Eftir að hafa velt sér um í einhvern tíma, stóð hann upp og leit í kringum sig. Hvar var hún? Hann leit á kýrnar en þær töluðu ekki. Hvar er hún, spurði hann aftur. Kýrnar litu á hann, bitu í grasið og slengdu hausunum í átt að ströndinni. Hann tók til fótanna, hljóp eins hratt og þeir báru hann. Blautt grasið vék fyrir votum sandinum. Jón kastaði mæðinni og horfði niður eftir ströndinni.

Sólin var komin töluvert hátt á loft og geislar hennar glitruðu á sjávarfletinum. Jökullinn glóði eins og haugur úr gulli.

En hún var ekki hér.

Ástin hans var farin.

Þar sem hann sat í sandinum sá hann ekkert nema nokkra fugla á flugi og sel sem stakk hausnum upp úr sjónum og horfði á hann. Þau horfðust í augu eitt andartak, áður en selurinn hvarf undir yfirborðið.

Þessi saga var upphaflega gefin út 20. júní 2021 á ensku sem Summer Solstice, og er hluti af smásagnaflokknum Moments (Augnablik)

Summer Solstice – a short story

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Jón attended the outhouses, made sure everything was as it should be, before retiring to bed. It was Jónsmessa, the longest day of the year. The sun wouldn’t set, but tomorrow would bring more chores, and he needed the rest. The sun shone on his little cottage as he shut the door and lay his head on the pillow.

Outside, the rays of the low sun glistened on the calm waves as they gently stroked the black sand. A lone seal popped its head out of the water and looked up towards the shore. The sand gave way to the green grass of the lowlands, and the glacier reigned supreme in the distance.

Her feet touched the cool sand, and the waves tickled her toes. She stretched her arms towards the sky, letting the sun bathe her body, feeling the warmth on her skin. Taking a deep breath, she smiled and walked towards the green beyond the beach. The grass tickled, but she didn’t mind. It wasn’t often she could walk here. Once a year.

The cottage appeared as she cleared a small hill. Two cows looked at her, offered her a good evening. Asked what she was doing here. Just visiting, she said and smiled.

She quietly opened the door to the cottage and got inside. It was dark and cool. He lay there sleeping, and she slipped into his bed, felt his warmth. He moved slightly as her chilly hand touched his face. As she stroked his chest, he woke up and turned towards her. He turned to face this strange lady. Her deep and dark eyes contrasted with her fair skin and blonde hair.

‘It is Jónsmessa,’ he said. ‘Are you an elf?’

‘No, of course not. The elves are busy at the crossroads.’

‘Who are you,’ he asked.

She put her finger on his lips and kissed him on the forehead. Let her hands feel his body. The farmer felt his heart race. Fear and excitement fought within him. Who was this beautiful woman? What was she doing in his bed? Where had she come from? He tried to restrain himself, but he was lonely. She was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen and if this night would end up with him finding a wife, who was he to resist?

They undressed and made love, while the midnight sun shone through the northern window. It was magical.

The next thing he knew was the singing of the birds as they welcomed a new dawn. If you could call it that, in a land where the sun never sets in mid-summer. Jón looked around, confused. Where was his lover? The most beautiful woman he’d ever seen? Surely he hadn’t been dreaming? He jumped out of bed and looked desperately around. Where had she gone?

Jón quickly ran outside, remembered that it was the time of year where you roll naked in the morning dew to have your dreams come true, and promptly threw himself to the ground. After rolling for a while, he jumped back onto his feet and looked around. Where was she? Looking at the cows, they spoke no more. Where is she, he asked again? The cows looked at him, then swayed their heads towards the beach. He ran as fast as he could, feet wet from the damp grass. Out of breath, he ran onto the black sand and looked around.

The sun, already high in the sky, reflected on the calm sea. The glacier in the distance looked like a pile of gold.

But she wasn’t here.

His love gone.

Sitting on the sand, all he could see was a seal, popping her head out of the water, looking at him. A moment passed, then the head disappeared beneath the waves.

This is the twenty-fourth installment in the Moments series

The House of the Living – a short story

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Dear Mr and Mrs Havel,

It is with deep regret that I write you this letter. I am sure you must be quite aware of the fact that summer – with all its daylight and sunshine – is a troublesome time for us and it concerns me that you seem to show no consideration to your fellow beings.

In the deep dark of winter, we kept reasonably low profile as not to bother you too much. We are aware that noises and surprise appearances are unwelcome and can be downright scary.

