A long time ago, in the Norwegian village of Vestfold, there was a 12-year-old girl named Ingrid Danielsen, whose best friend in the whole wide world was a goat.
“Yuletide, there are witches in the village!” cried Ingrid to the goat, with whom she had spoken since the time she was young. She stood at the goat’s shed door in tears.
The quaint village was nestled by the sea at the base of a mountain. Wagons rolled through the town in the snow.
“Baa, why did the witches come back again on Christmas Eve?” asked Yuletide the Christmas Goat. Then, he took a mouthful of hay from the haystack in the shed.
Every year, the witches liked to harass Father Christmas on Christmas Eve and threatened to steal the children and their presents.
“The children will serve as our slaves and do our dirty work that we don’t have time to do ourselves,” the witches cackled.
Watching the witches fly in her direction, Ingrid fled from the shed with Yuletide into her family’s cottage. Their footprints left tracks in the snow.
“Mother and Father should be home shortly from the coast,” Ingrid reminded her friend. “They only work a half day at fishing today!”
Through the snowy window, she watched children dressed as wise men and shepherds as they caroled on the street corners. She cringed as she saw a witch on her broom swoop down and steal a paper star from one of the children. Although the witches had bullied the children before, they had never succeeded in actually kidnapping anyone.
“I want to throw them off their brooms!” Ingrid declared. “I feel like charging outside with a sword and fighting them.”
“Baa, it is Christmas Eve,” Yuletide reminded her. “There’s supposed to be peace on Earth. Maybe we should just ignore them.”
Then, another witch flew down and grabbed three of the children who had been caroling. Although they tried to scatter, she tossed the children on her broom before they could escape.
“Never!” Ingrid cried. “The witches just snatched my cousins! This is the worst attack from the witches that I’ve ever seen!” Tears rolled down Ingrid’s cheeks.
“We’re going to have to clog the chimney so they can’t fly down it,” Ingrid said, as she tugged Yuletide’s beard.
“Baa, evil shuns the bright light of a Yule Log,” Yuletide explained and nodded at the fireplace. “We find the ancient Magic Yule Log to defeat the witches!”
“The witches are more determined than ever to undermine Julenissen and his Nisse,” Ingrid admitted. She lit a match to start the fireplace. “Some people call him Santa Claus with his gnomes.”
“Baa, Julenissen, please, make it here without a problem,” Yuletide bleated.
Ingrid had spent hours making Julekurver—heart-shaped, small paper basket Christmas tree decorations. She baked cakes and biscuits, especially the Julekake with raisins while singing “Musevisa,” a popular Christmas song.
“Leave us alone, you stupid witches! It’s Christmas!” Ingrid yelled out the window.
“I’m only a goat. Baa, I don’t know how much good I’ll be at getting rid of the witches on their brooms, but I’ll try,” he said.
Then, Yuletide meandered to a large folklore book on the side shelf. It was a gift from Father Christmas, who gave Yuletide the power to speak at birth. He knocked it off the shelf, picked it up with his mouth, and laid it flat. Then, he opened it with his nose and pointed to a map with his hoof.
“The Magic Yule Log is hidden in the cave on the peak of Vestfjellet Mountain,” he said with a groan. “Baa, it’s said to be strong enough to destroy the power of the witches.”
“Oh, how did you know that?” Ingrid asked and placed a jingle bell necklace around Yuletide’s neck. “We must find it!”
“Baa, Father Christmas once told me about it. Just in case we needed help to defeat the witches when he was not able to help us,” he quipped. “We didn’t really need the power of the Magic Yule Log until now.”
“According to this book, if we find the Magic Yule Log and burn it in my parents’ fireplace, its power should be strong enough to overcome the witches, so we can rescue my cousins and other missing children,” Ingrid sighed to Yuletide. “It has to be strong enough!”
“Father Christmas did warn me that we would only be able to burn the Yule Log on Christmas Eve!” Yuletide insisted. “Not one second past midnight, or it won’t work.”
“Then let’s set off now,” Ingrid determined. “It’s not even noontime, so we have at least twelve hours to succeed!”
