Samuel Blink and the Forbidden Forest, Page 2

  Samuel thought about what his mum had just said and he wondered how a map could be stupid. And then he thought about the tree that was turned into paper to make the map. Maybe the map was hard to read as a kind of revenge.

  Whatever the reason, they missed the left turn and were now stuck on the B642.

  “If we keep going, we’ll be able to get back on the dual carriageway,” Samuel’s mum said as she analyzed the map.

  “Fan-flaming-tastic,” said Samuel’s dad. “Back where we started!”

  “It was your idea to turn off.”

  “Well, we’d have been fine if you could just read a flaming map!”

  “Oh no,” said Samuel’s mum.

  “What’s the matter?” Samuel’s dad shook the question out of his head.

  “It doesn’t join the dual carriageway…It goes under it.”

  And, to prove her point, the view around the next bend revealed a large concrete bridge, directly above the B642.

  Samuel saw, to his far left, the timber truck rising at a steady angle toward the bridge. What he couldn’t see was that the loose gray straps that helped fasten the logs had come completely undone.

  As the car headed toward the bridge, Samuel tried to keep his eyes on the lorry. He had worked out that if they kept going at the same speed, the car would go under the bridge at the exact moment the truck would go over it.

  So when he saw the first tree trunk bounce off the truck, he knew the danger.

  “Dad! Stop the car!”

  “Samuel, what on earth’s the matter?”

  “Stop the car! The logs! Falling off the truck! Stop the car!”

  “Samuel, what are you talking about?” His dad was showing no sign whatsoever of stopping the car.

  The first log broke through the roadside barrier one hundred meters before the bridge and started rolling down a slope toward the field at the side of the B642.

  “Stop the car! Stop the car!”

  “Samuel?” His mum always added a question mark to his name when she was cross.

  “Stop! Stop! Just stop!”

  But the car kept going, the logs kept falling, and his sister kept singing.

  And when Samuel’s dad finally decided to brake, it was too late. The last of the logs rolled off the truck and fell off the bridge.

  Smash!

  Within less than a second from it hitting the thin metal, Samuel and Martha lost both of their parents, while they themselves, along with the entire back half of the car, remained physically unharmed.

  Samuel and Martha stayed sitting on the backseat. They were too shocked to move. Or to speak. Or to make any sound at all.

  Neither of them knew where their parents had planned to take them for Martha’s birthday. All they did know was that whatever else happened, nothing would ever be the same again.

  Aunt Eda

  The crushing of their parents by a giant log wasn’t Samuel and Martha Blink’s first encounter with death.

  Indeed, most of their direct relatives had been wiped out within the two children’s lifetimes, although they hadn’t been present at most of these other deaths.

  They weren’t there, for instance, when Granddad had a heart attack carrying a box of ornamental gnomes into his back garden. Or when Nan, two months later, tripped over one of the gnomes and fell headfirst into the greenhouse.

  Nor were they there when Uncle Derek electrocuted himself trying to rescue a tiny piece of toast from the bottom of the toaster with his fork. Or when Aunt Sheila collapsed and banged her head against the doorstop after getting five numbers in the lottery.

  And they weren’t there when their Norwegian uncle Henrik had…Well, the case of Uncle Henrik was something of a mystery.

  Unlike all the other deaths, Samuel and Martha were never told how Uncle Henrik had died. In fact, they weren’t told much of how he lived either.

  You see, Uncle Henrik was from Norway. That is the country where Samuel and Martha’s mum, Liv, was from and a country the two children had never visited. Their mum had a twin sister called Eda. Liv and Eda grew up in a town called Fredrikstad, near Norway’s capital city, Oslo. When they were twenty, their long-widowed mother died. The next year Liv moved to England, to study at university, where she met her future husband, Peter. That same year, Eda fell in love with a ski jumper called Henrik in Norway.

