“…the most pressing issue is our key fobs don’t work so we can’t open the door of this ridiculously small—”
“May I have your name and
booking ID number?”
“I don’t have access to the booking ID number right now because the papers are in the rental car which is outside the Yegg, which we can’t leave because the key fobs stopped working. So there ya have it.”
“I see.”
“Why don’t you see if you can look us up by the name on the reservation? My husband, who is not feeling well because there doesn’t seem to be much air flow in here, made the rez. And, while we’re at it, the wind turbine doesn’t appear to be working at all, so no electricity or what-have-you, and the water collection system isn’t actually bringing water inside the Yegg either. So there’s that.”
“What’s the name on the account?”
“Douglas J. Fellstrom. F-E-Double-L-S-T-R-O-M. We came to Norway because Doug’s ancestors came from Norway. I was more about the Maldives or Southern Italy, but my vote is 70% of his vote, so here we are.
“I’ll admit, it’s gorgeous. Yes. I’ll give it that. Outside, that is, what with the cliff and the ocean and all the greenery and the endless light. So much light. I mean, I knew about the no-sunset thing, but it’s been difficult. We had to wear masks to get any sleep. The little town is nice, I’ll give it that. Teeny-tiny, though. Looks like Lord of the Rings houses. I can hear — it’s faint — but there are people singing. It’s been constant for the last few hours.”
“Ma’am, I’m sorry to hear of your troubles.
Unfortunately, our systems are down right
now so a booking ID is really the best bet.”
“Oh, all that time I was talking, I thought you were looking us up. Okay. I’ve never had this type of problem before. And I’m a travel blogger. You know? I’ve been to a lot of places. I’ve stayed in a Yurt and I’ve stayed in an eco pod, but this is my first time in a Yegg. And I’m here to tell you it’s not good. Not. Good. I want to be kind, but as a blogger and writer, I also must be honest, and frankly I think people should know that staying in a 14 by 8 foot capsule on a cliff in the remotest part of Norway is a dicey idea and whatnot.”
“We hear you, and we’re sorry for your
trouble. But we do need some way
of accessing your—”
“Hold on. Give me a moment. Can you do that?”
“Yes, of course.”
“Doug, Doug, wake up.”
“I don’t feel good, Gretch.”
“What’s the Rez number? You had it. Remember. You had a whole stack of papers. I know they’re in the glove box, but do you have anything on you? A slip of paper, anything?”
“It’s all on my phone.”
“Well, where’s your phone?”
“Died last night.”
“So charge it.”
“No charge, remember?”
“Right. Hi, are you still there? You didn’t put me on—”
“No, Mrs. Fellstrom, I’m here.”
“So, this is the exact issue I’m calling about. I wanted to preface by giving you kudos for the beautiful scenery. But the Yegg is supposed to generate power, you see? You see? And it’s not. I mean, even with all the sun and the sun panels and whatnot, there’s no power, so Doug can’t charge his phone, which is where the rez details are. You understand what I’m saying? You understand my issue?”
“We do.”
“I’m conversing with a person, correct?”
“Yes, Ma’am.”
“Can you prove it?”
“Ma’am?”
“Prove you’re a human and not a machine.”
“I’ve worked for Eco Adventure
International for three years, but
some days it feels like thirty.”
“Ha. Human! Only humans complain. And, well, gee honey, I’m trying not to add years to your life here, but all we’re doing now, besides Doug falling in and out of consciousness, is looking out the very bright windows like a couple of prisoners. You can understand my frustration, yes? You can give me that?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What’s your name? What do I call you?”
“Alma.”
“So, again, 'Alma,' we need someone to reset the key fobs.”
“Okay, let me try another way.
What’s the name of the town
you’re staying in?”
“Are you kidding? Okay, you’re not. I can’t pronounce anything, let alone remember the names. Hold on. Doug. Doug!”
“Do you see it, Gretchen? It’s flying
around. Trying to get inside of—
there’s something wrong
in my head. I don’t feel well.”
“I’m working on it, Doug! What’s the name of the little town over thataway? Doug! Well, he’s asleep. Frankly, I think we’re running out of air. I’m not going to lose my cookies over this, but if I don’t break a window—which would be totally warranted, you hear me? But if I don’t do that out of necessity, well, even if I did I guess—every bit of trouble we’ve experienced is going into my assessment, which will publish on my blog, as an article on the AARP, as a TikTok, if I ever have internet again, and as a review on the Eco International Adventure site, plus Yelp, of course.”
“It’s Eco Adventure International.”
“Well, thank you, helpful lady. Thank you. The point is, the company you’ve worked for for thirty years will be crucified for this. Sorry, sorry. I used to work in customer service. Sorry. Can you reset our key fobs, though? Can you do that? There’s little numbers on it, but I need my glasses, which are in the truck, dammit!”
“We need to locate you first.
Can you describe the town?
Or your whereabouts on the
coast? Perhaps the name of a
bigger city you passed through
on the way?”
“Have we gone back in time to 1988? How is your computer not pulling us up?”
