The Darkest Room

by Johan Theorin

Joakim held his breath. He searched for the right questions.

  “What can you see now, Livia?”

  “There’s someone on the shore… by the lighthouses.”

  “That must be Mommy. Has she-”

  “No,” said Livia. “Ethel.”

  “What?”

  “It’s Ethel.”

  Joakim went completely cold.

  “No,” he said. “That can’t be her name.”

  “Yes.”

  “No, Livia.”

  He had raised his voice, almost yelled.

  “Yes. Ethel wants to talk.”

  Joakim was still sitting on the bed, incapable of moving. “I… don’t want to talk,” he said. “Not to her.”

  “She wants-”

  “No,” said Joakim quickly. His heart was pounding, his mouth was dry. “Ethel can’t be here.”

  Livia was silent again.

  He couldn’t breathe anymore-he just wanted to escape from this room. But he stayed there on the edge of Livia’s bed, stiff and terrified. And all the time his eyes were flicking over toward the half-open door.

  The house was completely silent.

  Livia lay motionless beneath the covers now, her head still turned away from Joakim. He could hear the faint sound of her breathing.

  In the end he managed to stand up, and forced himself to go out into the dark corridor.

  The night outside was light; the full moon had found itself a place among the clouds and was shining in through the freshly painted windows. But Joakim didn’t want to look out; he was afraid he might see the thin face of a woman staring in at him, her expression filled with hatred.

  He kept his eyes firmly fixed on the floor and went into the porch, where he saw that the outside door to the veranda was not locked. Why could he never remember to lock it before he went to bed?

  Well, from now on he would definitely remember.

  He quickly walked over and turned the key, with a brief glance toward the shadows in the inner courtyard.

  Then he turned around and crept back to bed. He pulled Katrine’s soft nightgown from under his pillow, clutching it tightly beneath the covers.

  ***

  After that night Joakim decided not to ask Livia about her dreams anymore. He didn’t want to encourage her any longer, and had begun to be afraid of her answers.

  On Friday morning, after driving the children to Marnäs and before carrying on with the renovation of the ground floor, he did something that felt ridiculous yet at the same time important. He went around the manor talking to his dead older sister.

  He went into the kitchen and stood by the table.

  “Ethel,” he said, “you can’t stay here.”

  Talking to her should have made him feel foolish, but all Joakim felt was grief and loneliness. Then he went outside, blinking against the cold wind blowing off the sea, and said quietly, “Ethel… I’m sorry. But you’re not welcome here.”

  Finally he went over to the barn, pulled open the big door, and stood in the doorway.

  “Ethel, go away.”

  He didn’t expect a reply from his dead sister, and he didn’t get one. But he felt better, just a little bit better-as if he were keeping her at a distance.

  On Saturday the family had visitors: their former neighbors from Stockholm, Lisa and Michael Hesslin. They had called a few days earlier and asked if they could stay over on Öland on their way back from Denmark. Joakim had been pleased-both he and Katrine had enjoyed having Lisa and Michael as their neighbors.

  “Joakim,” said Lisa when they had parked the car and come into the hallway. She hugged him, for a long time. “We really wanted to come and see how… Are you tired?”

  “A little,” he said, patting her.

  “You look a little tired. You must make sure you get some sleep.”

  Joakim just nodded.

  Michael patted him on the shoulder and moved into the house, his expression curious.

  “I see you’ve been carrying on with the work here,” he said. “Fantastic skirting boards.”

  “They’re original,” said Joakim, following him out into the corridor. “I’ve just sanded them down and painted them.”

  “And you’ve chosen exactly the right wallpaper border. It really fits in with the soul of the house.”

  “Thanks, that was the idea.”

  “Are you doing all the rooms in white?”

  “Down here on the ground floor, yes.”

  “Looks good,” said Michael. “Cool and harmonious.”

  For the first time Joakim felt a faint pride in what they had achieved so far. He had carried on with what Katrine had started, in spite of everything.

  Lisa walked into the kitchen and nodded approvingly.

  “Wonderful… but have you had a feng shui consultant here?”

  “Feng shui?” said Joakim. “I don’t think so… is it important?”

  “Absolutely. It’s really important to know how the flow of energy works, particularly here on the coast.” Lisa looked around and placed a hand on her chest. “There are powerful earth energies here too…I can feel them. And they must be able to flow without any kind of impediment, in and out of the house.”

  “I’ll bear it in mind.”

  “We’ve got a fantastic feng shui consultant who reorganized our cottage on Gotland. I’ll give you her number.”

  Joakim nodded and heard Katrine giggling inside his head. She had always laughed at Lisa’s spirituality.

  They had an excellent dinner at the kitchen table that evening. Joakim fried some plaice, which he had bought in

  Marnäs. The guests had brought a bottle of white wine, and he drank a glass for the first time in many years. It didn’t taste particularly good, but he relaxed a little and was almost able to forget Livia’s talk of his dead sister in her sleep.

  Livia herself was bright and cheerful this evening. She sat at the table with them and told Lisa about her three teachers at preschool-how two of them would nip outside for a secret cigarette, although they told the children they were just going out for some fresh air.