  Samuel and Martha knew very little about Aunt Eda and Uncle Henrik. But one thing they did know was that Aunt Eda had been a very good javelin thrower, the best in the whole of Norway, and she made it to the Olympics in Moscow. Samuel had always thought this was an amazing fact—that a blood relative had made it to the Olympics—and it always had made him try harder at Sports Day. But when a javelin he had thrown nearly skewered his gym teacher, he realized he probably wasn’t going to be following in his aunt’s footsteps.

  Whenever Samuel and Martha had asked about Aunt Eda, their mother had always given the same reply. “She is a kind and wonderful woman.”

  So why had they never seen this very kind and wonderful woman?

  You may well ask. Samuel and Martha certainly had done, about one hundred times each, but they never got a satisfactory answer.

  Here are three of the not-very-satisfactory answers they received:

  1. “Your aunt Eda is scared of boats and airplanes, so she never leaves Norway. Now, no more questions, I have got a headache.”

  2. “We cannot afford to go to Norway, as it is a very expensive country and we are not made of money. Now, no more questions, I have got a headache.”

  3. “It is very cold in Norway. I am sure you would like to go somewhere warm with nice beaches. Now, no more questions, I really have got a very bad headache.”

  And that was it.

  Well, it had been it until six days after their mum and dad died. That was the day the letter came, placed in Samuel’s hand by Mrs. Finch, the kindly old neighbor who had been looking after them.

  Samuel looked at the handwriting, but didn’t recognize it. The letters were tall and leaned back slightly, like people that don’t like the smell of something.

  He opened the envelope and found two airplane tickets along with a letter, which he started to read.

  Eda Krohg

  1846 Flåm

  Norway

  Dear Samuel and Martha,

  I am the sister of your mother and, as I am to understand it, your only surviving relative. It is a terrible shame that the first time I write to you is under these most horrid circumstances, but it is important for you to know that you are not on your own. You will not have to go to a children’s home, or be passed around like a parcel no one wants to open.

  As your next of kin, I invite you both to come and live with me here in Norway, and have included two airplane tickets for that purpose.

  I don’t know what your mother has told you about me. You are probably aware that we never saw each other, and little more than a Christmas card has passed between us since before you were born. It is a shame we did not speak to each other more often, as your mother was a kind and wonderful woman.

  I live near the pretty village of Flåm, which I am sure is not as big or exciting as Nottingham, but we have a fjord and snowcapped mountains nearby. I also have a dog called Ibsen, who is an elkhound, which is a Norwegian breed. He would very much enjoy the chance to sniff new people for a change!

  There is a school in the nearby village. It is a small school, with only twelve children in total, and I am sure it will suit you very much. I have already spoken to the principal and you will be able to enrol (is that the word?) in two weeks.

  As for me, well, I have certain rules that you must follow. These rules must not be broken, as they are there for good reasons.

  There is an old expression in Norway—

  “A life without rules is a drink without the cup!”

  Without the cup, what good is the drink?

  Anyway, I am sure we will get along just fine, and I look forward very much to the meeting of bot
h of you.

  Oh, we will have such happy times, you will see!

  Your loving aunt,

  Eda

  The Yes-No Girl

  Aunt Eda was waiting for them at the airport, with a piece of cardboard that said SAMUEL + MARTHA. HELLO, I AM AUNT EDA.

  Samuel saw the sign. “There she is.”

  Martha looked and saw a tall and thin woman with graying hair tied into a bun. The woman, wearing a long stripy scarf and a big orange coat, was smiling straight at her.

  Martha followed her brother through the crowds of people and tried to smile back at the woman, but she couldn’t. She had lost the ability to smile seven days ago. The day she stopped speaking.

  In the case of Samuel, he didn’t smile because he didn’t like the look of Aunt Eda. She certainly didn’t look like someone who had ever been in the Olympics. She looked tall and strict, and wore weird clothes. He didn’t like her stupid long scarf or her silly round-toed ankle boots or her big orange coat. He didn’t like her red cheeks or her long neck or her weird sloping shoulders that gave her the look of a wine bottle.

  When they reached their aunt she held out her arms.

