1 Chapter 1: Utiseta, Part 1

The crisp fall air bit into the skin on his bare arms and face as he ran along a trail in a nearby park. It was mid-October and the day was melting quickly into evening, ushering in the sombre chill of dusk. As the sun began to set, a burning ache started in his legs; shortly thereafter, the same sensation took up residence in his lungs. He’d been running for a little over an hour and had at least twenty-five more minutes to go before he was back at his apartment. 

As he reached the end of the park, he allowed the combination of cold and fatigue to urge him onward, racing faster and faster until his limbs screamed in protest and his apartment was finally in sight. Still panting from exertion, Griffin Amante pushed open the door to his apartment to reveal the haphazardly minimalistic décor inside. His two-bedroom abode was modestly sized but spacious.  The front door opened up into a living room furnished with a black leather couch, an overstuffed leather chair, a habitually rickety table with one leg too short, and a wall-mounted flat-screen television.  

Shutting and locking the front door behind him, Griffin moved over to the living room and began the second part of his daily exercise routine; floor exercises followed by a brief yoga session. He’d forgotten to shut the television off before leaving for his run; the anchor of a local news station rattled off a list of the day’s macabre events in that odd, vaguely monotone voice that Griffin had always found equal parts irritating and hilarious. He’d never paid much attention to the news - why worry yourself sick about things, many of which, you would be utterly powerless to resolve? - and only ever turned the station on to hear about the weather. And yet, despite his best efforts, snippets of the day’s report snuck in.

Apparently, two men had gone missing a couple of nights ago.  The brothers were last seen leaving a restaurant in the downtown area after an evening out with friends. They shared an apartment not too far from where they had dined and had decided to walk home after dinner. Their friends, as well as some of the restaurant staff, were reportedly the last to have seen them. No leads had turned up and it seemed as though there would be no good news to report to their loved ones. 

Griffin switched off the television before returning to his exercise routine, now featuring a grueling set of planks. Muscles still aching, Griffin stripped out of his clothes and stepped into the shower. He wanted to take his car out for a spin before the start of winter. They were already calling for snow in the advanced forecast; all too soon, Griffin would have to put the car into winter storage. He was a mechanic and had been for nearly four years. Cars were a passion of his; he loved to work on all of them, from BMWs to Volkswagens. But what he truly loved were classic cars, particularly mid- to late-sixties era mustangs.

His father, also a mechanic, had owned a 1965 electric blue mustang that Griffin, as a child, had constantly begged and pleaded to take a ride in. It was all he’d ever wanted to do, and his father had obliged as often as was possible. He’d even taken the time to give Griffin his first crash course in how to maintain the beautiful metal creature. Seven years ago, when he’d turned twenty-one, his father had given the car to him. To this day, it remained his pride and joy.

While his apartment was in a constant state of organized chaos, the one section that remained as pristine as a museum exhibit was the glass cabinet filled entirely with model classic cars. Here too, his pride and joy was a replica of his father’s ’65 mustang, given to Griffin by his dad when he’d passed his driver’s test at 16.   

He’d just stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist when his cell phone rang.

"Hey, J.  What’s up, man?"

"Not much. Just getting ready for tonight."

Jason was one of Griffin’s closest friends. They’d met on their first day of high school and had absolutely hated each other. A few choice words and poorly timed punches later and they were pretty much friends for life. Fourteen years later and neither one of them could even remember why they hadn’t immediately liked each other to begin with.

"Things are going all right. You ready for the big day?"

"Absolutely.  You’re still coming, right?"  Jason asked wryly, excitement evident in his tone.

"Wouldn’t miss it."

Jason’s bachelor party was in a few days; the day after, he was getting hitched to Chloe, the love of his life. The two had met in high school as well, a couple of years after he and Griffin had become friends. Jason and Chloe had been together ever since.

Griffin also had one relationship in his repertoire that he had considered "serious." But that had been a very long time ago. And it certainly hadn’t ended in "I do". 

The two men spoke for a few more minutes about nothing in particular: work, the wedding, cars, even a little about how various sports teams had been faring recently, a subject about which Griffin had very little interest.

