by Samuel Bjork
Marion Munch stuck her thumb into her mouth and curled into a tiny ball on the bed. She had stopped sucking her thumb sometime ago, but now she’d started again. She pressed her tongue hard against her thumb—it felt safe and good. Licked her thumb. The nail felt rough. She took her thumb out of her mouth and stared at it in surprise. Someone had scratched something onto her fingernail. There was a dent there, almost like a letter. Like Vivian’s initial at nursery school: V. She had a V on her thumb. Marion stuck her thumb into her mouth again and traced the sharp edges in the nail letter with her tongue.
At the start she had drawn pictures. Or tried to draw pictures—it hadn’t been easy. There was no one she could show her drawings to; there was just her. She had drawn pictures of her parents and her grandfather. Then she drew a superhero. The superhero was a woman she could talk to and who would look after her, and since then being here had felt a little easier. There seemed to be no days in the white room. At home it would be morning or day or night—it was easy to know when things happened—but here it was impossible. It was light all the time, and there were no noises anywhere, except when her meals arrived from the hatch in the wall. The one with the noisy, windup monkey inside. The food was strange and not terribly good, but she ate it all up because she was incredibly hungry. Eating and drinking was a mistake, because then she would need the toilet. And there was no toilet in the room, just a wastebasket, and it really stank, it really did all the time. Marion had made a lid out of paper from her sketchpad, and that had reduced the stench a little. But even so, she dreaded every time she had to remove the lid and squat down, because it was getting quite full and it was disgusting.
Even though it was light all the time, she didn’t find it difficult to sleep. Weird, really. The same thing would happen every time: after she ate, she would fall asleep. Even though she hadn’t felt tired at all. It was almost as if the food made her sleepy. As if the food were magic. She remembered Alice in Wonderland, who had felt strange after eating something. First she turned big, then she grew small, so magic food probably existed. Was it possible for food to be magic even though it tasted bad? Marion ran her tongue across the dent in her nail just as she heard the wall starting to hum again. Brr, vrr, the magic food was coming, traveling down to her through the wall. She got up and went over to the hatch. Stood there waiting for the food to land. She recognized the sounds now. Brr, vrr, brr, vrr and a clonk. Then she could open the hatch to see what she’d gotten. It was mostly mashed potatoes and carrots and that stuff she didn’t like. Cauliflower. No, broccoli. Never pizza or sausages or tomato soup, never her favorite things. Marion waited for the clonk, still with her thumb in her mouth. Come to think of it, she never heard the elevator go back up again. It only ever came down. She would take out the food, eat it, and then the elevator would come back down again. Because she’d been asleep, was that it? It probably was. The magic food made her sleep, and then the elevator would go up through the wall again while she was asleep—that had to be how it was.
There was a clonk. Marion Munch opened the hatch to see what she’d gotten. A bottle of soda this time, that was good. But the food looked revolting. There was something made from potatoes and that green stuff again. Broccoli.
What if she didn’t eat the food? She had no idea where that thought had come from, but suddenly it just appeared in her mind. What if she didn’t eat the food—then what? Would she stay awake? Would she hear the elevator go back up again? She glanced at the hatch in the wall. How did she get that idea? Out of nothing and into her head. Because it was a brilliant idea, wasn’t it? If she didn’t eat the food, would the elevator still go back up? She quickly got up and went over to the hatch. She opened it and peered inside. She could fit inside it, couldn’t she? She had hidden out in much smaller places. Once they’d played hide-and-seek and she hid in the kitchen cabinet where they kept the pots and pans, and no one had found her; in the end she had to give herself up. And that cabinet was really tight. No one had suspected a thing; they’d all been terribly impressed. She was going to trick the elevator, that was her plan. She would pretend to eat the food but empty it into the toilet wastebasket, then put the plate in the corner with the others and lie down on the bed. The elevator must go when she slept. Perhaps it would still do so if she pretended to be asleep. Marion positioned herself with her back to the elevator and picked up the plate from the table. It was important that the elevator not see what she was doing. Or it might change its mind. She carefully raised the paper lid from the wastebasket and tipped the food into it as swiftly as she could. She quickly sat down again and glanced at the hatch in the wall.
“Oh, my tummy is all full now,” she said out loud, and patted her stomach a few times.
The elevator did nothing. It had clearly not noticed that anything was amiss.
“Oh, I feel so tired now,” she said, letting out a fake yawn.
