The Sandman

111

The three police officers go into the hall, and are struck at once by the acrid stench of old rubbish. The house is silent, and as cold as outside.

‘Is anyone home?’ Joona calls.

All they can hear are their own footsteps and movements. The sounds from the next house don’t carry inside. Joona reaches out to switch on the light, but it doesn’t work.

Marie turns on her torch behind him. Its light flits nervously in different directions. They move further into the house, and Joona sees his own shadow grow and slide across the closed blinds.

‘Police,’ he calls again. ‘We only want to talk.’

They enter the kitchen, and see a mound of empty packets under the table – cornflakes, pasta, flour and sugar.

‘What the hell is this?’ Eliot whispers.

The fridge and freezer stand dark and empty, all the kitchen chairs are missing, and on the windowsills, next to the closed curtains, the houseplants have all withered.

It’s only from the outside that it looks like the family has left.

They go on, into a television room with a corner sofa. Joona steps over the cushions that have been pulled off it.

Marie whispers something that he can’t make out.

The thick curtains covering the windows reach all the way to the floor.

Through the door to the corridor they can see a staircase leading down to the cellar.

They stop when they see a dead dog with a plastic bag taped round its head. It’s lying on the floor in front of the television stand.

Joona carries on towards the corridor and staircase. He can hear his colleagues’ careful footsteps behind him.

Marie’s breathing has speeded up.

The light from her torch is shaking.

Joona moves to the side so he can see into the unlit corridor. Further along it the bathroom door is ajar.

Joona gestures to the others to stop, but Marie is already beside him, pointing the torch towards the stairs. She takes a step closer and tries to see further down the corridor.

‘What’s that?’ she whispers, unable to control the nervousness in her voice.

There’s something lying on the floor by the bathroom door. She points the torch in that direction. It’s a doll with long blonde hair.

The light hovers over its shiny plastic face.

Suddenly the doll is pulled in behind the door.

Marie smiles and takes a long stride forward, but at the same moment there’s a stomach-churning bang.

The flare as the shotgun goes off fills the corridor like lightning.

It looks as if Marie is hit hard in the back, as some of the hail of shot cuts right through her neck.

Her head flies back and blood spurts out of the exit wound in her throat.

The torch hits the floor.

Marie is really already dead when she takes one last step with her head hanging loose. She collapses in a heap with one leg folded beneath her, raising her hips at an odd angle.

Joona has drawn his pistol, released the safety catch and spun round. The corridor leading to the stairs is empty. There’s no one there. Whoever fired the shot must have disappeared down into the cellar.

Blood is bubbling from Marie’s neck, steaming in the chill air.

The torch is rolling slowly over the floor.

‘Dear God, dear God,’ Eliot whispers.

Their ears are ringing from the blast.

A child suddenly appears with the doll in its arms, slips on the blood, lands on its back and disappears into the darkness by the staircase. Footsteps thud down the stairs and disappear with a clatter.