I Remember You

Chapter 15

Putti seemed to realize that the night and the terrors it held were just around the corner. He was lying next to Katrín as she sat with her legs stretched out on a folded wool blanket alongside Líf and Garðar, staring into the darkness surrounding the house. Her entire body still hurt but she’d got used to the pain, and besides, her headache was gone, so relatively speaking she felt quite well. From time to time the dog became unusually alert, lifting his head off his short forelegs and baring his teeth for no reason. Nothing in particular appeared to provoke this reaction, and there was no way of getting him to calm down again until he realized there was nothing there. Under normal circumstances, the babbling of the stream and the lapping of the incoming tide would have been soothing, but now it was as if they harboured other, more threatening sounds. Now someone could sneak up behind the house, slink along it and inch their way silently to where the three of them were sitting without their ever being aware of it. Yet they found it preferable to sitting inside, waiting for the dead undergrowth outside to rustle and the floorboards to creak.

‘Let me watch it one more time.’ Líf reached over Katrín, trying to get the camera from Garðar. ‘Please.’

‘Not a chance.’ Garðar checked to see whether his jacket pocket was zipped up so Líf couldn’t get at it. ‘You won’t see any more than what we’ve already seen, and the battery’s running low.’

‘Why do we need the camera battery?’ Katrín’s voice was calm. It was as if she’d decided simply to accept the situation and whatever might occur. She didn’t know how long this odd serenity would last, but she was going to enjoy it while she could. Yet it bothered her a little that the reason her fear had abandoned her was probably because she’d accepted the inevitable: the child would do to them whatever it had done to the house’s previous owner; they would vanish off the face of the earth and no one would know their fate. ‘I’m not going to take any photos.’

Garðar scowled at her. ‘Of course not. But what if we find another memory card? There might be something on it that could help us. We still have two boxes to go through.’

‘There’s nothing on any memory card that could help us. If the last owner had known anything useful, don’t you think he would have saved himself?’ Katrín squinted and tried, unsuccessfully, to make out the flimsy washing lines she knew were there somewhere in the twilight.

‘Don’t be so negative.’ Líf shifted slightly away from Katrín but then appeared to regret it and moved back to the same spot. She bumped into Putti, who looked up in irritation and shook his head, making his ears flap, and yawned widely before letting his head fall back down. He didn’t close his shiny dark eyes, but stared from beneath his wispy eyebrows at the checked pattern on the rug. ‘I can’t cope with you being pessimistic on top of everything else. We’ve got enough to worry about.’

‘I’m not being negative.’ Katrín felt a little muscle cramp and stretched her sore legs. She had no idea whether the cold made the cramps worse, but her legs felt chilly despite her protective trousers. ‘I’m just realistic. We all heard it; he experienced exactly the same things as we have, except he was alone. I reckon he was here at the same time of year, even. I saw snow in some of the shots.’

‘That doesn’t necessarily mean anything. It can snow here in August.’ Garðar stretched his neck, obviously feeling stiff himself. ‘We should be careful about comparing our situation to his. As you said yourself, there are three of us, whereas he was by himself.’ Katrín held her tongue, though she longed to laugh out loud. They could certainly sleep in shifts, but otherwise they didn’t appear to be in any better a position than the poor man who’d lost his life in this place, alone and abandoned. From the clips they had ascertained that his phone had also died without warning. He, like them, had seen a boy who seemed to stand there with his head bowed, within reach, but who disappeared when approached. The two crosses had turned up inside the house without explanation and Katrín could still feel the heaviness she’d felt in her chest when she saw them appear on the camera’s little screen, the shaky voice of the man narrating their discovery. He didn’t appear to understand what was happening any more than they did. Her discomfort wasn’t eased when some shells appeared in another clip. But it was the last shot that had struck her most. Then even her fear had gone away, and a peculiar calm came over her. The man sounded defeated. He spoke so softly that it was difficult to distinguish his words, especially because he yawned constantly, clearly very tired. However, they understood that he was saying his final goodbyes to various people, none of whose names they recognized. The man seemed to have accepted his fate. He wouldn’t make it back to town. At least not alive.

