The Haunted Igloo Read online

  The Haunted Igloo

  Reviews

  (From the hard-cover edition.)

  Boys, dogs, and adventure in the frozen North: classic appeals are served here in a well-told historical novel. —BCCB, 10/91

  Fans of Gary Paulsen's Woodsong will enjoy Turner's fictional portrayal of the challenges of the harsh region. —Kay Weisman, Booklist 11/91

  Jean-Paul's successful rites of passage may strike a response in readers who enjoyed Gardiner's Stone Fox ... Paulsen's Dogsong, and Woodsong. —Kirkus Reviews, 10/91

  The empathetic characters provide an exciting and warm-hearted story. —The Horn Book Guide, 12/91

  From a young fan in Green Bay, Wisconsin, 1992.

  Mrs. Turner, I'll give you a million dollars for that book!!!

  ____________

  The Haunted Igloo

  by

  Bonnie Turner

  Smashwords Edition

  This book is also available in print from online book retailers.

  Copyright © 2010 by Bonnie L. Turner

  All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction, no part of which may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author. Brief passages may be used in print media for review purposes.

  Smashwords Edition, License Notes

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting this author’s work.

  ____________

  For Sasha:

  the beautiful husky

  who inspired this story.

  1975—1988

  ____________

  The Haunted Igloo

  ____________

  Chapter 1

  Jean-Paul shivered as he hid in the shadows behind the school. The late afternoon temperature was falling fast, and to make matters worse, the pup was driving him crazy, wiggling and squirming inside his parka. It was all he could do to keep her from falling out the bottom. He opened the coat a little and looked inside.

  “Shhh,” he whispered. “Someone might hear you!”

  Jean-Paul glanced quickly around the corner of the schoolhouse to see if anyone was coming, but no one was in sight. He sighed with relief. How very cold he was getting, with icy fingers of air creeping inside his hood to freeze his neck. He wished the plane would hurry and take off so he could seek warm shelter.

  Arctic days were growing shorter. Soon, darkness would come to the Far North, where Jean-Paul lived with his mother and father. Of course, it wouldn’t be pitch black, because of the stars, the moon, and the aurora borealis, with its colored bands of light waving through the arctic sky like giant searchlights, but it would be dark.

  It was Jean-Paul’s misfortune that he didn’t like the darkness. In fact, he more than disliked the dark; actually, he was deathly afraid of it.

  This would begin Jean-Paul’s second year of living at Aklavik, in the Northwest Territories. The Ardoin family shared a small cabin some miles to the west, beyond the native dwellings.

  Jean-Paul’s father, Cordell, was a geologist who had come to study the large deposits of pitchblende, discovered in 1930 at Great Bear Lake. That discovery had excited Cordell, for pitchblende contains radium, which the government wanted.

  His running off to the Arctic had brought Cordell much criticism. His wife’s family had thought him foolish. But Lise’s response was “So what?” And she went to the Arctic with her husband.

  Cordell spent the dark winter months writing children’s books, for then it was too cold for mining, and minerals were frozen beneath the ice and snow. But Cordell’s thoughts were never far from what lay hidden beneath the earth. Mixed in with the nouns and verbs and plots for his stories were the delights of radium, copper, and gold.

  Jean-Paul’s mother, Lise, sometimes helped her husband tan the fur and cure the meat, and she sewed the family’s clothing. This very morning she had sent eight beautiful pairs of caribou-fur boots to the Hudson’s Bay trading post. She hoped Cordell could trade them for some other useful items. Making the boots had been hard work, but they had turned out as waterproof as those the Inuit women made.

  Jean-Paul had his mother’s shyness, for Lise kept almost entirely to herself. As the months passed without a personal friend, and with another baby on the way, she seemed very sad to Jean-Paul. Of course, Lise had met the other people who lived in Aklavik, those speaking French, as she did, but even they seemed out of reach to her. But if the truth were known, Lise had never been a very social person outside of her own family.