She put the plate in the pile with the others and went to bed. She lay facing the elevator and closed her eyes. She lay very still with her thumb in her mouth. She was good at lying still. That time she hid in the kitchen cabinet, she’d lain still for . . . well, for a long time. So long that her parents had started calling her name. Marion squeezed her eyes shut and lay still now, waiting for the elevator to move. There was no sound. She could feel herself getting a little impatient. This was not like lying in the kitchen cabinet, when she knew that there was someone outside. Knew that someone was looking for her. Who would be delighted to find her. Here there was no one. She felt the tears press against the insides of her eyelids again, but she managed to keep them at bay. If she was crying, then she couldn’t be asleep. The elevator would probably know that. She stuck her thumb even deeper into her mouth and tried to think of something else. When she’d curled up in the kitchen cabinet, she made up a game in her head. A story. A story from Monster High, a story she hadn’t seen on television, one she had invented all by herself. The time had flown by, and there’d been no problems at all. She pretended to be Draculaura, who had forgotten to do her homework. Marion was just about to decide why Draculaura had forgotten to do her homework when she suddenly heard the elevator starting to stir. Brr, vrr. On impulse she leaped out of bed and ran to the hatch. She quickly pulled it open and crept inside the hole in the wall. The elevator was very small, and at first she couldn’t get her foot inside. She pulled it in with a jerk, and suddenly all of her was inside it. She was inside the elevator! And it was going up!
The elevator squeaked and creaked its way upward through the wall, and she couldn’t see a thing. Marion curled into a tiny ball and tried not to be scared of the dark. Her heart pounded inside her small chest. She was almost afraid to breathe. Brr, vrr. It moved slowly, slowly upward, and then, suddenly, clonk. The elevator had stopped. It had stopped without noticing that she was inside it. She carefully nudged the hatch and discovered to her delight that it opened. Marion Munch climbed out of the hatch and stood on the floor and gawked.
She was in a living room. In a house she’d never seen before. There weren’t any windows here either—no, there were, but the curtains were closed. There was a woman in a chair by a table in the middle of the room. Marion looked around and reluctantly walked up to her. She had her eyes closed, and gray tape covered her mouth. A tube with water or something from a bag was going into her hand.
Marion Munch stood in the middle of the room, not knowing what to do while she glanced around frantically. There was a hallway lined with shoes and boots, just like at home. And a door. A front door. Marion tiptoed to the door. The stupid dress made it difficult for her to walk, and it also made a lot of stupid noise. Did she dare open the door? How would she know what might lie behind it? In this house where everything was so strange?
“Stop!”
Marion Munch jumped when she heard the shrill woman’s voice behind her.
“Stop! Stop!”
Marion Munch put her hand on the door handle, pushed open t
he door, and ran out into the darkness as quickly as her little legs could carry her.
80
Karianne Kolstad hated selling lottery tickets. Selling lottery tickets was the worst thing she knew. The fourteen-year-old had considered quitting the Girl Guides simply because of those stupid lottery tickets. She didn’t mind fund-raising activities—she had picked strawberries and cleared rocks from fields for farmers—it was just these stupid lottery tickets that she couldn’t stand. Karianne Kolstad was shy. That was why she hated selling lottery tickets. She had to ring people’s doorbells and talk to them.
Karianne Kolstad tightened her jacket and walked down the road to Tom Lauritz Larsen’s farm. She didn’t mind knocking on his door; she knew he would be all right. The pig farmer was a bit eccentric, but he was nice and she’d spoken to him before. The last time she visited, he bought practically all her tickets. She hoped she might be just as lucky today. Karianne Kolstad opened the gate and entered the farmyard.
Tom Lauritz Larsen had become something of a minor celebrity after someone had cut the head off one of his sows. Their local newspaper, Hamar Arbeiderblad, had written about it several times. First when the head went missing and then when it reappeared. LOCAL PIG FOUND ON STAKE IN “BABES IN THE WOODS” CASE had been the headline, and there were photographs of Larsen as well as his farmhand.
Karianne Kolstad knew everything about the dead girls, had read every word about the case in the newspapers. There’d been meetings as well, first at school, then with the Girl Guides, then in the village hall, where everyone had turned up, not just people with daughters about to start school but practically everyone in the village. They’d lit candles for the dead and missing girls, and she had helped start a Facebook group to show her respect to the girls. Starting a Facebook group was easy—all she had to do was sit in front of her laptop, not like now when she had to talk to real people. She went up to the farmhouse and knocked on the door. It was starting to get dark, but the light was on in the kitchen window. She could hear music, too, so he was probably at home. She knocked again, and the door opened. She breathed in and braced herself, trying to put on a smile.
“Hello?” Larsen said, looking at her kindly. “Are you out selling lottery tickets again?”
Phew, thank God, at least she wouldn’t have to tell him that.
“Yes.” She nodded, relieved.
“You had better come in,” Larsen said, peering into the darkness behind her.
“Are you out this late all on your own?” he asked when she stepped inside the kitchen.
“Yes,” Karianne said shyly.
“And what is it for this time?” Tom Lauritz Larsen had already produced his wallet and was holding it in his hand.
“Our group is going on a camping trip. To Sweden.”
“Well, I imagine that will be nice.”
“Yes, I hope so,” Karianne agreed politely.
“I’m usually unlucky at gambling.” Larsen chortled as he took out a hundred-kroner note from his wallet. “But you have to support the young, don’t you think?”
“Thank you,” Karianne said. “The tickets are twenty kroner each, and you can win a fruit basket and some coffee, plus some things that we made ourselves.”