They’d watched the video over and over again in the hope of hearing or understanding what the man was saying, draining the battery, though that hardly mattered. The man had then used the camera like a Dictaphone; it wasn’t possible to see anything in the darkness surrounding him and talking was all he could do. His voice trembling, he said that he didn’t have a torch, since it had disappeared, and that he felt as if something were about to happen. There was an unbearable stench in the house and he constantly came across wet footprints, not his own, on the floor. The air was charged with something repulsive, something alive, and it was after him, though he didn’t know what he’d done to deserve it. Then he suddenly fell silent. At that moment another individual appeared for a second, but too briefly to get a clear glimpse of him, there being virtually no light. In fact it was no more than a black shadow against a slightly lighter background. They tried to play the video slowly, stop it and view it almost frame by frame, but their attempts were in vain; they could never hit the right moment. Nevertheless, none of them was in any doubt that it was the boy. Equally, none of them was willing to speak up and say that he weirdly appeared to be a similar age to what he was now, three years later. Meanwhile, they could hear the man gasping for breath. Then he began to speak again, but the video clip ended in mid-sentence. Either the camera had gone dead for a moment or something else, something worse, had happened. Then, although he whispered the words frantically, they had no trouble understanding him: ‘He’s coming. He’s coming. Oh God, oh God, he’s…’ This was the final recording on the memory card.

Putti lifted his head and growled, longer and deeper than before. Garðar snorted. ‘You can bet your life that what’s really freaking us out is this bloody dog. If he’d just shut up we wouldn’t be reacting like this. People can make up all sorts of nonsense and start imagining the most ridiculous things.’

‘Don’t talk about the poor thing like that. Come here, Putti, come to mummy.’ Líf patted her thigh, but Putti didn’t appear to be particularly impressed, though he did stop growling. He didn’t move any closer to Líf, however, but stayed snuggled against Katrín. After her fall down the stairs he’d stuck close to her and was apparently determined not to leave her side. Garðar watched the dog, shook his head and yawned, then was clearly reminded of the video clip and the disjointed sentences of the sleep-deprived man, and quickly tried to swallow his yawn. ‘Shouldn’t we be getting inside? It’s starting to get colder and we can’t sit here all night.’

‘I don’t want to be in there.’ Líf had started scratching Putti behind his ears, apparently jealous that the dog now seemed fonder of Katrín. ‘I actually like the cold out here better.’ She cuddled the dog, who appeared not to notice. ‘Couldn’t we just bring our sleeping bags out here?’

‘No.’ This reminded Katrín of her students. When the children were faced with something they didn’t like, they came up with all sorts of unrealistic ways to avoid the inevitable or at least to postpone it. Líf must have known that eventually they’d have to go inside. Right now it seemed a bit more tolerable sitting there outdoors, but they were unlikely to still feel that way when it came to closing their eyes and going to sleep.

‘But we could go and sleep in the doctor’s house. We have the keys, of course.’ Katrín didn’t want to say it, but there might be a radio there or something that could put them in touch with the outside world. She was no better than Líf in her unrealistic expectations.

Líf was thrilled with this idea, but Garðar needed a bit more deliberation. ‘Would we be any better off there?’ He was still on his feet, peering out into the darkness at where the house stood. The night sky was overcast, and there was no light from either the moon or the stars. ‘The child is just as likely to harass us there as here.’

‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ Katrín was also standing up now, despite her protesting muscles. Putti lay still but gazed up at her, looking sad somehow. She smiled at him, uncertain whether dogs understood different facial expressions. ‘Well, I’d feel better about going there than staying here tonight, at least. What about you?’

