The Lost Boy

FJÄLLBACKA 1871

A strange mood had hovered over the house all day long. Karl and Julian took turns tending to the lighthouse, but the rest of the time they had been avoiding her. Neither of them would look her in the eye.

The others also seemed to sense something ominous in the air. They were more present than usual, suddenly turning up, only to vanish just as swiftly. Doors slammed, and she heard footsteps overhead that stopped as soon as she went upstairs. They wanted to tell her something, she realized that, but she couldn’t work out what it might be. Several times she felt someone breathing against her cheek and someone touching her shoulder or arm. A feather-light touch on her skin, but as soon as it disappeared, she thought she must have imagined it. Yet she knew it was real – just as real as the feeling that she needed to flee.

Emelie stared at the ice with longing. Maybe she ought to venture out on it. As soon as that thought occurred to her, she felt a hand on her back that seemed to be nudging her towards the front door. Was that what they wanted to say? That she should leave while she still could? But she lacked the courage. Aimlessly she wandered through the house. Cleaning, tidying up, and trying not to think. It felt as if the absence of those malevolent glances from the two men was more foreboding and frightening than their stares.

All around her the others were trying to catch her attention. They wanted to make her listen, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t understand. She felt hands touching her, she heard footsteps impatiently following her everywhere she went, but the agitated whisperings, all those words jumbled on top of each other, were impossible to decipher.

As dusk fell, she found herself shaking all over. She knew that Karl would soon take the first shift in the lighthouse, and she needed to hurry to get dinner ready. Without thinking, she prepared the salted fish. As she poured out the water from the potatoes, her hands shook so badly that she almost scalded herself.

They sat down at the table, and suddenly she heard a thudding sound overhead. The sound got louder, more insistent. Karl and Julian didn’t seem to hear it, but they stirred uneasily as they sat on the kitchen bench.

‘Get out the schnapps,’ said Karl, his voice cracking. He nodded at the cupboard where the liquor was kept.

She didn’t know what to do. Even though they usually came back from Abela’s tavern as drunk as skunks, they rarely drank at home.

‘Schnapps, I said!’ Karl growled, and Emelie quickly got up. She opened the cupboard and took out the bottle, which was nearly full. She set it on the table and then got out two glasses.

‘A glass for you too,’ said Julian. His eyes glittered with a look that sent shivers down her spine.

‘I’m not sure if I …’ she stammered. She seldom drank spirits. On a few occasions she had tasted a tiny bit, just enough to know that she didn’t care for it.

Annoyed, Karl got up and took another glass out of the cupboard, slamming it down on the table in front of Emelie. Then he filled it to the brim.

‘I don’t want to …’ Her voice broke, and she felt herself trembling more than ever. No one had touched the food. Slowly she raised the glass to her lips and took a sip.

‘Drink it down,’ said Karl. He took his place again, and poured an equal amount for himself and for Julian. ‘Drink it all down. Now.’

From upstairs the thudding sound was growing louder. She thought about the ice that stretched all the way to Fjällbacka. The ice would have been able to carry her to safety if only she had listened, if only she had dared. But now it was dark, and it was no longer possible to flee. Suddenly she felt a hand on her shoulder, a brief touch telling her that she was not alone.

Emelie lifted her glass and downed the schnapps. She had no choice; she was a captive here. She didn’t know why, but that was the way it was. She was their prisoner.

Karl and Julian emptied their glasses when they saw that she had finished hers. Then Julian reached for the bottle and filled her glass again, all the way to the top. The liquid spilled over the side and on to the table. They didn’t have to say a word; she knew what she had to do. As they filled their own glasses, they kept their eyes fixed on her, and she realized that no matter what else happened she would be forced to raise her glass, again and again.

After a while the whole room seemed to be spinning, and she felt them taking off her clothes. She let them do it. The alcohol had made her limbs heavy, and she was unable to offer any sort of resistance. And while the thudding overhead got so loud that the sound filled her head, Karl lay down on top of her. Then came the pain and the darkness. Julian gripped her by the arms, and the last thing she saw was his eyes. They were filled with hatred.