He opens his eyes and gets to his feet. How could he have forgotten? That was what Benjamin said before the car stopped.
As he pulls on his coat he tries to remember where he has seen haunted houses, the kind you see in horror films. There aren’t that many. He recalls one north of Stockholm, over the ridge, past the collective, down to Lake Mälaren. Before you reach the ship mound at Runsa stronghold, the building is on the left-hand side, facing the water. A kind of miniature castle built of wood, with towers, verandas, and over-the-top ornamentation.
Erik leaves his office and walks quickly along the corridor, trying to remember the trip. Benjamin had been in the car with them. They had looked at the ship barrow, one of the largest Viking burial sites in Sweden. They stood in the middle of the ellipse, large grey stones in green grass. It was late summer and very hot. Erik remembers the stillness of the air and the butterflies fluttering over the gravel in the parking lot as they got into the hot car and set off for home with the windows down.
In the lift down to his car, Erik remembers that after a few miles he pulled over to the side of the road, stopped, pointed at the building, and jokingly asked Benjamin if he would like to live there.
“Where?”
“In the haunted house,” he had said, but he no longer recalls Benjamin’s response.
The sun is already setting; the slanting light flashes on the frozen puddles in the neurosurgical unit visitors’ car park, and the gravel on the asphalt crunches under his tyres as he heads for the main exit. Erik realises it is unlikely that Benjamin was referring to this particular haunted house, but it isn’t impossible. He heads north as dwindling light blurs the contours of the world and blinks to help himself see better. Only when the shades of blue begin to dominate does his brain understand that it is actually getting dark.
Half an hour later he is approaching the haunted house. He has tried to get hold of Kennet four times to see if he has managed to trace Benjamin’s call, but Kennet has not answered his phone and Erik has not left a message.
Above the vast lake the sky still retains a faint glow, while the forest is completely black. He drives slowly along the narrow road into the small community that has gradually grown up around the water. The headlights pick out spanking new homes, small summer cottages, and comfortable houses from the turn of the century. Rounding a curve, they sweep across a tricycle left behind in a driveway. He slows down and sees the silhouette of the haunted house behind a tall hedge. He drives past a few more houses and then parks on the side of the road. Getting out of the car, he sets off back down the road on foot; as quietly as possible he opens the garden gate of a house made of dark brick, padding across the lawn and around the back. A cable is whipping against a flagpole. Erik climbs over the fence into the next garden and walks past a swimming pool with a creaking plastic cover. The big windows of the low villa facing the lake are in darkness, and the stone terrace is covered with sodden leaves. Erik speeds up; he senses the haunted house on the other side of the fir hedge and pushes his way through.
This garden is better protected from prying eyes, he thinks.
A car passes by along the road, the headlights picking out a few trees, and Erik thinks about Aida’s strange photograph. The yellow grass and the bushes. He moves closer to the big wooden building and notices that it looks as if a blue fire is burning in one of the rooms.
65
monday, december 14: afternoon
The building has tall, heavily barred windows and a projecting roof that looks like crocheted lace. The view over the lake must be magnificent. A taller hexagonal tower at one end and two bay windows with pointed gables make the house look like a miniature wooden castle. The walls are mainly made up of horizontal planks, but the line is broken by a false panel, creating a multi-dimensional impression. The door is surrounded by ornate carvings: wooden columns and a beautiful pointed roof.
When Erik reaches the window he sees that the blue light is coming from a television. Someone is watching figure skating. The cameras track sweeping leaps across the ice, and the blue light flickers across the walls of the room. A fat man in grey tracksuit bottoms sits on the sofa. He seems to be alone in the room. Only one cup sits on the table. Erik moves to the next window and peers into the adjacent room. Something is rattling faintly inside the glass. He sees into a bedroom with an unmade bed and a closed door. Crumpled tissues lie next to a glass of water on the bedside table. A map of Australia hangs on the wall. Water is dripping onto the window ledge. Erik moves along to the next window. The curtains are drawn. It is impossible to see between them, but he hears the strange rattling again, along with a kind of clicking noise.
He continues around the corner of the hexagonal tower and finds himself looking into a dining room. A table and chairs made of dark wood stand in the middle of the polished wooden floor. Something tells Erik it is very rarely used. A black object is lying on the floor in front of a display cupboard—a guitar case, he thinks. The rattling noise comes again. Erik leans into the glass and sees a huge dog racing towards him across the floor. It thuds against the window and rears up, barking and pawing at the glass. Erik jumps back, stumbles over a pot, and quickly moves to the back of the house, where he waits with a pounding heart.
The dog stops barking after a while; the outside light is switched on, then off again.
This was a bad idea, Erik thinks. He has no idea what he’s doing here, peeping into strangers’ windows. He realises it’s best if he returns to his office at Karolinska Hospital, so he sets off toward the front of the haunted house and the drive down which he parked.
As he turns the corner he sees someone standing in the light from the doorway. It’s the fat man, wearing a padded jacket. He looks frightened when he catches sight of Erik. Perhaps he had been expecting a deer or some children messing about.
“Good evening,” says Erik.
“This is private property,” the man shouts in a shrill voice.
The dog begins to bark behind the closed front door. Erik keeps walking. A yellow sports car is parked in the drive. It has only two seats, and the boot is obviously too small to accommodate Benjamin.
“Is that your Porsche?”
“Yes.”
“Is it your only car?”
“Why do you want to know that?”
“My son has disappeared,” Erik says.
“It’s my only car,” the man says. “All right?”
Erik writes down the number.
“I’d like you to leave now.”
“Sure,” says Erik, heading for the gate.
He stands out in the road in the darkness for a while, looking at the haunted house, before returning to his car. He takes out the little wooden box with the parrot and the native, shakes a number of small tablets into the palm of his hand, counts them with his thumb, round and smooth, and then tips them into his mouth.
After a brief hesitation, he dials Simone’s number. It rings and rings, each purring tone a serrated gash in the silence between them. She’s probably at Kennet’s, eating salami sandwiches with pickled gherkins. Erik pictures their apartment in the darkness, the hallway with their coats and