Nothing else needed to be said; none of them was particularly interested in bedding down on the first floor again, in the room that the previous owner also appeared to have chosen to sleep in. Putti watched their every move, always staying close to Katrín, who had to endure piercing pain with each step. It had become embarrassingly clear that he preferred her to his owner. Perhaps there was nothing particularly strange about the poor creature realizing that it had limited support from Líf, but Katrín was surprised that the dog wasn’t focusing its attention on Garðar. He was the one who was at least attempting to pretend that everything was fine.

‘I think I felt a snowflake.’ Líf adjusted her sleeping bag in her arms and stroked her cheek. ‘Wouldn’t it be good if it snowed more? Then maybe we’d see footprints.’

‘Would you follow them?’ Garðar was behind Katrín and Líf, who had just enough room to walk side by side on the narrow trail. Garðar’s walk was barely faster than Katrín’s, as his foot had barely healed. ‘I don’t really see that happening.’

‘I’m not talking about going out tonight, but maybe tomorrow when it’s light. It’s not as if there are so many people here that the place would be covered in footprints. Just imagine if we could find the little bastard, tie him up and finally have some peace. Maybe we get to kill him, since he obviously killed the man who used to own the house?’

Katrín raised her eyebrows, which made the sore spot on her scalp ache. Líf wasn’t quite right in the head. But she left it to Garðar to respond to this nonsense and the two of them continued to bicker back and forth about it on the way over. Although Katrín generally found it boring to listen to quarrelling, she found it comfortable now. There was something so mundane and familiar about it, almost like standing between an old couple who couldn’t agree on anything. When they tiptoed carefully across the dilapidated bridge over a branch of the stream, Katrín didn’t even feel her heart beating rapidly, as it had done before now, at the thought of falling into the icy water. She was too busy listening to Garðar talk irritably about how tracks could be covered over by snow in a surprisingly short amount of time. Líf didn’t believe this for a second and the issue was still unresolved when they suddenly came to the pale yellow two-storey house that had previously housed the village physician.

‘God, I hate how they’ve boarded up the windows. It’s as if the house’s eyes have been poked out and bandages slapped on.’ Líf shuddered.

They stood silently, staring at the house. Líf’s description was unnervingly accurate. Garðar was the first to break the silence. ‘At least it’s obvious that no one’s gone in there except with a key. The door’s the only thing that hasn’t been nailed shut. However good this child is at hiding, I doubt he’s that good at break-ins. It doesn’t look as if the door’s been messed with.’ Although Garðar sounded confident, none of them seemed keen to be first to try the door.

Putti was hopping around between Katrín and Líf, apparently agitated by something – the cold, perhaps. He looked miserable. The prospect of the poor thing freezing to death prompted Katrín to cut to the chase. ‘Who has the key?’ As soon as she said it, she realized none of them had thought to bring it.

‘I’ll shoot back over. I’ll be no time at all.’ Garðar didn’t listen to their feeble protests. Neither of them was keen on turning back, nor did they want him to go. But someone had to get the key, and it was pointless to make a big fuss over who should go when someone had already volunteered. They watched him jog rather awkwardly, due to his heel, out into the darkness and he seemed to disappear from sight incredibly fast. When they’d stood staring at the darkness for an uncomfortably long time, Katrín walked up to the house and put her sleeping bag down by the door. Líf followed her example. Then they sat down on the porch, which was far sturdier than the one attached to their own house, and waited for Garðar and the key. Putti stood at the base of the porch, sniffing the air.

‘Please. Don’t growl.’ Líf wrapped her jacket tighter. ‘I can’t take any more.’ The dog made no sound but turned quickly towards the house and stopped abruptly. This house stood much closer to the sea than theirs and here the sound of the waves was louder, as they hit the beach more vigorously than earlier in the evening. From time to time there also came a more forceful splashing sound, as if someone were kicking around in the shallows. ‘How long is it since Garðar left? Shouldn’t he be back by now?’ Líf didn’t look at Katrín, since she herself knew how silly the question was. ‘I can’t wait to get inside and into my sleeping bag.’