He hung up with Jason and began pulling on his clothes. Standing in front of his full-length mirror, he took in his appearance. His shoulder-length, wavy brown hair was, as per usual, a little wild despite the fact that he’d just combed it; his large, blue-green eyes were set in what he’d been told was a handsome face. Tonight, he wore a black Bauhaus t-shirt, hoodie, leather jacket which probably wouldn’t keep him warm, and distressed black jeans. At six feet and barely 145 pounds, Griffin had always been on the skinny side, a leanness which no amount of protein or exercise could remedy.

After tossing back some leftover spinach and vegetarian "meatloaf" from the night before, Griffin decided to finally take that drive. After only a few seconds of hearing the guttural purr of the engine, Griffin was completely at peace.  All he needed was some hard rock on the stereo and he was good to go.

The night was cold, and the sun had long since set.  The wind had picked up considerably since he’d been out for his run earlier that evening. He could hear it slicing against the side of his car in one long continuous gush. A familiar feeling of freedom washed through him.

It was the night of the bachelor party. It wasn’t anything special; Jason hadn’t wanted it to be a big thing. Instead, it was just a handful of his friends hanging out at a bar for a few hours. And that suited Griffin just fine. Or, it would, once everyone finally showed up.

Those assholes are late, Griffin thought, standing out in the cold still waiting for their arrival.

A quick phone call determined that his friends had decided to travel together and were stuck in what must surely be the world’s largest traffic jam ever. As such, Griffin pretty much had two options: he could either continue standing out in the cold to wait for them. Or he could go inside and order a drink.

The alcohol won out.

He sat down, ordered a beer, and had just pulled out his phone when he felt the weight of someone else’s gaze settle on the back of his neck. He turned. A woman with long chestnut hair seated at the other end of the bar captured his gaze and held it, an interested smile curving her lips.

He could already feel his mouth starting to dry up, as though his awkwardness were a sponge sucking out all his moisture. Human interaction had never been his strong point. However, not wanting to be rude, he smiled in return.

"Oh boy," he whispered as the stranger rose from her seat and approached him where he sat at the bar.

Taking a seat beside him, she said "hey" in a smooth, confident tone.

Griffin motioned toward his beer. "Would you like one?"

"Please."

After her drink had arrived, they spoke amicably for a few minutes. He told her that he was here for a bachelor party and was waiting for his friends to arrive. She was there on her own, just looking to unwind and "clear her head a little," although she did not elaborate on just what she needed to clear her head from.

Not too long into the conversation, the woman’s smile faltered as her eyes settled on something behind Griffin. He turned around to see what it was but could find nothing amiss in the dense crowd. He turned back to face her when she placed a gentle hand on his.

"I have to go," she said shakily as she rose from her seat. Her gaze flashed to something behind him again and she began to worry her lip. "It was nice to meet you." This was said, strangely, without looking at him. "And thank you...for the drink."

As she was walking away, it occurred to Griffin that he’d never asked the woman’s name. Turning rapidly in his chair, he scanned the sea of bodies for his mysterious drinking companion. Something else was bothering him. It was the look on her face just before she’d left that had unsettled him. She’d looked terrified. Like someone had just walked over her grave, as his Nonna used to say.

It only took a few seconds before he spotted her standing by a back door. And she wasn’t alone. Looming beside her was one of the tallest men Griffin had ever seen. Approaching seven feet in height, the dark-haired man towered over the petite brunette.

Although the man’s back was facing him, Griffin got the distinct impression that the man was not pleased. There was something about the set of his broad shoulders and his wide-legged stance that all but screamed, you-should-probably-start-running. Not to mention that the woman looked absolutely terrified yet again. Her large eyes were wide with fear and her shoulders had slumped inward on her small form as she scuttled away from the man in front of her.

Griffin was debating whether or not he should confront the couple when the man’s hand shot out to wrap around the woman’s upper arm in what was very obviously a painful grip; the woman visibly cringed but stopped trying to move away, no doubt in fear of further sparking her surly companion’s rage.

Using the bulk of his body, the man forcefully urged her toward the door. No, Griffin thought as he leaped from his chair, "urging" wasn’t the right word; it was more like the woman was trapped in the path of a natural disaster with no hope of getting out of its way. The only option was to hang on tight and hope to survive.