  Now a sudden stinging blast of wind slapped Jean-Paul full in the face. He turned away and huddled against the back wall of the Mission school, a one-room building in which eleven students, mostly Inuits, were taught by Father Cortier.

  Jean-Paul listened closely for the sound of the plane. He listened so hard that it made his ears ache. Why didn’t it leave before he turned into a chunk of ice! He stroked the hidden pup again, but it had gone to sleep. He knew he couldn’t hide forever, but he had to be sure the trappers, hunters, and traders had left the settlement for good. He had heard his father talking with them. He knew they probably wouldn’t come again until spring. It took a very brave pilot to test the air currents over the mountains and frozen tundra in winter, especially since compasses went wild at the higher latitudes when almost every direction was south.

  “We need supplies,” Cordell had told Ola Hanson, naming off the staples Lise had listed: “Beans, salt pork, coffee, canned milk.” He shrugged. “It would be nice if you had a bag of potatoes.” He looked hopefully at Ola. But Ola shook his head “no.”

  “We have three mouths to feed,” said Cordell, “and another on the way. That’s not counting the dogs.”

  One of the traders, a big man with shaggy red hair and a beard to match, had laughed harshly. “If you get too hungry, you can always eat a husky! You ever eat dog meat?”

  Jean-Paul would never forget his father’s angry reply. “Certainly not! And I hope to God I never have to!”

  “Oh ho!” laughed the trader slapping Cordell on the shoulder. “Ah, sure you will! Someday when your beans and biscuits run out. When it’s ninety-five below, and snow up to your ears! Then you’ll eat dog. Roasted over a bed of hot coals, there’s nothing better when you’re starving. Wash it down with whisky or strong coffee! But you haven’t lived up here that long. You might have to learn the hard way!”

  That’s when Jean-Paul had made up his mind to hide a pup. He had taken it away from its litter-mates and had run off to hide. He was lucky no one had seen him, but he was scared to death he would be caught and punished. He felt that, since the pup was probably too small for sled pulling, a buyer might want it for only one thing: dinner. He could not let that happen! His stomach flipped and flopped now as he recalled how that man had spoken so horribly about eating dogs.

  There was another reason Jean-Paul had saved the puppy. Larger, more aggressive, animals tended to pick on smaller ones, just as Jean-Paul himself was bullied by some of his bigger classmates.

  Cordell had almost not brought Jean-Paul to the village this time, and Jean-Paul wondered if it was because of the way he limped. Surely his father didn’t want to be slowed down by a cripple. Cordell had never said as much, but Jean-Paul wondered if he really felt that way. How could any father love a son who was thin, lame, and smaller than most
ten-year-olds?

  His mother had remained at the cabin this time, for trading could take all day. And besides, with both Jean-Paul and Lise, there wouldn’t have been enough room on the freight sled for all the supplies they hoped to buy.

  The trapping season would be better a couple of months later, when the fur-bearers’ pelts had grown thick and soft. Late winter would see Cordell bringing bundles of furs to trade. But today he and Jean-Paul had brought with them the nine husky pups from a litter Lishta had whelped three months before. The animals would bring good money. One of the pups was smaller than the others. This was the one Jean-Paul chose for himself.

  Now, Jean-Paul’s breath puffed out in a misty cloud as he opened his parka a little and reached inside. He removed a thick mitten and sank his fingers into the silvery fur. The pup peeked out of one blue eye, then went back to sleep.

  “They can’t have you!” Jean-Paul whispered. “They’ll never roast you over a campfire!”

  A sudden sound made Jean-Paul close the parka fast. He held his breath and listened. Oh no! Someone was coming! He pressed himself into the schoolhouse wall, hoping he wouldn’t be seen.

  But it was too late. Around the corner came Chinook and Aiverk and Nanuk, the three boys who teased Jean-Paul the most. They spied him at once.

  Their hoods were thrown back, even though it was cold and windy. Jean-Paul knew they were hardier than a boy from lower Canada who had once lived in a nice, warm house in town. The Inuit boys were bigger than Jean-Paul, especially Chinook, and they looked bigger than ever as they stopped in front of him.