‘Me neither.’ The fatigue that had built up during the day was starting to take effect. Katrín felt once again how tiring psychological stress could be, no less so than physical labour. When she and Garðar were having problems she often felt as if she were on the verge of collapsing in the evenings, and it was precisely then that the issues seemed insurmountable and everything felt hopeless. ‘I think we’ve done the right thing coming over here.’ In fact she’d remembered that they hadn’t brought any firewood with them and that it would be extremely cold inside, but it helped that Líf had been wrong to predict further snowfall. ‘We don’t have anything to heat the house with.’

Líf moaned, but immediately regained her composure. ‘Oh, who cares? If I can just get into the house I’ll be happy.’

‘Agreed.’ Katrín began to yawn, but stopped midway when Putti started growling where he stood, staring towards the side of the house. When he stopped, they could clearly hear a crunching sound. Líf grabbed Katrín’s arm tightly with both hands and squeezed. ‘What was that?’

Katrín shushed her and listened more carefully. It was as if someone were walking just around the corner of the house. All of the odd calm she had enjoyed disappeared, and her racing heartbeat was back, faster than ever. She’d heard that animals were sensitive to the emotions of the people around them, and this appeared to be the case for Putti. He growled even louder and barked sharply several times. The crunching sound stopped.

‘What should we do?’ Líf sounded as though she desperately wanted to clamp her eyes shut and hope this would all go away by itself, and Katrín felt the same. But she shushed Líf once more and tried to think of something. There was no way she was going to stand up and look around the corner, no matter what might be there. The only thing she could think of was to pull Líf to her feet and run off after Garðar. They’d been idiots to think it would make any difference coming to this house.

Putti was still barking frantically, lifting off the ground slightly each time. Then he stopped abruptly and whined piteously, which was even worse. His bark had at least implied that he thought he could handle whatever was around the corner. The whine suggested entirely the opposite. Katrín stood up carefully and motioned to Líf to do the same. She whispered in her ear: ‘Let’s walk slowly in the direction of the steps and then run as fast as we possibly can when we reach them. We’ll just leave the stuff behind.’ How she intended to run remained to be seen; in her condition she had enough trouble walking.

Maybe whatever awaited them had overheard Katrín’s plan, because the sound started up again. It seemed to be approaching with uncomfortable speed. Katrín stared helplessly at the corner of the house. She was convinced that now they would see the face of whoever was lying in wait for them, but she was far from prepared for it. The only thing she could do was fix her gaze on the sharp edge of the wall. Líf also seemed hypnotized. They screamed as loudly as each other when a small hand reached around the corner. Four pale, yellowish fingers appeared, gripping the wood, then disappeared just as quickly. The next thing they knew, a voice was coming from whoever was standing around the corner. They couldn’t understand the words, but it was clear that it was a monologue not intended for others’ ears. There was no way to determine whether it was a girl or a boy speaking. Katrín felt the hairs on her arms rise when the possibility crossed her mind that this was a clinically insane adult, putting on a child’s voice. There was nothing innocent or joyful in its tone, as you’d expect from a child, although the size of the hand did not suggest an adult. The high-pitched voice fell silent.

‘What did he say?’ Líf squeezed Katrín’s bruised body so hard that it made her dizzy with pain. ‘What did he say?’

‘Shh!’ The crunching noise had resumed, now accompanied by a disgusting, indefinable smell. It could best be described as a blend of kelp and rotten meat. The voice spoke again, now slightly louder and clearer: Don’t go. Don’t go yet. I’m not finished.

Katrín heard nothing more over Líf’s screams as she threw herself towards the steps without so much as a backwards glance to check whether Katrín was following her. Katrín was left alone on the porch, too numb even to shush Putti, who was barking even more hysterically than before. Yet he couldn’t drown out the terrifying voice, now raised in anger:

I said I’m not finished.