“Oh, I don’t suppose I’ll win anything, but I’ll certainly buy some tickets.” Larsen smiled at her. “Unfortunately, I only have one hundred kroner, that’s all.”
One hundred kroner. Five tickets. It meant she would have to keep going tonight. She had left it to the last minute. Unsold tickets had to be returned to the group tomorrow, and she still had many tickets left to sell.
“Well, at least it’s a start,” Larsen said, giving her the hundred-kroner note and taking the tickets she gave him.
“Now, be careful,” he said, sounding a little anxious when she was back on his front steps again.
He stared out into the darkness behind her and wrinkled his nose. It was clear that something had happened to him after the pig-head incident. He hadn’t seemed so nervous the last time she came by.
Karianne Kolstad walked across the yard and back out through the gate. She continued toward Vik Bridge and was sorely tempted to just go home and forget all about selling tickets when an unreal scene suddenly unfolded right in front of her.
At first she couldn’t believe her own eyes. It seemed impossible. Here in Tangen. The most boring place on earth, where nothing ever happened. Right across the road, there was a small house. She didn’t think anyone lived here—she’d always believed that it was empty, and no one had ever seen anyone come or go. Now the front door was wide open and a small girl was running out of it. The girl wore a strange dress and was screaming at the top of her lungs. Karianne Kolstad recognized her immediately. She’d seen her in the newspapers. There were pictures of her on Karianne’s Facebook page. It was girl number five. It was Marion Munch.
Karianne froze with her mouth wide open. The little girl had jumped down the steps but tripped and fallen in the gravel. A woman came chasing after her. Marion got back on her feet, glanced over her shoulder, let out a scream, and ran on. The woman behind her was much faster. The woman snatched her, placed her hand over the little girl’s mouth, carried her back inside the house, and closed the door.
Then everything fell quiet again.
For a moment Karianne Kolstad was in shock. She had dropped the lottery tickets and the money and her cell phone on the ground.
Then she bent down quickly, picked up her phone, and pressed 112 with trembling fingers.
81
Lukas put the gun on the ground and inserted the key into the padlock. It was chilly outside now; he could feel the cold evening air on his neck. He unlocked the padlock and lifted up the heavy wooden hatch. He shone his flashlight into the dark space. The light swept down a long ladder and hit the concrete floor some meters farther below. He stuck the gun into the lining of his trousers and descended the ladder. The boy and Rakel were standing with a blanket wrapped around them when he reached the bottom. He pointed the light at them but lowered it when he saw them shield their eyes against the strong beam.
“I’m Jesus,” he said, making his voice as calm as he could. “Don’t be scared, I’m not here to hurt you.”
He shone the flashlight around the room and found what he was looking for. A jerry can in front of a shelf stacked with cardboard boxes. The boy and Rakel crossed the concrete floor and came toward him reluctantly.
“Can we go now?” the boy asked tentatively.
“Yes, you can go now,” Lukas said. “Go with God. The gate is open.”
He caught a glimpse of the boy’s eyes as he passed him in the cold room.
“Thank you,” Tobias said, placing his hand gently on Lukas’s arm.
“I am Jesus.” Lukas smiled again and showed them the way with the flashlight, so that the boy and Rakel could see the ladder.
He waited until they had both crawled out through the hatch before he aimed the flashlight at the shelves again and found the jerry can. It was heavy, but he managed to carry it up the ladder, dragging it with his flashlight tucked under one arm. He closed the hatch and stood watching the stars for a moment. He had rarely seen a more beautiful sight. Hope and joy twinkled across the sky. He smiled to himself as he crossed the yard.
The pastor was standing inside the church in front of the altar at the end wall, with his back to Lukas. He turned when he heard Lukas enter.
“How did it go?” The pastor smiled, walking toward him with open arms.
He stopped, shocked, in the middle of the church when he saw what Lukas had in his hand. Lukas had drawn the gun from the lining of his trousers and was holding it in his outstretched arm with the muzzle pointing straight at the pastor’s chest.
“Lukas? What are you doing?”
“I’m saving you.” Now Lukas smiled, walking softly toward the man with the white hair
.
“What do you mean, my Son?” the pastor asked, gritting his teeth. “Come to me, my Son. Give me the gun. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
He held out his arms toward the young man with the blond hair.
“Shhh,” Lukas said, his eyes sparkling now. “Haven’t you realized it yet?”
“W-what?” the pastor stammered.
“That the devil is inside you.”
“You’re talking nonsense, my Son,” the white-haired man sputtered.
“No,” Lukas said gravely. “The devil has taken residence in you, but it’s not too late. I was put on this earth to save you. This is my mission.”
“What the hell, Lukas . . . ?”
“Don’t you see?” Lukas said calmly. “The devil has taken your heart. He’s talking through your mouth. We don’t treat children like that. We don’t treat people like that. We help them, we don’t hurt them. That’s not the will of God. It’s not your fault. You’re innocent. The devil tricked you. He got you to invite him in. Took your soul. Made you want to hurt other people. Everything will be all right now, Father. We can travel right now. We don’t need to wait. Let us go to heaven together.”