The Rabbit Hunter

54

A robot made of red and grey Lego is standing on the kitchen table. It’s the size of a wine-box, and resembles an old-fashioned tank with a grab-claw attachment.

‘Say hello to our new friend,’ Absalon smiles.

‘Hello,’ Elsa says.

‘And he’s going to be asleep very soon,’ Kerstin says.

She hands out paper towels to use as napkins, looks at her husband’s beaming face, and thinks that he must have gained some weight.

The children are already in their pyjamas. Peter’s are too short in the leg. Elsa is wearing all her hairbands as bracelets.

Absalon moves the carton of lactose-free milk, a sticky ketchup bottle and the bowl of grated carrot and apple.

The robot starts to roll across the floral-patterned wax tablecloth. Its small rubber front wheels hit the pan of macaroni and trigger the next action. Peter giggles as the moveable upper section of the robot slides forward on two rails. With a plastic rattling sound the wooden ladle sinks into the macaroni, then lifts back up again far too quickly.

The children laugh as macaroni flies across the table.

‘Hang on,’ Absalon says, leaning forward and adjusting the spring on the grab-arm. He aims the remote at the robot again.

With gentler movements, the robot picks up some more macaroni, rotates half a turn and then rolls towards Elsa’s dish. Her eyes shine as it deposits the food on her plate.

‘That’s so sweet!’ she cries out.

There are sirens in the distance.

‘Does it have a name?’ Kerstin asks with a wry smile.

‘Boris!’ Peter declares.

Elsa claps her hands and repeats the name several times.

Absalon steers the robot towards his son’s plate, but manages to crash it into the pot of crispy onion pieces, and can’t stop it from emptying its spoon into his glass of milk. Peter bursts out laughing and puts his hands over his face.

‘Boris, I think you’re really smart,’ Elsa says consolingly.

‘But now he needs to get some sleep,’ Kerstin says once more, and tries to catch her husband’s eye.

‘Can he pick up sausages too?’ Peter asks.

‘Let’s see.’

Absalon runs a hand through his curly hair, then swaps the ladle on the grip-arm for a fork and presses the remote. The robot heads off towards the frying pan too fast, and Absalon doesn’t manage to stop it before it collides with the cast-iron rim and topples forward.

‘Mum, can we keep him?’ the children cry in unison.

‘Can we?’ Absalon asks with a smile.

‘Mum?’

‘He can stay as long as we don’t have to keep the one in the bathroom,’ Kerstin replies.

‘Not James,’ Elsa says, appalled.

James is a yellow robot who provides toilet paper. Kerstin thinks he’s a little creepy, and far too interested in people’s bathroom habits.

‘We can lend James to Granddad,’ she says, taking the fork from Boris and putting sausage on the children’s plates.

‘Is he coming this weekend?’ Absalon asks.

‘Can we handle that?’

‘I can make a nice—’

Suddenly the kitchen door slams shut in the draught, and the calendar with the children’s pictures on it falls to the floor.

‘It’s the bedroom window,’ she says, getting up.

The door feels stuck, as if someone is holding it shut on the other side, and when it opens there’s a rushing sound as the air pushes past. She goes out into the hall, closing the kitchen door a little too hard behind her before heading past the stairs and into the bedroom.

The curtains are fluttering.

It’s not the window that’s open but the patio door. The blinds are rattling in the wind.

The room is cold and her nightgown has blown onto the floor. When Absalon makes the bed, he usually drapes her nightgown across her side of it.

Kerstin crosses the cool floor and closes the patio door, pushing the handle down until she hears the little click.

She picks her nightgown up and puts it on the bed, then turns the bedside light on and notices that the carpet is dirty. Soil and grass have blown in from the garden. She decides to get the vacuum out after they’ve eaten, and starts to walk back.

Something makes her stop in the darkened hallway.

There’s no noise coming from behind the kitchen door.

She looks over at the bundle of coats and bags, all hanging from the same hook.

Very slowly, she moves towards the kitchen, sees the light through the keyhole, and then suddenly hears an unfamiliar child’s voice.

‘Seven little rabbits, all dressed in white, tried to get to heaven on the end of a kite. Kite string got broken, down they all fell. Instead of going to heaven, they all went to...’

Thinking that Absalon has decided to demonstrate a new robot while she was gone, she opens the door and walks in, then stops dead.

A masked man is standing by the kitchen table. He’s wearing blue jeans and a black raincoat, and is holding a knife with a serrated blade in one hand.

A tremulous child’s voice is echoing from a mobile phone on the table.

‘Six little rabbits, all dressed in white, tried to get to heaven...’

Absalon stands up, and macaroni falls from his lap onto the floor. Elsa and Peter are staring at the man in their kitchen in horror.