  “Samuel,” she said, still smiling broadly. “Martha.”

  She hugged them both, squashing their faces together as she brought the children into her arms. Samuel couldn’t help but notice that these arms—although thin—were very strong. The wiry hairs on her chin and upper lip prickled his cheek.

  “You poor children,” she said, holding the hug for as long as possible. And then she whispered something in Norwegian, which neither Samuel nor Martha could understand. It was something that seemed to mean a lot, because when she stood back there was a tear in one of her eyes.

  She looked into both their faces, searching for something that wasn’t there.

  “Oh dear, oh dear,” she said. “We’d better go to lost luggage and ask if they haff seen the smiles of two children.”

  “I’m twelve,” Samuel said crossly. “Martha’s ten. You don’t have to speak like we’re babies.”

  Aunt Eda looked like she was ready to tell Samuel off but she thought twice about it.

  “Right,” she said, nodding toward the luggage trolley Samuel was pushing, “I’ll take your bag, shall I, Mr. Twelf Years Old?”

  “I can manage it,” Samuel said, tightening his grip on the metal handle of the trolley. In fact, he had chosen the one trolley with a wobbly wheel and couldn’t manage it very well at all, but he tried to hide the strain on his face.

  “Werry well. Then let us go to the car, shall we?”

  Aunt Eda had a slight accent that sounded slightly surprised, as if the words had never expected to be used. It also turned all vs into ws or fs, which Samuel would have found quite funny if he wasn’t so cross about being in Norway.

  “She looks stupid,” whispered Samuel as he and Martha followed their aunt through the airport.

  Martha gave her brother a look. No, she doesn’t, she thought (but she was too sad to say it). She looks nice. She’s got Mum’s eyes and Mum’s smile and she’s being very friendly.

  “Look at her clothes,” Samuel went on. “Look at her stupid scarf. And those boots. And what’s she wearing that weird big coat for? She must spend an hour buttoning it up to the top.”

  Aunt Eda turned around. “Sorry? Did you say something?”

  “Er, I was just saying how much I like your clothes,” he said.

  “Oh,” said Aunt Eda. “Thank you werry much.”

  The children followed their aunt through the door that had a sign saying UTANG—EXIT and outside into the cold air. Suddenly Samuel realized Aunt Eda’s scarf and coat weren’t so stupid.

  “I hate this country,” Samuel told his sister. “I’ve been here five seconds and I know I hate it.”

  His words were lost on the wind as they walked across the tarmac to a scruffy-looking white car on its own in a far corner of the parking lot.

  “Look at her car,” he mumbled to Martha as they helped put their luggage in the battered old trunk. “It’s ancient!”

  Samuel climbed in the back, and was surprised when he saw Martha sit in the front.

  “Now, it is old,” said Aunt Eda, acting like she’d heard Samuel talking about the car. “But cars are loyal, I think. If you stand by them, they won’t let you down.”

  The car coughed its disagreement as she tried the ignition.

  “Come on, you old thing,” said Aunt Eda. “Come on…Ah, there it is…purring like a Skogkatt.”

  Samuel felt a sense of unease in his stomach as the car pulled away, as if he expected another log to fall out of the sky.

  “It was terrible, what happened,” Aunt Eda said. “I couldn’t beleef it. Your mother was a brilliant person. And your father—”

  The softly spoken words ran through Samuel like nails down a blackboard.

  “You didn’t know my dad,” Samuel said. “You hardly knew Mum either. You never saw her, so I don’t know why you want us to live with you. You never wanted to see us before.”

  “This is not true,” said Aunt Eda quietly.

  “Why did you never see our mum, if you liked her so much?” Samuel asked, surprised at how angry his own voice sounded. “Mum said you were scared of flying in planes. And going on boats.”

  “She did?” Aunt Eda looked confused for a moment, as if she was learning new things about herself. “Oh yes…yes…”

  Her words trailed off.

  Samuel looked at his sister. She was tracing circles on her palm with her fingertips. A week ago, Samuel had prayed for her to stop singing and now he wondered if he was ever going to hear her sing again. He wondered if there was a song sad enough.