  Michael told the children about a female elk and her calf they had seen running along the road as they were driving through Småland. Gabriel and Livia listened avidly.

  Both children were excited by the visit from the big city, and it was difficult to get them to change into their pajamas and go to bed. Gabriel fell asleep straightaway, but Livia asked Lisa to read her a story about Emil’s mischievous adventures.

  After twenty minutes Lisa came back into the kitchen.

  “Has she gone to sleep?” asked Joakim.

  “Yes, she was worn out… she’ll sleep like a log all night.”

  “I hope so.”

  He stayed in the kitchen chatting to Lisa and Michael for another hour, then helped them take their bags to the corner bedroom beyond the large drawing room.

  “I’ve just finished this room,” he said. “You can be the inaugural guests.”

  He had lit the tiled stove earlier in the day, and the guest room felt warm and welcoming.

  Half an hour later they had all gone to bed. Joakim lay in the darkness listening to the murmur of Lisa’s and Michael’s voices from the guest room. It felt really good to have them here. Eel Point needed more guests.

  Living guests.

  He thought about the stories the Carlsson family had told him about the dead at the manor house. And Livia had said

  the same thing about Katrine-that she would come home on Christmas Eve.

  To see her again. To be able to talk to her.

  No. He mustn’t think that way.

  After a few minutes there was silence in the house.

  Joakim closed his eyes and fell asleep.

  Loud cries could be heard throughout the house.

  Joakim woke up with a start and an instant thought:

  Livia?

  No, it was a man’s voice.

  He stayed in bed, sleepy and confused, then remembered he had gues
ts staying.

  It was Michael Hesslin calling out in the darkness.

  Then he heard the sound of rapid footsteps and Lisa’s questioning voice in the corridor.

  It was twenty to two when Joakim got out of bed, but first he went to check on the children. Both Livia and Gabriel were fast asleep, but of course Rasputin had jumped out of his basket and was slinking uneasily along the walls.

  Joakim went toward the kitchen. The light was on in the hallway, and when he got there Lisa was just putting on her coat and boots. She wasn’t smiling now.

  “What’s happened?” he asked.

  “I don’t know… Michael woke up and started yelling. He ran out to the car.” Lisa buttoned her coat. “I’d better go and see what’s wrong.”

  She went outside, and Joakim went into the kitchen, still half asleep.

  Rasputin had disappeared and the house was completely silent now. He put on some water to make tea.

  When the tea was ready, he stood by the window with his cup and saw Lisa sitting next to Michael in the car. It was snowing lightly, the flakes glittering as they fell through the air.

  Lisa seemed to be asking Michael questions; he was sitting behind the wheel just staring out through the windshield and shaking his head.

  After a few minutes Lisa came back inside. She looked at Joakim.

  “Michael had a nightmare…He says someone was standing next to the bed watching him.”

  Joakim held his breath. He nodded and asked quietly, “Is he coming back inside?”

  “I think he wants to stay in the car for a while,” said Lisa, and added, “I think we’ll probably drive down and stay the night at the hotel in Borgholm. It is open in the winter, isn’t it?”

  “I think so.” Joakim paused, then asked, “Does he usually… sleep badly?”

  “No,” said Lisa. “Not in Stockholm… but he has been a bit on edge. Work isn’t going too well right now. He doesn’t say much about it, but…”

  “There’s nothing dangerous around here,” said Joakim. Then he thought about what Livia had said in her sleep. He added, “Of course, things have been pretty miserable here over the last few weeks. But we wouldn’t stay here if we didn’t feel… safe.”

  Lisa glanced around quickly. “There are powerful energies here,” she said, then asked tentatively, “Have you felt as if Katrine were still here? As if she were watching over you all?”

  Joakim hesitated before nodding. “Yes,” he said. “I do feel something at times.”

  He fell silent again. He would have liked to talk about the things he’d experienced, but Lisa Hesslin wasn’t the right person to talk to.

  “I have to pack,” she said.

  A quarter of an hour later Joakim was back at the kitchen window watching the Hesslins’ big car driving away. He watched them for a long time, until the taillights had disappeared up on the main road.

  The house was still silent.

  Joakim left the light on in the hall and went back to his bedroom, after checking that the children were still sleeping peacefully. He climbed back into bed and lay there in the darkness, his eyes open.

  On Monday morning he drove the children into Marnäs, then started sanding down, painting, and wallpapering the penultimate bedroom still to be renovated on the ground floor. As he worked he listened for noises, but heard nothing.

  It took five hours, including a short lunch break, to finish three of the walls. At around two o’clock he stopped for the day and made some coffee.

  He went out onto the veranda with his coffee cup, breathed in the cold air and saw that the sun had already gone down behind the outbuilding.

  The inner courtyard lay in darkness, but Joakim could see that the door to the barn was half open. Hadn’t he closed it on Friday, before the Hesslins arrived?

  He pulled on a jacket and opened the outside door.