‘I don’t know what you want, but can’t you see you’re scaring the children?’ Absalon says unsteadily.

Five long rabbits’ ears are dangling by one of the man’s cheeks. They’re stained dark red where they were sliced off before being threaded onto wire and wound around the balaclava.

Kerstin’s heart is beating so hard that she can barely breathe. With shaking hands she picks up her handbag from the counter and offers it to the stranger.

‘There’s some money in here,’ she says, almost inaudibly.

The man takes the bag and puts it down on the table, then raises the knife and gestures towards Absalon’s face with the point.

Kerstin watches her husband weakly try to swat the knife away.

‘Stop doing that,’ he says.

The hand holding the knife sinks back down, then jabs forward and stops. Absalon draws a ragged breath and looks down. The entire blade of the knife is embedded in his stomach.

A bloodstain spreads out across his shirt.

When the stranger pulls the knife out, a gush of blood follows it and splats onto the floor between Absalon’s feet.

‘Daddy!’ Elsa yelps in a frightened voice, and puts her spoon down on the table.

Absalon stands absolutely still as blood fills the bottom of his tucked-in shirt, then runs down inside his trousers, down his legs and out over his feet.

‘Call an ambulance, Kerstin,’ he says, dazed, as he takes a step back.

The man watches him, then slowly raises the hand holding the knife.

Elsa runs over to Absalon and wraps her arms around his legs, making him sway.

‘Daddy!’ she sobs. ‘Daddy, please...’

She picks up his napkin from the table and holds it to his stomach.

‘You’re stupid!’ she shouts at the masked man. ‘This is my daddy!’

As if in a dream, Kerstin goes over and pulls Elsa away from her husband, picks her up in her arms and holds her tight, feeling her small body tremble.

Peter crawls under the table, clutching his head with his hands.

The man looks at Absalon with interest, then brushes the rabbits’ ears from his cheek, slowly adjusts the angle of the knife, and thrusts it into the other side of his torso.

The explosion of pain makes Absalon cry out.

The man lets go of the knife, leaving it sticking out, wedged beneath his bottom ribs.

Absalon lurches sideways but his fall is broken by the table. He throws one arm out, and his bloody hand sends a glass of milk flying.

The masked man pulls a machete from a strap inside his raincoat and walks towards Absalon again.

‘Stop it!’ Kerstin screams.

Absalon slumps onto a chair, holds his hand up in self-defence and shakes his head.

‘Please, stop now!’ Kerstin sobs.

The ceiling lamp above the table is spinning slowly. The light from the two bulbs wanders across the tablecloth. Milk drips steadily onto the floor.

‘What have I done?’ Absalon gasps.

He’s sweating and breathing fast, on his way to circulatory shock. The masked man stands still and looks at him.

‘You must have come to the wrong house,’ Kerstin says in a shaky voice.

Elsa is squirming in her arms, trying to escape and see what’s going on.

A trickle of blood falls from the chair.

The second hand on the clock ticks slowly on.

There are children playing outside, and Kerstin hears a bicycle bell.

‘We’re just normal people. We don’t have any money,’ she goes on weakly.

Peter is sitting under the table staring at his father.

Absalon tries to say something, but a convulsion fills his mouth with blood. He swallows and coughs, then swallows again.

The neighbour’s car pulls in and parks next to theirs. Car doors open and close. Bags of groceries are unloaded from the boot.

Absalon’s shirt is dark red, almost black. A steady stream of blood is running from the chair, the pool has reached Peter now.

‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy...’ the boy whimpers in a high voice.

The masked man looks at the time, then grabs hold of Absalon’s hair.

‘Can I take the children out?’ Kerstin asks, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

Elsa is whimpering and Kerstin’s field of vision becomes distorted. There’s a loud buzzing sound in her head as she sees her husband’s lips turn white.

He’s in a lot of pain now.

The stranger leans over and whispers something to Absalon. The rabbits’ ears sway beside his cheek. He straightens up again and Absalon meets his gaze and nods.

Without any urgency, he lifts Absalon’s head and raises the machete.

The lamp above the kitchen table starts spinning the other way.

Peter shakes his head. Kerstin wants to yell at him to close his eyes, but no words will come out.

With great force, the man brings the machete down on the back of Absalon’s neck, through his vertebrae.

Blood sprays across the stove.

The dead body collapses onto the floor. Its legs are still twitching, heels hitting the plastic mat.

Peter stares at his father with his mouth gaping open.

Absalon’s head is hanging loosely from his body, brightly coloured blood pumps out of his throat in heavy pulses.

Blood is dripping from the handle of the oven.

The man leans over, pulls the knife from Absalon’s stomach and shakes the blood from its blade before leaving the kitchen.