Throwing a handful of bills onto the counter, Griffin followed in their path. By the time he’d reached the door, he was beginning to question his sanity. At 6’0, he wasn’t exactly short, and yet the man he was pursuing was easily six or seven inches taller and athletically built, like he could do some serious damage.

A brief flashback to the woman’s fearful eyes was all it took for Griffin to make up his mind. Cursing harshly, he tore through the back door before the dimly rational part of his brain could dictate otherwise.

He emerged into an empty alleyway and stopped in his tracks. He could have sworn he’d been right behind the couple. Not wanting to waste time, Griffin raced toward the mouth of the alley, halting only when he reached the sidewalk. Empty. Pivoting, he turned to look behind him. Dead end.

Walking further out onto the sidewalk, he scanned his surroundings. To his right, beside the bar, was a restaurant, but it was way past closing time; they couldn’t have gone in there. He supposed it was possible that the couple might have quickly gotten into a car and sped off down the street. But he’d watched them leave - by the time he exited the alley, he should have been in time to at least see the car itself if not the two people entering it.

Something didn’t add up.

He was wracking his brain for another solution when a familiar voice called out behind him.

"Giff! The hell you doing out here, man? It’s freezing!"

He turned to see Jason standing in the over-bright illumination coming from the bar’s back entrance.

"Yeah...I’ll be right there."

He turned once more to survey the street, then gave himself a mental shake. He was being ridiculous. There must be some reasonable explanation; people didn’t just up and vanish. Regardless of the reason behind the couple’s apparent disappearance or where they had gone, Griffin just hoped the woman would be alright.

Once back inside the bar, the bachelor party went pretty much as expected. Griffin and his friends drank, talked, laughed, and soon he had forgotten all about the vanishing woman.

Hours later, Jason decided to accompany Griffin on the long walk home. After several minutes of conversation and interspersed laughter, seemingly without taking a breath, Jason suddenly came to an abrupt halt. He smiled at Griffin and motioned toward two towering gates announcing the entrance to the Hope Hills Cemetery.

"Remember when we used to camp out here as kids?" Jason asked conspiratorially. "And you’d tell that story that used to scare the hell out of me. Uti-something, right?"

"Utiseta."

Griffin was half Icelandic and half Italian; he’d spent much of his life travelling back and forth between Reykjavik, Sicily, and Toronto. He’d grown up hearing the stories of his ancestors: of Vikings and Romans, of Odin and Jupiter. During the time of the Vikings, the Utiseta ritual involved, in part, "sitting out" in nature in order to commune with the spirits of the other side. Sometimes the ritual practitioner would lay down on a burial mound and was granted access to the voices of the dead.

"I remember," Griffin responded after a moment, laughing at the recollection of his friend’s terrified face. "That is, I remember your wuss ass jumping at every little bump in the night."

"Alright, tough guy," Jason smirked. "Let’s take a little shortcut then, shall we?"

Griffin reached out to push open the cemetery gates. With a theatrical, sweep of his arm, he ushered his friend inside. "After you."

They walked in silence for a long time, taking in what little of their surroundings that were visible in the sparse illumination of the overhead lights. Griffin almost told Jason about his strange encounter at the bar, but ultimately decided against it.

Griffin was searching for another topic of conversation when the sound of approaching footsteps caught his attention. Jason must have heard it too because he turned at exactly the same time, the two startled men turning in a pantomime of surprise.

"Good evening," came a deep voice from the darkness off to the right.

"Evening," Griffin responded tentatively.

"Nice night for a walk. Would be even nicer if I had money for some smokes."

The man was careful to stand just outside the sphere of light coming from the nearest lamppost. From where he stood, Griffin couldn’t make out his features.

"Yeah, man, sure."

He pulled a twenty from his pocket and slowly extended his hand toward the looming figure. The man reached forward and took the money.

"Have a good night." Griffin forced a smile and urged Jason to move forward.

Before they could turn away, another set of footsteps approached from behind. Griffin heard Jason yell something indistinct, but the individual words were cut off by a loud crack. Pain exploded in Griffin’s skull and he stumbled back, never getting a look at the person who hit him.

"I’m okay, I’m fine," Griffin protested feebly, and he was almost positive that he really was.

That is, until he fell backwards and darkness sprang up to meet him.