“We're sorry you’ve had to deal with
this and we're aware of the issue and
our teams are working hard to get
everything up and running, and we
will update you as soon as possible
with the latest information—”
“Okay, yadda yadda. Got it. Okay, the sun is low but it won't set. I am looking out at the Barents Sea, not the Norwegian Sea, so we’re on the top part of Norway. I remember we saw the Tromso Cathedral on our way here, and there were small villages along the coast. Civilization thinned out the farther north we got. We passed through the little town of—what was it called? I mean, there weren't any postcards or doodads bearing its name. Something about money or giving. Offer…Offersted. That’s it! Maybe. Something like—”
“Offerstedet?”
“Yes! Ooh, the way you say it sounds ominous. So, can you find us that way? Did I hear a click? Hello?... Alma?... Hello?... She hung up on me. That’s wonderful. That’s goddamn ironic, I’ll give it that.”
“Oh God. Oh God. Gretchen!”
“What’s happening to you, hon?”
“I see the blood. Deilig blod.
Mmmm. Blodet til mine
fiender! eg tar livet ditt!”
“What does that mean? I don’t have enough bars on my phone to open an app. Where’s your little language book? I know you brought your little book. This is nuts. I’m calling that bitch again. Hold on, I’ll ask her....past calls, redial, boom."
“Du slipper ikke unna.”
“Oh, Doug, hon, your eyes are bleeding. Let me get a thingy…a thingy, a cloth, Gretchen, you are a blogger. Use your damn words.”
“Run, Gretchen."
“How? We can’t get the door open!”
“For the love of God, run!”
“Ssh! It’s ringing.”
***
You have reached Eco Adventure International. Our offices are currently closed. Regular business hours are from 9 AM to 6 PM, Greenwich Mean Time, Monday through Friday. If you would like to leave a voicemail, please include your name, phone number, and reservation number, and we'll respond to you as soon as possible. Thank you and have an adventurous day!
“Hi. I am Gretchen Fellstrom. F-E-double L-S-T-R-O-M. My husband is sick and needs help NOW. I was talking to Alma who I’d prefer to think accidentally cut us off instead of hanging up on me. I told her that we are parked in a damn egg-shaped eco yurt on a damn cliff outside of Offerstedet.
“My husband is bleeding from his eyes and speaking in what I assume is Norwegian, which he does not speak. The rain water that this Yegg is supposed to collect isn't making its way inside, so we have no water. The power, which this thing is supposed to generate from the solar panels on the roof, is down, even though the sun never goddamn stops. I can’t find the reservation number because it’s on my husband’s phone, which is now dead. And the key fobs are not working so we are locked inside.
"Do you get me? Do you understand how this might be… inconveniencing? I’m a travel blogger and I prolifically write reviews for Yelp and — hello? Great, it cut me off.”
***
“Hi, the machine hung up on me. The singing I spoke about? To Alma? Louder. And every once in a while a strong wind comes by and the Yegg wobbles, which is… oh I don’t know… terrifying? Considering we’re maybe fifty feet from the edge of a cliff? We found canned food in the tiny storage cabinet over the sink but there are no can openers, which, that bit of irony is going in both my travelog and my reviews. Oh, there will be many. Please call me back at this number. I think Doug might be having a stroke. Please call me back.”
***
“Hi, I’ve called a few times. I feel like no one will get back to me, ever, and my phone is going to die. I have no way of getting out of the Yegg. The chorus of voices outside has gotten so much louder, and every third or so note I hear a loud noise as if five hundred people are stamping their feet. Sing-sing-sing-boom. Sing-sing-sing-boom. I don’t know what’s going on with that. Sounds like a procession of male singers. Mostly. I don’t know, there might be females. But it’s very bass-toned. And it’s rattling the walls, and um, I’ve tried to break the window, but I can’t break the window. I tried to use the induction stove plate. Didn’t work. Then I used the fancy camera Doug was going to use to photograph Puffins. Hold on. What are you doing? Doug? Doug—!”
***
“Me again. Doug is dead. Well, I-I hope he’s dead. Let’s just say that. I can say that, right? So bluntly like that? I guess I can since I paid for this vacation and it’s going to murder me. Doug said some things in Norwegian that I didn’t understand. His eyes bled. Um, he attempted to kill me with one of the small storage doors, but it wouldn’t tear off, so he tried to hit me with the induction stove plate, but it shattered on the fiberglass wall. And, frankly, there’s nothing else in this capsule to kill me with. It’s very bare bones. It’s like if Motel 6 went, ‘let’s save a few bucks.’ Okay, so there’s that.
"Sorry to go on and on, but nobody’s getting back to me, so I have no choice but to just use what bars I have left to try to save my own goddamn life. At least Doug stopped bleeding. And screaming. And trying to murder me. Now he’s going to rot. Can you please call me back, or just reprogram the key fob so I don’t have to be here while he decomposes? At the very least? Could you do that?”
***
“Hi. Guess who? That's right. I'm sitting here working on my review notes and begging for my life and whatnot. I’ve found some sugarfree cough lozenges which I'm eating like candy. I think I broke a tooth.
