The Sandman

173

Reidar is walking through the silent rooms upstairs. His left hand is shielding the candle from draughts. The light flickers over walls and furniture, and its reflection is multiplied on the rows of black windows.

He imagines he can hear steps behind him, but when he stops and turns round all he can see is the shiny leather furniture and the big bookcase with its glass doors.

The door to the sitting room that he’s just walked through is a gaping black rectangle. It’s impossible to tell if anyone’s in there. He takes a step forward, and something glints in the shadows then disappears.

Reidar turns again, sees the light shimmer in the windows, and carries on. Hot wax is running over his fingers.

The floor creaks beneath him and unease is spreading through his body as he stops outside Mikael’s room.

He looks back down the long corridor with its rows of old portraits.

The floor is creaking slightly after his footsteps.

Reidar knocks cautiously on Mikael’s door, waits a few moments, then opens it.

‘Mikael?’ he asks into the dark room.

He holds the candle up towards the bed. The walls sway in the yellow light. The covers are bunched up, and are hanging over the edge, down onto the rug.

He goes in and looks round, but Mikael has vanished. Reidar feels beads of sweat break out on his forehead as he bends over to look under the bed.

Suddenly he hears rustling behind him and spins round so fast that the candle almost goes out.

The flame shrinks and turns a tremulous blue before growing again.

His heart is beating faster and his chest is starting to ache.

There’s no one there.

He walks slowly towards the doorway, trying to see something.

There’s a scraping, creaking sound from inside the wardrobe. Reidar looks at the closed doors, then walks over, hesitates, reaches out a hand and opens one of the doors.

Mikael is sitting huddled up among the clothes.

‘The Sandman’s here,’ he whispers, creeping further into the wardrobe.

‘It’s just a power cut,’ Reidar says. ‘We’re going—’

‘He’s here,’ Mikael whispers.

‘The Sandman’s dead,’ Reidar says, holding out his hand. ‘Do you understand what I’m saying? Felicia’s safe. She’s going to be fine, she’s getting the same treatment as you, we’re going to go and see her now—’

A scream rips through the walls, it’s muffled but sounds bestial, like the cry of a man in terrible pain.

‘Dad...’

Reidar pulls his son out of the wardrobe. Drops of wax fall to the floor. It’s completely silent again. What’s going on?

Mikael tries to curl up on the floor, but Reidar drags him to his feet.

Sweat is running down Reidar’s back.

They leave the bedroom together and start to walk down the corridor. A cold draught is blowing across the floor.

‘Wait,’ Reidar whispers as he hears a creak from the floor of the sitting room in front of them.

A slender figure emerges from the doorway at the far end of the corridor. It’s Jurek Walter. His eyes are shining in his butcher’s face, and the knife hanging in his right hand glints heavily.

Reidar backs away and loses his slippers. He throws the candle at Jurek. It goes out in midair and hits the ground.

They turn and run down the corridor without looking back. It’s dark and Mikael runs into a chair, he almost falls and stumbles against the wall, his hand flailing over the wallpaper.

A picture crashes to the floor and the glass shatters, spreading splinters around the room.

They push open a heavy door and stumble into the old reception room.

Reidar has to stop, he’s coughing and fumbling for something to lean on. Rapid steps are approaching along the corridor.

‘Dad!’

‘Close the door, close the door!’ he pants.

Mikael slams the heavy door shut and turns the key in the lock three times. A moment later the handle is pushed down and the frame creaks. Mikael backs away across the parquet floor, staring at the door.

‘Have you got your phone?’ Reidar says, then coughs.

‘It’s still in my bedroom,’ Mikael whispers.

Pain is spreading through Reidar’s chest and down his left arm.

‘I have to rest,’ he says weakly, feeling his legs getting unsteady.

The heavy wood of the door creaks as Jurek thuds against it with his shoulder, but it doesn’t give way.

‘He can’t get in,’ Reidar whispers. ‘I just need a few seconds...’

‘Where’s your nitroglycerine spray? Dad?’

Reidar is sweating, and the pressure in his chest is so bad he can hardly speak.

‘Downstairs in the hall, in my coat...’