We did not turn on the lights at night, as you probably expect of our sort. Neither did we slam doors or look through the windows from the outside. Never did we rearrange jars in the kitchen or throw furniture around. We are not like that.

We prefer a quiet and calm house, where we all can go about our business. It is therefore unacceptable that you insist on keeping the lights turned on at all times. What is the point in keeping a light on in the toilet when you’re not using it? Back in the day, this was my bedroom and while it’s frustrating enough that you satisfy your earthly needs there with the unavoidable smell, keeping the light on is simply rude.

Same can be said of the living room and the hallway after you’ve gone to sleep. What is the point in keeping lights on while you sleep? I realise you were scared after I bumped into the table a few weeks ago and finding the lights turned off in the morning seems eerie, but you make noise too and you keep the lights on. And yes, you were shocked when I entered the living room rather too quickly the other day, slamming the door by accident and leaving a trail of light that you saw from the corner of your eye and can not explain.

But you must understand that we mean no harm. Sometime we simply get ahead of ourselves and in the excitement, you sense us.

Oh, and that incident in the kitchen when the jar fell on the floor and broke. I know, stupid of me. Having died so recently, I hadn’t quite realised I am not a solid animal like you and as I tried to get myself a cookie. It slipped through my hands and I was just as surprised as you would have been. I have since learned that I do not feel hungry, have no use for cookies and that I am unable to hold objects for more than a second or two. Even that takes a lot of energy, so I try to avoid it.

Make no mistake though, if I must, I will pick up objects and throw them. I will rush through doors and turn lights off.

It is my hope that this letter finds you well, that you understand my concerns and do your best to be as considerate as we have been. That visit by the priest last week was an insult. Do you really believe a man of the cloth is going to make any difference? Surely, you don’t think we’re some kind of Satanic beings? Diabolical demons whose only purpose (I almost wrote “in life”, but that would be an odd choice of words) is to make your life hell? We are none of that. All we are is people that have gone before you, lived in this house and died, making way for you. A singing priest with a necklace in one hand and waiving a cross in the air, is comical to us. Not scary at all. Had it not been for the reason he was here, we would have been quite amused.

Your action of calling him and getting him to come with the purpose of supposedly exorcising us out of the house is very unfortunate, indeed. It proves your hostile intent.

It is with great regret that we must inform you we see no other option than to pay in kind, to act like you do, with a perfect disregard for beings of other dimensions. We will slam doors, appear on your TV, open the curtains and look through your windows, and turn your lights on or off as we see fit. We will also sit and watch you in the bedroom, boring as that is.

The only way for us all to find happiness is if we coexist in peace and respect each other. We hope that our activity in the coming days and weeks help you understand that only by respecting each other, can we live here together. We have been here longer than you, and we will not let mortals drive us out.

Kind Regards,

Annie and Keith Ullman (previous owners of your house)

This is the twenty-third installment in the Moments series

Spectre – a short story

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Waking up to a thundering headache, it took a while for my eyes to adjust, yet I couldn’t place where I was. Never been here before. Music played somewhere.

I went out of bed and into a hallway. She almost looked like a supermodel from the late sixties, with the long hair and motherly danger to her.

Am I in Heaven, I asked? She just smiled.

The music was Scott Walker. How appropriate. She offered me coffee.

This is the twenty-second installment in the Moments series

A New Eden – a short story

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The display read 28 May 2321. It also displayed general information on the outside atmosphere. 77 percent nitrogen, 22 percent oxygen, 0.8 percent argon, and 0.2 percent unidentified gases. Temperature is 22 degrees Celsius, humidity 81 percent.

It is almost the same as Earth’s, Ashley said. Atmospheric pressure is 87% of that on Earth. We should have no trouble breathing here, but we may grow tired quicker, but slightly lower gravity may compensate.

The others were sceptical, but the surroundings looked suspiciously similar to Earth. Trees with deep green leaves, a strange creature shot through the grass-like straws. Some kind of cross between a cat, a dog and a koala. Looked harmless.

I didn’t expect to see mammal-like creatures here, Aron said. He was the commander of the mission and immediately after touchdown; he took the initiative. I’m going into the airlock, no space suit, no oxygen. Lydia, you take command if I don’t make it.

They sealed the airlock and watched as Aron prepared himself. He rolled his shoulders, looked up, took a deep breath, wiggled his arms. Okay, open the outer door.