  It was twenty steps over to the barn. When he got there, Joakim pushed the huge door open wide and stepped into the darkness. The old black switch was in the middle of the shorter wall. When he turned it on, two small bulbs spread a pale yellow light across the stone floor, the empty stalls, and feeding troughs.

  Everything was silent. It didn’t look as if any rats had moved in, despite the cold.

  Every time he came in here, he discovered something new, and now he noticed that the floor inside the door looked as if it had been freshly swept. Katrine had mentioned something about the fact that she had been cleaning the barn when they were discussing the various buildings in the fall.

  Joakim looked over toward the wooden steps up to the hayloft and thought about the last time he had been up there,

  with Mirja Rambe. He would like to see the wall she had shown him again, the memorial to the dead.

  Just a quick look.

  When he got up there, he could see the rays of the sun again. It was just above the roof of the outbuilding, shining in through the small panes on the southern side of the barn.

  Joakim moved slowly across the floor, picking his way among all the trash.

  Finally he was standing in front of the far wall. In the glow of the yellow winter sun the names carved in the wood stood out sharply, their contours filled with shadows.

  And on a plank almost at the very bottom were Katrine’s name and dates.

  His Katrine. Joakim read the name over and over again.

  The gaps between the boards were narrow and pitch black, but as he stood beside the broad planks he had a sense of darkness behind them. He suddenly got the idea that this was not in fact the outside wall of the barn he was standing next to.

  Despite its being almost time to go and pick up Livia and Gabriel, he quickly went outside again. He took a few steps away from the barn and counted the small windows on the upper floor. One, two, three, four, five. Then he went up into the loft again.

  There were four windows, high up below the roof. The last one must be on the other side of the wall.

  There was no door or gap in the wall. Joakim pressed several of the thick planks, but none of them moved.

  17

  Dear Karin,

  This is a letter from someone who wishes you no ill, but simply wants to open your eyes. This is the way things are: Martin has been deceiving you for a long time. More than three years ago he took over responsibility for a class at the Police Training Academy in Växjö; there was a woman in this class who was almost ten years younger than him. After a party at the end of the first academic year, Martin started a relationship with her which has continued until now.

  It ended just a few days ago.

  I know this for certain because I am the younger woman in question. I couldn’t put up with Martin’s lies any longer in the end, and I hope you won’t either when you find out the truth.

  Perhaps you need some kind of proof to convince

  you completely? I don’t want to get too intimate, but I can for example describe the two-inch scar above his right groin after the hernia operation he had a few years ago. He had been moving rocks at your country place outside Orrefors when it happened, isn’t that right?

  And don’t you agree that he ought to wax his hairy back and ass now and again, when he’s so vain about the rest of his perfectly honed body?

  As I said, I don’t want to hurt anyone, even though I know it will be painful for you to find out the truth. There are so many lies in the world and so many treacherous liars. But together you and I can at least fix one of them.

  Best wishes from “The other woman”

  Tilda leaned back in her chair and read through the letter on her computer screen one last time.

  It was quarter to eight in the morning. She had arrived at the police station at seven in order to produce a clean copy from the draft she had scribbled down on a piece of paper the previous evening. The station was empty-as usual Hans Majner wasn’t in this early. He usually arrived about ten, if he bothered to turn up at all.

  Tilda had seen Karin Ahlquist only once. It was when Martin had had
to have his son Anton with him at the police academy for a few hours before Karin could pick him up. At about four o’clock she had come out to the exercise area where they were practicing traffic control. She was a head taller than Tilda, with dark, curly hair. She remembered how Martin’s wife had smiled at her husband, proud and loving, as they said goodbye that day.

  Tilda looked out of the station window at the empty street.

  Did she feel better now? Was her revenge on Martin really sweet?

  Yes.

  She was tired, but she did actually feel better now the letter was written. She quickly printed off a copy.

  When she had taken out a plain white envelope, she felt unsure again. Martin had told her that Karin worked in the county environmental department, and Tilda thought about sending the letter there so that it wouldn’t fall into Martin’s hands. But mail that came to the county office was usually opened and noted in the diary, so in the end she put Karin Alhquist’s home address, printing it neatly in capital letters; she didn’t think Martin would recognize her writing. No sender’s name.

  She pushed the letter into her cotton bag along with the tape recorder, put on her jacket and police cap, and left the station.

  There was a yellow mailbox on the sidewalk near the police car. Tilda stopped, but didn’t take the letter out of her bag.

  She hadn’t sealed it or put a stamp on it, and she didn’t want to mail it just yet.

  Today she was giving talks on law and order to three school classes after lunch, but before that she had time to go out in the car for a while, check the traffic and knock on a few doors out in the country.

  Edla Gustafsson lived near Speteby, in a little red house with a view across the alvar. There weren’t many trees around, and the main road went right past her house.

  Time had stood still here. This is how people ought to live, thought Tilda, in the wilderness far away from all men.

  She took her rucksack with her and rang the doorbell. A sturdy-looking woman opened the door.

  “Hi, my name is Tilda-”

  “Yes, yes, that’s fine,” the woman interrupted her. “Gerlof said you’d be calling. Come in, come in.”

  Two black cats slipped away into the kitchen, but Edla