"I remember once I wrote an article for the Auto Club magazine on the world’s seven best waterfalls and got to go to exactly three of them. My favorite was Iguaza Falls down in Brazil-slash-Argentina. In my article, I coined the adverb ‘jungly.’ J-U-N-G-L-Y. ‘The surrounding environment is a mysterious, jungly forest.’ Yeah. Editors say ‘stay away from adverbs;’ I say ‘lean into them.’ I’d call this situation and the way I’ve been treated as ‘shitfully,’ or ‘shitful,’ as in ‘the customer service folks treated me shitfully,’ or ‘Eco International gave us a shitful accommodation.’
“I’m so glad I have the Aquavit we bought over at the airport. Being drunk takes the edge off and whatnot. Something is inside here with us. Something I can’t see that got into Doug. Please believe me when I tell you that I’m going to sue the hell out of you if you don’t call me back now.”
***
“Hello, it’s Gretchen Fellstrom, your biggest nightmare! What’s left of my life will be dedicated to ensuring that you never rent an ecologically self-sustaining egg-shaped yurt ever again on God’s green earth.
"I didn’t know what to do with Doug, so I dragged him into the bathroom-slash-shower. Seems like just yesterday we were joking bawdily about being able to poop and shower at the same time. Now he’s propped up on the ridiculously small toilet. But I had to use the thing even though I’ve had no food or water for days. My mother used to call it stress shitting. Oh god. I would never tell anybody this. Do you see what I’ve come to? I am not into vulgarity, but here we are.
"Anyway, I dragged him back out and rolled him under the pull-out desk-slash-table, then pushed the bed back into a single. So there’s that. Now I’m sitting on the bed trying to find a place to put my feet that isn’t on Doug. Damn you all. Damn you. Nobody clears messages after hours?”
***
“Doug is still dead, and, well, I didn’t know how to put this any better, heh-heh. Don’t mistake my chuckle for anything less than me losing my mind and whatnot. This would be the most insane review ever, and nobody would believe me, anyway. But here’s the thing: the body moved somehow — I must have passed out — and now the white fiberglass walls and also the fake wood cedar panels are uh, uh, well, I guess they’re absorbing him, but not in the way it happens in the movies where it’s the face frozen in a scream and the feet and maybe fingers are poking out, which is I guess the worst way it could happen — but I’m just seeing his back and his little saggy ass and his tiny ankles and his shoulder blades, and the knobs of his elbows. There’s just something so much sadder about that even though it’s a moving-towards rather than a being-sucked-from position. I don’t even know what I’m saying anymore.
“Please call me back. I’m dead otherwise. I’m dead. You understand? I’m here waiting like I’m on some kind of evil lotus flower that has folded into a closed, tight, airless compartment and eventually, some monster will push a button, opening the lotus and there I’ll be, a demented little pearl ripe for the taking, at which point the creature will just pluck me up and rend me into two. Okay? So there ya have it.”
***
“Okay, the singing is much, much closer. Yes. It’s nearing the Yegg. On all sides. I wonder what that would look like from a drone’s perspective. Villagers, probably all wearing some type of animal skin over their faces, swarming around the Yegg in a military formation. Maybe they’ll do a Viking dealio and light it on fire and then throw it into the sea. I’d like to believe I’d survive. That the Yegg will float across the sea to Iceland. Of course, there’s no steering this fucker, pardon my French, and who knows if it floats. But I’m just going to believe that.”
***
“It’s pushing against my skin. Filthy fish stink and blood. Blood and decay. Anger. Intense, searing, anger. I’m so frightened. I can’t… I can’t accept whatever is happening. It makes no sense. I’m not a bad person. Doug was not a bad person. Oh God. Nobody cares. I’m all alone. All alone.”
***
“Well, it’s inside me now. Looking out my eyes, telling me things in Norwegian that I’ve come to understand. Maybe call me back?"
***
“Me again. Apparently, the good folks at Eco International Adventure parked the Yegg on a burial ground of vengeful Berzerkers, who didn't want Doug. That is, Doug didn’t survive the… infiltration. I did. Hooray for me.”
***
“Oh, well my phone is at 2% and many of those awful Berzerkers have surrounded the Yegg, knocking and singing and whatnot. I see faces in the window. Now, it’s time for the ceremony, which is in my honor. Time to drink, dance, kill, fuck, die. Drikk, dans, drep, knull, dø. Drikk, dans, deep, knoll, dø. Drikk, da—”
***
Hi, you’ve reached Gretchen. We’re in Norway! I’m writing another travelog. As soon as I get more of a charge and sleep off this jet lag, I’m going to start posting photos! So keep an eye on my socials, folks! In the meantime, leave a message!
***
Hello, this is Ben from Eco Adventure International. We assume you didn’t read our email from two days back. The key fobs were re-programmed and should be working. So sorry for your convenience. We’ve issued 400 travel points for your next booking. Thank you and have an adventurous day!
The End.