  “It’s Okalerk!” said Aiverk. “Why is Okalerk hiding behind the school?”

  The other boys laughed, and Jean-Paul shrank back as Aiverk stooped down to stare into his face. Jean-Paul knew that okalerk was the Inuit word for hare, and that the way he sort of hopped while walking made them think of a rabbit!

  Chinook also came closer. Light snow sparkled in his short dark hair. At thirteen, the Inuit boy was the oldest in Jean-Paul’s class, not to mention the most daring. His voice was musical and full of laughter as he questioned Jean-Paul.

  “Why are you here little okalerk Jean-Paul Ardoin?” He turned to Nanuk and Aiverk. “He must like school so much that he comes on Saturday and hides behind it!”

  “Maybe he’s waiting for a girl,” said Nanuk, who had a girl of his own. Thin like Jean-Paul, Nanuk sometimes had a nasty temper. He squatted before Jean-Paul. “Why are you hiding, Okalerk? If you’re waiting for a girl, you might have to wait forever!”

  The others burst out laughing. Jean-Paul’s parka wiggled suddenly and he put his hand up to make it stop. But the boys had already seen. Nanuk turned to Chinook and Aiverk.

  “Hey, he’s hiding something in his attigi!”

  Chinook said, “What have you got in there Jean-Paul Okalerk?”

  “N–nothing…”

  Aiverk reached for Jean-Paul’s parka. Jean-Paul was cornered.

  “No!” He pushed Aiverk’s hand away. “Let me go!”

  “Come on,” said Aiverk. “Let’s see what you’ve got!” Aiverk’s black eyes snapped with excitement.

  Jean-Paul was frightened as he looked from one boy to the other. “I’m just waiting for Pa.”

  “He’s waiting for his old man!” Chinook laughed. “Well, I saw Monsieur Ardoin just a few minutes ago, and he wasn’t looking for any okalerks!”

  There was that word again! Jean-Paul shouted, “I’m not an okalerk, Chinook!” The pup wiggled again at the sound of his voice, and Jean-Paul hoped it didn’t wet inside his parka. “You stop calling me an okalerk!”

  The three boys roared with laughter.

  “Go away,” Jean-Paul said. “Pa will come—”

  Chinook brushed snow from his hair. “And your pa will say, ‘What very nice friends you have, Jean-Paul, dear!’”

  Tears sprang into Jean-Paul’s eyes, but he looked at the ground so they wouldn’t see. Then the pup yelped.

  Nanuk moved quickly and yanked open Jean-Paul’s parka. The pup jumped out and landed in the snow. Aiverk picked up the squirming ball of fluff.

  “Just a pup!” His eyes narrowed, and he tried to look mean. “Where did you steal the pup, Okalerk?”

  “I didn’t steal her!” Jean-Paul reached for the pup, but Aiverk jerked it away. “Please, Aiverk, give her back! I didn’t steal her, she’s mine.”

  Chinook scratched the pup’s head. “Nice dog, Jean-Paul. You must have taken it from someone. Why else would you hide it?”

  Jean-Paul was really crying now, and he didn’t care who saw.

  “I—I was just keeping her warm,” he said. “I didn’t want her to get cold.” He reached out again. “I want my dog back, Aiverk!”

  “Give the baby his dog,” said Nanuk. “We got better things to do.”

  Aiverk gave the wiggly pup back to Jean-Paul. “Here, take your stolen dog, Okalerk. I don’t want to be caught with something you stole.”

  “If you were bigger and meaner and stronger,” said Nanuk with a laugh, “you could join the Ice Patrol. But we don’t want a crying sissy in our club, right guys?”

  “Frozen Eyeballs would be a good name for him,” chuckled Aiverk. “Frozen Okalerk Eyeballs!”

  Jean-Paul tried to ignore their taunts. He put the pup back inside his coat and turned to leave. Having his father find him with the dog would be better than being teased to death.