The door made a whooshing sound as air rushed out. Because of the lower atmospheric pressure, he felt slightly dizzy for a moment, but adapted quickly. The air was fresh, like he’d never experienced before. One small step for us, a giant leap into the future. The grass was soft and slightly damp, and the leaves of the trees made a soft hustling sound in the gentle breeze. What a perfect world, Aron thought. They were here to build a new world for humanity and he fantasised about how it would turn out. The six astronauts were highly intelligent, each a specialist in their field, chosen after extended physical and psychological tests. Earth 2.0 would be a lot more successful than the old world they’d left behind.

He turned and looked at the spaceship behind him. A relic of their old world. The last great achievement before civilisation turned inwards and was forced to react to the climate catastrophe of the late twenty-first century. There were no space missions anymore, no looking to the future. Earth had enough problems to deal with. He imagined they’d probably forgotten about this very mission, Genesis I, launched to explore a promising planet in the Alpha Centauri star system. Scientists had pinpointed this planet in 2176 as very similar to Earth, and a mission was immediately prepared.

The six astronauts would need to find a way to communicate with Mission Control, if it still existed. The findings were correct. This could be a perfect Earth 2.0. A new Eden.

The airlock closed and within a few seconds, the other five were outside. I suppose building a fire should be safe, Lydia said. The atmosphere is similar to ours and the ground isn’t overly dry. Let’s set up camp here.

The days were longer, around 27 hours and a few minutes, but they got used to it. The trees provided excellent building material, and there was enough edible vegetation. Within a few weeks, they were no astronauts anymore; they were settlers. A few exhibitions had revealed a mountain range in one direction and a large lake or an ocean close by. They relocated and set up camp on the shore.

Lydia was busy working on the communications equipment, trying to contact Earth. She and Aron were getting very friendly, while Ben, the biologist, was trying his best with Ashley. Ben laughed about them being Adam and Eve, and that they would create a new humankind. Ashley shrugged it off. Spoiling this world with humans was the last thing she was interested in. The more she learned about this new world, the more absurd the idea was. Wounds left by chopped trees angered her. The houses they built didn’t belong here. What if they managed to contact Earth and thousands, or millions of people arrived here?

Would they destroy the forests? Would native species go extinct? Would the oceans become acidic and die?

The idea was unbearable.

It was on the evening of 29 August that everything changed. Three months and a day after planetfall, two camps later, Ben made his move. Aron and Lydia were off for a walk along the shore when Ben put his arms around Ashley. She resisted, but he grabbed her tighter. You know you want it, babe. We are Adam and Eve and without us, this world will die. He slipped his hand down her trousers while holding her. She couldn’t move. She tried to fight him off, but he was stronger. He finished what he’d started and rolled over. Ashley lay in the sand, tears running down her cheeks. Aron and Lydia were far away and the other two were at the spaceship. She was alone in this alien world.

Rage was building up in her. Ben had violated this peaceful world, violated her, destroyed what they had. Their duty was to build a new human race, to populate a world that didn’t need or want them. She realised everything would be the same, women would be subdued, raped, abused. The planet would be exploited. Rage got the better of her. She grabbed a stone and struck Ben on the head. He screamed and raised himself up, his hair soaked in blood. Ashley panicked, didn’t understand why she’d done this. Regretted the whole thing and wanted to apologise, was ready to give in to anything that was expected of her. He attacked her, grabbed her throat, pushed her to the ground. She had no choice. Still holding the rock in her hand, she struck again. This time, he fell to the ground. Ben was dead.

She sat there for a few minutes, crying over what had happened. To her and Ben. How the mission was now in jeopardy. What kind of justice system did they have here? None, they would have to improvise. How would they punish her?

Something moved in the bushes behind her. A large animal with enormous teeth approached her. Ashley stood up and walked slowly backwards, towards the water. The animal made growling noises, and she almost tripped. Then it focused its attention on Ben’s corpse and ripped it open. Another animal appeared and joined the first. They were scavengers, not interested in her.

Ashley ran through the forest to the old camp, found the space ship. She was in panic. Lucy and Simon, the two scientists on the mission, saw her approaching. We made a breakthrough; they exclaimed. The incubator works. The fertilised eggs are responding. We should have around fifty babies in nine months. Enough for genetic diversity, enough to create a new human race!

Ashley smiled and entered the spaceship. Looked at the faint glow at the back, at the glass tubes. The embryos were still just a handful of cells, invisible to the human eye. Nobody would notice.

This is the twenty-first installment in the Moments series