  Probably not, he thought.

  Probably not.

  Samuel had only been in Norway for thirty-six minutes but he was already sure that it was the worst country he had ever visited. What was the point of all the mountains and trees and water? Why live somewhere so cold you have to wear big coats and woolly hats? And what was with the words on the road signs?

  ENVEISKJØRING

  REKVERK MANGLER

  ALL STANS FORBUDT

  The names of the towns they were driving through were just as weird—

  LØKKEN VERK

  SKOGN

  KYRKSÆTERØRA

  The small town they were in now was called “Hell.” It even had a sign, written in English, that said WELCOME TO HELL.

  And what did Hell look like? The same as all the other villages they had been through.

  Bright-colored three-story houses and a fat gray church that clung to the gentle slope of a hill, with a short steeple that seemed scared to reach too high to the sky.

  “In Norway, Hell is the word for prosperity,” explained Aunt Eda. “Do you know what prosperity means?”

  She looked at Martha and then in the rearview mirror at Samuel. Neither was about to tell her if they knew what prosperity meant or not.

  “If you prosper at something, it means you are successful, like if you earn a lot of money people say you are prosperous,” Aunt Eda said. “And Norway is always called a very prosperous country. Everybody earns a nice amount of money. The postman earns nearly as much as the doctors and lawyers. It is a very equal society. In Norway, people don’t get too jealous of each other. We are a peaceful people. There is enough money and enough land to go around so efferyone is happy…That is what they say.”

  Samuel could see his aunt’s face in the mirror and noticed that her eyes were not showing the happiness she described. She doesn’t want us here, Samuel thought. That is why she has unhappy eyes. She probably hated Mum, really. And she probably hates us.

  He didn’t care about peace or rich postmen. He just wanted it to be the week before, when everything was normal.

  “How far is it?” Samuel asked his aunt.

  They had gone past Hell now and they were somewhere else, without houses or a name.

  “Oh, not too far now,” she told him. “But
on the way we must stop and get some food at the grocer’s shop in Flåm. Flåm is the village nearest to my house. It is a lovely place.”

  The words were no comfort. Samuel had never felt farther away from home in his whole life. And it wasn’t just the two plane journeys or the long car ride or the weird scenery that was making him feel like this. It was the thought that even if he made the long car ride and two plane journeys back in the opposite direction, he would be no closer to home. He knew, ever since his parents died, that he would never feel at home again—even if he lived to be a hundred years old.

  “I have a dog,” Aunt Eda said. “A Norwegian elkhound. He is a werry good dog, if a little bit greedy. He is called Ibsen. I told you about him in the letter. He barks a lot but he is a big soft thing really. Do you like dogs?”

  “No,” said Samuel.

  Martha said nothing.

  “Oh well, I am sure you will like Ibsen.”

  The scenery suddenly disappeared, replaced by darkness on both sides of the road.

  “This is a werry long tunnel,” explained Aunt Eda. “It is elefen kilometers, and goes right under the mountain.”

  Samuel looked at his sister. She used to be scared of tunnels, but her blank face showed no sign of fear.

  “You are werry quiet,” Aunt Eda said, turning to Martha. “Why don’t you tell me about your hobbies? What games do you like to play?”

  The questions made Samuel cross. “She can’t answer you. She doesn’t…speak.”

  Aunt Eda made a questioning face, so Samuel explained.

  “She hasn’t said anything since Mum and Dad died. She only nods and shakes her head. Only ask her things that need a yes or no for an answer.”

  Samuel thought the idea of his silent sister might shock Aunt Eda, as she seemed the shockable type, but she took this piece of news as if it was perfectly normal. He watched his aunt’s face under the flickering lights of the tunnel and detected nothing except a warm smile below the same sad eyes.

  The Tale of Old Tor

  “Now,” said Aunt Eda, turning a corner. “This is Flåm, the nearest willage to my house. This is where we must stop here and get some food from the grocers.”