At Thorhall’s farm, the roof had been kicked apart from above.
Grettir the Strong stood beneath the damaged rafters while Thorhall told him about Glam. The shepherd had gone out one winter day and been found dead in the snow. They had buried him beneath stones. Afterwards he came back, walking through the valley, killing livestock and men, riding the roofs at night until the beams gave way.
Most of the household had fled. Thorhall and his wife remained among the broken fittings of their home.
“You will lose your horse if you stay,” Thorhall said.
Grettir had come to Iceland’s northern valleys to meet the dead shepherd himself. His uncle had warned him away; the more he heard, the more he wanted to test his strength.
He looked at the door. It had been patched with whatever timber could be found.
“Put him somewhere strong.”
The first night passed quietly. After the second, Thorhall found the stable broken open and the horse dead outside it.
He begged Grettir to leave.
Grettir went to look at the stable, then came back into the hall. He would stay one more night.
He lay fully dressed upon a bench, his sword close by. He tucked one end of his cloak beneath his feet and pulled the other over his head, leaving an opening to see through. His feet rested against a heavy plank. Across the room Thorhall withdrew into his sleeping place.
A light burned. Grettir watched it until he heard something climb onto the roof.
The first blow of a heel shook dust from the thatch. Another followed. A rafter cracked. The weight moved above him, slowly, as though testing the house before breaking it.
Then it came down.
The door shifted inward. An enormous head entered, and shoulders followed it. Glam straightened beneath the roof and rested his arms upon the crossbeam. His gaze travelled through the hall.
Grettir kept still.
The dead man came to the bench and caught the cloak. He pulled. Grettir braced his feet, and the cloth held between them. Glam pulled again. On the third attempt he used both hands and dragged Grettir upright. The cloak tore.
Before Glam could seize him afresh, Grettir drove under his arms and locked his hands behind the great back.
He had thrown strong men. He had overcome a dead man in a grave. He bent all his strength to this one body, and felt it refuse him.
Glam forced him backwards. A bench broke beneath their feet. Grettir found another foothold and lost it as the dead man dragged him towards the passage. Each yard brought them nearer the open air. If Glam got him clear of the house, there would be nothing left to brace against.
At the threshold Grettir’s heels struck a half-buried stone.
He stopped resisting.
While Glam was still pulling, Grettir thrust himself forward with everything he had. The dead man reeled. His shoulders tore through the lintel, and frozen thatch came down around them as they fell outside.
Grettir landed on top.
A cloud moved from the moon.
Glam turned his face towards the light, and Grettir saw his eyes.
His hand would not go to the sword. The strength was still in his arms, but he could not make use of it. Beneath him the dead man began to speak.
“You came looking for me. You shall have me with you.”
Grettir strained to move. The eyes held him.
“What strength is yours, you may keep. But you will grow no stronger. What you do will turn against you. Men will drive you out, and you will live where no one wishes to live beside you.”
The broken doorway stood behind them. Beyond it was the little light, and Thorhall, and the warmth of a room where living people slept.
“You will remember these eyes when you are alone.”
Then Glam’s voice ceased. Grettir could move again.
He drew the short sword and cut off the revenant’s head. Thorhall came out only when it was done. Together they burned the body and carried the ashes far from the paths of people and grazing animals.
The valley was quiet afterwards. Thorhall gave Grettir another horse and clothes to replace the ones torn in the struggle. Everywhere he went, people praised him.
But when evening gathered, he watched for someone going his way. A dark passage could stop him with his hand against the wall. In places where there was nothing to see, the eyes waited.