“Baa, you’re not going anywhere!” Yuletide said. “I’ll run up the mountain. Be back before midnight. I’ll pull your sleigh with me to carry the log. Try to keep the witches away by burning your mother’s herbs in the fireplace!”
“I wish Mother and Father were here now,” Ingrid whispered.
“Baa, I’ll leave now. Tell them I went wandering in the snow. I’ll be back soon,” Yuletide bleated.
“Don’t let the witches catch you!” Ingrid said, as she raised her eyes to heaven.
She opened the door for Yuletide and kissed him on the cheek. Then, she placed the rope from her small, red sleigh around his body, and he ran off in the snow. Then, she shut the door, barred it, and barricaded it with the Christmas tree.
As Yuletide journeyed to the mountaintop to retrieve the Magic Yule Log, he tried not to look into the sky at the witches. He stayed close to buildings and trees, and hid from the witches' views, so they could not snatch him with the children. When he reached the base of the mountain, a huge gust of snow blew in his eyes.
“Baa, I’m blind! Oh, just one hoof in front of the other up the mountain,” Yuletide said, as he encouraged himself. Ingrid’s red sleigh slid behind him in the snow.
After a few hours of climbing up the mountain, he neared the snow-covered caves. Once he reached the caves, he dug his way through piles of ice and snow with his nose and hooves. His back ached from pulling Ingrid’s sleigh, and he worried she might be captured by the witches by now. He wondered if he would ever find the log.
“Maybe I failed,” the Christmas goat bleated and kicked the snow. Then, just when he was about to give up, he could see a golden sparkle shine from the corner of the cave. “The Magic Yule Log!” he cheered. With all his might, he rolled the log onto the red sleigh.
By then, he had scraped and bruised his body, but he did not care. When he looked back, he could see drops of blood in the snow. His shins were raw and sore.
“Ingrid, I’m coming,” Yuletide said, as he hoped she could somehow hear him.
The trip down the mountain was easier than the trip up the steep hill. Yuletide ran as fast as he could, pulling the sleigh with the log behind him. Every now and then, he hit a bump. Only once did the log roll off, and he had to roll the log back onto the sleigh with his hoofs.
“Baa, Father Christmas, help me get to Ingrid in time,” he cried. The night sky seemed so dark. Even with the log almost to Ingrid’s cottage, he felt a little hopeless.
In the meantime, Ingrid huddled by the fireplace and built a large fire with the regular logs and twigs. She sprinkled her mother’s dried rosemary sprigs and dried sage from the cupboard into the flames.
“Stay away, you witches!” Ingrid said. “It’s Christmas Eve! Good always wins!”
Waiting for Yuletide and her mother and father, she ate one too many Christmas coconut macaroons, until she had a stomachache. By the late afternoon, she became concerned that her mother and father might have been sidetracked by the witches as well.
“Now what?” Ingrid asked, as she accidentally let the fire die down. “Oh, no! There are only embers. This is too much for me by myself . . .”
Then, as she looked at the fireplace, she saw a broom handle sticking down the chimney with the heel of a boot.
“Oh, no!” Ingrid cried, putting a few logs in the fireplace and lighting the kindling. She blew on the flame softly to get the fire burning again. Then, the fire roared, and a large flame burst up the chimney. “Go away! Leave me alone!”
“It will never be a Juletid for you!” Ingrid heard a voice cackle. “Christmas and julefryd is over in Vestfold.”
“I will fight you until you leave me alone,” Ingrid warned. “Don’t even think of coming into my house!”
Ingrid looked out the window to see other witches snatching the children and setting them on their brooms.
“Where are my parents?” Ingrid whispered. “It’s Christmas Eve, and they should be home by now.”
“I hate those stupid Christmas carols!” the witch up the chimney yelled. “It hurts my ears to hear children sing about wise men and angels.”
“Well, then I must sing ‘Musevisa’ for you until you leave me and my village alone!” Ingrid hollered, as she fanned the fireplace.
Almost out of wood, Ingrid threw scraps from around the house into the fire, like wooden kitchen spoons. Then, she broke up a chair and threw it into the fireplace.
“Do you really think this little flame will keep me away?” the witch screamed. “I will conjure a spell for rain and douse it!”