  From the direction of the river came the sudden roar of an engine. It sputtered a few times, then died. Finally, it caught and raced up powerfully.

  Chinook shouted, “Hey it’s the plane! Come on, let’s go watch it take off!”

  Jean-Paul had also wished to see the aircraft lift off from its runway on the frozen river, but he sighed with relief as the boys tore off around the corner of the building. For one thing, they wouldn’t tease him any more that day. For another, it had started snowing a few weeks before. Soon it would be nearly impossible to fly into or out of the Northwest Territories.

  “You’re safe,” he told the pup. “I’m going to take care of you now.”

  It was nearly dark when Jean-Paul left his hiding place. He hadn’t meant to stay away so long, but he also hadn’t planned to return to the trading post until he was sure the traders were gone.

  The main street of Aklavik was almost deserted. As he walked back to the Hudson’s Bay trading post, a sickening feeling nudged into Jean-Paul’s throat. He had never lied to his father. But he had already thought up a good one.

  Jean-Paul did not have to look far for Cordell. The tall, wide-shouldered man with thick black hair and a bushy beard tromped down the steps of the trading post. He strode quickly to his son and faced him with his huge hands on his hips. It was almost too dark to see the man’s eyes, but Jean-Paul knew they’d be flashing fire.

  “Where have you been?” Cordell roared.

  Knowing how angry and worried his father must be, Jean-Paul could do nothing but stare at the ground. He shuffled the toes of his boots in the snow. Words got stuck in his throat.

  Cordell knelt and took Jean-Paul’s shoulders. “Jean-Paul, son, look at me!” At that moment, Cordell saw Jean-Paul’s parka move. “Eh? What have you got in there?”

  “This little old pup…” Jean-Paul whispered. “This here little pup got away. And—and I had to go find her.”

  The awful lie was out.

  Jean-Paul tried to struggle away from his father, but Cordell held tightly to one shoulder. With the other hand, he unfastened his son’s parka and looked down at the ball of silvery fur that poked a fuzzy head out.

  Cordell stared at the animal for a moment without speaking. He reached down and scratched a soft little ear. He looked back at Jean-Paul. “The runt, eh?” Cordell released Jean-Paul’s shoulder and scratched his beard thoughtfully. “Son, you know the money from this pup would have brought us a meal for some cold, dark night.”

  “But she was running away, Pa! And you said yourself she won’t make a good sle
d dog. You said she’s too small. You said so!”

  Jean-Paul set the squirming pup on the ground, and she promptly made a yellow, wet spot in the snow. He picked her up again before she could wander off, cuddling her beneath his chin.

  Cordell rose and put an arm around Jean-Paul. He led him to the freight sled, which was already loaded with supplies from the trading post. “I suspect that pup never ran away,” Cordell said. “I think you wanted to keep her for a pet, eh?”

  “Yes, sir.” Jean-Paul was relieved. It hadn’t been as bad as he had thought it would be. Still, he felt awful about the lie. It wasn’t much fun having your stomach churn, and waiting in fear for someone to find out. Now it was over.

  Cordell looked sternly at Jean-Paul as he settled him onto the sled with the pup in his lap. “There’s not much we can do about it now, eh? I suppose you heard the plane take off.”

  “Yes, sir, I heard something.”

  “I suppose you planned it that way.”

  Jean-Paul was tired of lying. He crossed his fingers and said quietly, “Yes, I did that, Pa. I’m sorry.”

  The sledge was fully loaded, with barely enough room for Jean-Paul. Cordell tucked the robe around the boy’s shoulders. “You’ve got a pup for the winter,” he said. “But when the traders return next spring, she’ll have to go.”

  Jean-Paul nodded, clutching the pup tightly against his chest.

  Cordell checked the traces running from the sled to the dog team. Then he went to the back of the sled and picked up his long leather whip. With a flip of his wrist, he cracked it sharply overhead. The whip unfurled and flew through the cold air, touching down just inches from Tork’s nose.