A Nordic Tale
That was exactly what was needed. Fiction by Sarah R. New
Theda had thought that sailing across the seas would have stopped the stranger from following her, but she had been mistaken. Escaping London had been for the best, and for weeks she had dreamed of the bright lights of Reykjavik, the city her brutish uncle had described to her as charming. It must be, she had reasoned to herself; why would he settle down as an exporting fish merchant in that town had it not had its attractions? And Iceland itself seemed so magical—the ice, the volcanoes, the sheer vastness of it. There would be no better place to start again.
However, as they got closer and closer to Reykjavik Harbour, Theda wondered whether this choice that had been made was the right one. A small town of wooden houses appeared on the horizon of this desolate, rocky new environment. She was almost there. It wasn’t what Theda’s mother and father had envisioned for her, but Theda knew that it was for the best, especially after all that had happened in London. A fresh start. That was exactly what was needed.
Life in the Nordics wasn’t exactly what was expected of a young lady of her stature, but Theda wasn’t exactly a typical young lady of her stature, after all. At least here no one knew what had happened.
***
Clara had always said that their lives would be forever intertwined, and Theda had believed her with all of her heart.
They had met in the early spring of their lives, two only daughters who had bonded over the darkness and the loneliness in their households, and quickly become inseparable. In being the demise of their families’ hopes, they had found each other, and become each other’s saviours. People would speak of the odd pair, how the girls were always together, always giggling closely with each other, their hands constantly entwined.
Theda remembered her now, so distinctly in her mind. Clara’s soft dark hair, her heart-shaped face, the kindness in her eyes. They had been friends since childhood, more than friends, two halves of the same soul. She thought that she would be with her forever. Theda didn’t understand how everything had changed.
***
She knew that Iceland would be cold, but the rocky isle was barren and unforgiving with its winds that whipped around her, pulling her to and fro aimlessly. She struggled against the winds, trapped within the manmade tunnels of houses. The bitter cold bit at her cheeks and hands, and pulled at her hair, yet, she didn’t quite mind it. She had a slight hope that maybe the strong gusts would pull the stranger away — far, far away from her.
The stranger had stalked her for years. If you asked her, she wouldn’t be able to tell you when she had first noticed the stranger, but she wondered if they had always been there, behind her, lurking. As she got older, the stranger got closer and closer to her, and people started to…withdraw from her. She could feel how people changed around her, how the stranger got to them before her, and how the air turned colder in every room she walked into.
Maybe Iceland would be so cold that people wouldn’t notice the unnatural freeze that seemed to emanate from her.
***
Bond Street. Clara had always loved Bond Street, adored gazing through the shop windows at all the fine, luxurious goods she could not afford. They had always been warned to stay away from the shopping street, the busy thoroughfare being filled with carriages and danger, as their mothers worried, but the glamour attracted Clara, and where Clara was, Theda would not be far behind.
“My father has decided that I am to marry.” Clara smiled as they walked, but Theda noticed the smile didn’t exactly make its way to her eyes. Her heart quickened. Theda searched desperately for words, not realising what she was saying.
“Why? You are not yet eighteen?” Theda asked, a bizarre chill coming down her back, her skin erupting in goosebumps. She watched silently as Clara looked away, an indescribable look on her face. Was she happy? Excited? Fearful?
Something — someone — seemed to step into the very corner of Theda’s peripheral vision.
“The marriage will be good for my family. And for me, of course. Lord Athada is a viscount, with no younger siblings. My children’s futures would be secured, as would mine, and my family’s position in society would be heightened. It is a good match, Theda.” Clara reassured her. Was it reassurance, or was it fear? The memory was not so clear nowadays…
“You can’t marry him.” Theda found the words falling out of her mouth against her will, and once they started, she couldn’t stop. “You can’t.”
“Why not?” Clara sighed, irritation cutting through her intentional word choice. “Not all of us can fall back on our family’s fortunes. You know the dire position my father has found himself in as of late. I need to marry soon, and Lord Athada is a good match.”
“No, he is not!” Theda found her voice raised; eyes filled with tears. It was like she was watching herself argue with Clara from outside of her body as if the ghost of her spirit had been forced out and replaced with an intruder, an intruder who was hurting Clara. Theda watched Clara’s bottom lip wobble, the tell she was about to cry. Stop! She wanted to shout at herself, but she found herself unable to move or speak.
“He is a disgusting old man who only wants to use you as a broodmare. He is awful and he shouts and he will be terrible to you, Clara, but none of that will happen if you stay.” Theda watched as she leaned forward and took Clara’s hands, pulling her towards her, but Clara pulled away. Did she pull away?