As the witch threatened to use her dark magic, Ingrid heard her parents knocking on the cottage door. She quickly moved the Christmas tree and unbarred the door, and her parents bustled inside the home. Then, she once again barricaded herself in the cottage, this time with her parents.
“The witches are everywhere!” Ingrid’s father cried. “They’re overtaking the village and kidnapping the children.”
“Yes, father,” Ingrid said, as she watched the fire died down again. Then, she threw another wooden chair into the fireplace.
“Is that a witch broom coming down the chimney?” Ingrid’s mother asked. “Oh, is a witch trying to invade our home? Ingrid, how did this happen?”
“I’ve been trying to fight her off,” Ingrid told her mother. “It doesn’t seem to be enough.”
Then, Ingrid’s father looked around the room. “Where is Yuletide?” he said, as he noticed that the goat was missing. The fire jumped to its height. “The witches didn’t get him, did they? The shed door was open, and Yuletide wasn’t in it. I thought he was inside with you.”
“Oh, he’s out in the snow,” Ingrid said and bit her lip. “He’ll be back soon.”
As Ingrid looked out the window, she hoped Yuletide would return any minute. Her mother threw more herbs on the fire.
“This is not getting rid of the witch in our chimney!” Ingrid’s father said. “Maybe I should go on the roof and fight her with my shovel.”
“Dear, please don’t do that,” Ingrid’s mother cried. “Father Christmas will save us!”
“It looks like the witches might have surrounded the village in the sky!” Ingrid moaned. She peered out the window again and kept her head low. She hoped the witches would not see her. “How will Father Christmas ever visit us?”
“I’m going to destroy you and your village! There’ll be no more Christmas anywhere in the world!” the witch in the chimney yelled. “I douse you and your fire with rain and pain.”
The sorcerer sent a downpour on the fire, and flames instantly vanished. Then, Ingrid imagined the witch placed both feet on the brick floor of the fireplace.
“Quick! Light the fire again,” Ingrid said. She ran into the kitchen for flour and threw it on the wet logs. “I hope this makes the soggy wood dry enough to light new logs on top of it.”
Then, Ingrid lit new dry scraps from her favorite wooden rocking chair.
As Ingrid and her parents kept the fire burning, the witch cast her rain-making spells for hours, sending sparks into the kitchen. Ingrid continued to hope for Yuletide’s quick return. The clock on the wall tick-tocked closer and closer to midnight when the Magic Yule Log would no longer have the power to defeat the witches.
“We’re out of wood!” Ingrid’s father said. “Now what will we do?”
“Run out of wood? We’re about to run out of matches to light the wood that we don’t have!” Ingrid’s mother bawled.
“I don’t want to be captured by the witches,” Ingrid said. Sweat rolled down her face, and she felt exhausted.
Just when Ingrid wanted to collapse, Yuletide hobbled in the cottage through his small pet door at the back of the house. He rolled the Magic Yule Log with him. The goat’s knees were bloody, and he stumbled as though he might faint at any moment.
“Yuletide!” Ingrid cheered. She ran to him in tears, grabbed the Magic Yule Log, and threw it into the fireplace. It caused a huge explosion to shoot from the chimney that stretched over the village and scattered the witches in every direction. The children who were kidnapped hours earlier fell from the witches’ brooms and magically landed feet-first in the snow.
From the window, Ingrid could see her cousins jump for joy!
“It’s Christmas again!” Ingrid said, as she danced in the kitchen with her parents and Yuletide in celebration.
“I almost didn’t make it,” Yuletide mused. “The Magic Yule Log was hidden deep in the mountain.”
“Did you see Father Christmas?” Ingrid asked, as she cleaned Yuletide’s wounds and put him next to the fire to get dry.
“Baa, yes,” Yuletide bleated. “I did see him. He told me to thank you. He can’t right all the wrongs. He’s fought the witches for years. He was so grateful.”
At that, Ingrid’s family fell asleep by the fireplace with Yuletide, and Father Christmas finally made his visit in the snow with presents, all because a goat decided that he would go on a journey to save his best friend.
Copyright 2016 Jennifer Waters
No comments:
Post a Comment