Rites of Spring

7 Walpurgis Night 1986

I notice them staring at me. Not just the boys in school, but the teachers too, the fathers, the old men in the town square. All of them.

Most of them do it secretly when they believe no one is watching, but I can feel their eyes on me. I know what they think of Elita Svart. What they want to do to me.

School was over for the day, the bus shelter was empty. Arne checked behind the seating at the football pitch, drove past the kiosk. Then he headed down to the common, where the villagers had built a huge bonfire ready for the Walpurgis Night celebrations. Right on the top, leaning against a T-shaped structure, was a figure approximately the height of a man. It was made of interwoven twigs and branches, the head formed by a loop. Arne had seen it many times, in countless variations: a representation of the Green Man.

His big sister Ingrid used to tell terrifying stories of the Green Man and his ghostly horse, just as the residents of Tornaby had done for generations. Arne hated to admit it, but there was something about that faceless object that still made him shudder.

He spotted a few kids on the far side of the bonfire, and wound down the window. They looked at one another when they saw the police car, then picked up their backpacks and turned their bicycles around, ready to disappear.

‘David!’

‘Hi, Uncle Arne.’ The boy let go of the handlebars, looking relieved. ‘Cool car!’

Arne nodded with satisfaction. ‘What are you up to?’

‘Nothing.’ The answer came much too quickly.

‘So what are you doing tonight?’

David shuffled uncomfortably and looked at his friends. Arne was trying to remember their names; he knew they often hung around at Ingrid and Bertil’s place, but he’d never taken much notice of them. The girl was adopted, Chinese or Korean or whatever, and the boy with the cropped hair was a Pole whose parents were something important at the plastics factory. Behind them was another terrified face that presumably belonged to that crazy seamstress’s boy.

‘Nothing special. We’ll probably check out the bonfire,’ David replied.

‘You’re not going to do anything stupid?’

‘Of course not!’

David shook his head, and the other three joined in.

‘Good. By the way, I don’t suppose you’ve seen Elita Svart?’

For a second it was as if the little group froze in the middle of shaking their heads. Only their eyes moved, darting from side to side like frightened little sparrows. Arne fixed his eyes on his nephew. David opened his mouth a couple of times, but nothing came out.

‘No, we haven’t, have we, David?’

The little adopted princess had spoken. She gave David an encouraging nod.

‘No,’ he mumbled.

‘She’s older than us. We don’t hang out together,’ the girl added.

‘I see. Remind me of your name?’

‘Jeanette, but everybody calls me Nettan.’

‘Your father’s the headmaster at Tornaby school, isn’t he?’

‘Yes. And Mum’s on the council.’

The kid was glaring at him in a way that both irritated and amused Arne.

‘You don’t say.’

He sucked in air between his teeth. It was obvious that these kids were up to something; could he be bothered to find out what it was? He ran his thumb and forefinger over his moustache. What could a gang of spoilt twelve-year-olds come up with in Tornaby? The answer was simple: nothing that was of any interest to him.

‘Just behave yourselves,’ he said sternly. ‘Otherwise the Green Man might come after you.’

He pointed to the figure on top of the bonfire, and much to his satisfaction he saw four young faces turn a little paler.