“Stay with me, Clara. Please! We can leave London, go to the countryside, or Scotland, or over the seas if you so want, somewhere no one knows us, just please, please stay with me!” Theda watched the other-Theda plead, all the words she had wanted to say for years spilling out of her mouth, and Clara’s eyes looked past her, and the look of horror on Clara’s face grew, and she pulled free from other-Theda’s hands, turning, and running…
Clara didn’t see the carriage, but Theda did, screaming her friend’s name, and suddenly she was shocked back into her body and tried to run to Clara, but her limbs seemed to lock, rooting her to that spot in bloody Bond Street, now painted a scarlet that would not wash off.
That night, the stranger accompanied Theda home.
***
Reykjavik was so much smaller than Theda had expected. Coming from London, she had naturally expected a smaller life, not the hustle and bustle of the modern city, but Reykjavik seemed to her much more of a fishing village rather like Whitby, not a grand town she had been promised. She didn’t think she minded, in some ways, but the briskness and unpredictability forced her to stay in the small, wooden abode that belonged to her uncle.
She hadn’t expected the darkness. Near constant darkness, only a few hours of sun in the day. At first it had seemed oppressive — as Theda had spent more and more time indoors, she had felt the stranger getting stronger and stronger — but the more time she spent here, the more she saw the darkness as a shield. In the darkness, she could pretend that she was completely alone, completely and forever alone.
It was so…freeing. And it made Theda forget.
Initially, she would only venture out in those scarce hours of daylight, the brief but sacred light flooding over her, banishing her woes, but the longer she stayed in Reykjavik, the more she felt attuned to the darkness and soon, she was venturing out in climes she never expected she would become suddenly used to.
She was naïve. She should have known that the stranger would never have left her so.
***
Life changed after Clara’s demise.
Theda had run home a changed girl. Something had attached to her, something horrific. It had turned her into a monster, at least. Wherever she walked, people couldn’t look at her and would run and hide from her, as if some force repelled them from her. Things changed quickly; she had not been able to walk along Bond Street since Clara’s death, but the longer she was in society, the more and more places she was shunned. People would gasp when they saw her, pointing and staring, and people withdrew from her presence. It was as if she was cursed.
She did not entirely remember whose idea it was for her to leave London, but once the idea was proposed, she found herself on a ship within the week. It was for the best; she had told herself. It was for the best.
***
The peace wouldn’t last. She had known it, deep down in her soul, but the reality of it burnt. As Reykjavik’s winter passed, the sun began to burn longer and longer in the sky. People celebrated, and, forgetting the pain of everything for a second, so had Theda. The winter though peaceful, had been brutal at the same time, and the warming sun was so welcome on Theda’s paling skin.
But as the sun rose in the sky, Theda noticed a difference. Without the protective darkness winter provided, the stranger’s looming presence behind her became more and more prominent, and she noticed the familiar stares and looks of horror being directed at her. And Theda became incandescent with rage. Had she not suffered enough? Had she not tried hard enough?
This had happened before. This had happened in London, and it was happening now in Reykjavik, and Theda would have run, but something in her had changed, had altered, somewhat. She had had enough of running away, and every time she ran, she felt the stranger getting stronger and stronger. And she didn’t want it to be stronger. She wanted to be in control.
Fury suddenly ran through her. How dare this stranger, this shadow that had followed her for so long, haunt her here. Hadn’t she suffered enough? Hadn’t she grieved enough?
She turned, her eyes locking with the stranger for the first time in years, and horror ran cold through her. This figure, this gargoyle in human proportion, stood there, eyes locked with hers. A loud growl emitted from its person, and fear overtook Theda. This was what people had seen attached to her, all this time? This fearsome thing, this monster? She would have been wary as well.
But then Theda thought of the years of loneliness, the fear in people’s eyes as they looked at her, the snarls. She thought of the agony she had had to endure, the loss of everyone she had held dear, the self-imposed exile she had had to face. And suddenly, Theda wasn’t sad or scared anymore. Anger burnt white hot throughout her, and she lunged at the stranger, furious for the theft of her life.
Theda landed on top of the stranger, the stranger weakly batting at her. Her hands found the creature’s throat, and she squeezed, her anger coming out in a broken yell, her body shaking as she squeezed and squeezed and squeezed. The creature gasped and thrashed and suddenly, Theda found herself larger, stronger than the intimidating shadow that had entered her life. She felt…powerful, for perhaps for the first time in her life.
And then… silence. The emaciated body of the stranger stopped writhing under her hands, coming to a still. She felt clear for the first time in years. And that stranger, that awful stranger, who had killed Clara and forced Theda’s hand, was gone. It was gone.
She stood there, on that hallowed land, and with her face turned into the sun, she started to feel something different, and for a second, she felt the shadow begin to dissipate.
Sarah R. New has been writing since she was 6. She specializes primarily in horror or fiction with horrific elements, but also writes speculative fiction and non-fiction. Her self-published travel memoir, The Great European Escape, was released in 2023, and her Gothic horror novella, Amissis Liberis, was published in 2024. Sarah lives in the U.K. but frequently travels internationally. She can be found on Bluesky, Instagram, and Twitter under the username @aldbera
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