I Am Behind You

by John Ajvide Lindqvist

  He turns his head and sees that Cat has come with him, taking long leaps as she runs in that peculiar way of hers. Benny doesn’t know whether Cat understands what they are supposed to be doing, but it feels good to have her there. He gives a little bark, and Cat makes a humming sound.

  Benny has no idea what that means, but he thinks it means that Cat is happy, that Cat thinks this is good too.

  They run.

  *

  Isabelle’s hands begin to shake as the voracious hole in her body opens up and grows bigger and bigger. The hunger tears at her like a physical sensation, and her skin crawls as sweat drips from her armpits. Her tongue is numb; she might not even be capable of eating anything anyway. Torment has taken over her body, and disappointment is clouding her judgement.

  Everything is ruined.

  The white figure is not interested in her, and her yearning was misdirected. There is no other life, no other existence; she is trapped inside her screaming body. Nobody wants her, nobody is going to come and save her. Isabelle smacks herself in the face as she walks towards her caravan, welcoming the pain that floods her body as something bursts in her mouth.

  Falling apart. I am falling apart.

  She goes inside, and her hands are so sweaty and shaky that she has difficulty opening the drawer under the bed. There are only three Xanor tablets left, and it takes her a minute to push them out of the blister pack and cram them into her mouth, where they are pushed to one side by her tongue and end up tucked in her cheek. She staggers over to the sink and turns the tap, but the tap is already fully open, and no water comes out. The taste of blood mingles with the bitter taste of poison as the binding agent within the anti-anxiety medication dissolves. She bangs the taps, she bangs the draining board as tears of rage fill her eyes.

  Molly. Molly. Molly.

  When she turns around she sees that her laptop is open and the screen is black. She presses the Start button, and nothing happens. A low growl comes from deep in her throat as she grabs the whisky bottle and swills down the tablets, making her mouth explode with pain as if she had sucked on the flame from a welding torch. She screams, and beyond the scream she hears: ‘What are you doing, Mummy?’

  Molly’s tone is the same as if she was asking Isabelle to show her how to paint her toenails, and a blue flame flickers before Isabelle’s eyes as she looks up and sees her daughter standing in the doorway, smiling at her with her head tilted on one side.

  It just happens. Before Isabelle has time to think she flies across the room and slaps her daughter so hard that the child goes flying, crashing headfirst into the kitchen cupboard. And yet Isabelle does not come to her senses; the rage is too black and all-encompassing. As Molly slides to the floor clutching her head in her hands, Isabelle kicks her in the stomach. Molly doubles over and collapses on the carpet, whimpering faintly.

  Isabelle is about to stamp on her head when a door opens in her mind and a glimmer of light pushes its way in; instead she brings down her foot on Molly’s hair, spread around her skull like a blond puddle.

  Skull. Her little. Skull.

  The door is flung wide, and Isabelle shakes her head in disbelief. Molly is lying at her feet, coughing as she curls into a ball and clutches her stomach.

  I hit her. I kicked her. I was going to…kill her.

  Every scrap of strength leaves Isabelle’s body and she falls to the floor next to Molly. She tries to say something, but all that emerges is a soggy gurgle. She closes her eyes, she flies away, she isn’t here. This is not happening. A space opens up beneath her eyelids, stars in lots of different colours. She steps out into that space, and time disappears.

  Somewhere far away, in another part of the universe, she hears a drawer opening, the clink of metal. She doesn’t know how much time has passed when Molly’s voice reaches her.

  ‘Mummy.’

  She opens her eyes and sees Molly kneeling beside her. The child’s right cheek is bright red, and she is offering something to Isabelle. A knife. The small fruit knife, the sharpest knife they have.

  ‘There you go, Mummy.’

  *

  Carina dare not enter the camp. She has walked around the perimeter for twenty minutes, noticing that their car has gone and that the black tiger has been joined by two identical beasts. Lennart and Olof have told her that they see only a harmless travelling salesman with two colleagues, but that doesn’t help Carina at all. She already knew that the tiger isn’t the kind you see in a zoo. This tiger belongs only to her.

  Delete. Delete.

  That word is circling inside her mind like a vulture above a cadaver.

  Delete.

  The situation in which they find themselves defies all reason, but they have been given one concrete detail. The crosses on the caravans, the crosses drawn in blood, the crosses that mean delete. But who put them there? And why? If she could only solve the puzzle, then perhaps it would be possible to find a way out of here, to escape from the tiger.

  On top of everything else, she has an urgent practical problem. The sheer terror has loosened her bowels, and she needs to go to the toilet. She daren’t go into the camp, and even if she did pluck up the courage, they can’t afford to waste valuable water flushing the toilet.

  She can’t hold out much longer. If she can’t find somewhere to go, it’s going to come spurting out into her pants. Why haven’t they discussed what to do with human waste?

  She knows the answer, of course: because no one wants to talk about the situation as if it is a long-term problem. A wave of pain rolls through Carina’s belly, strongest towards the rectum, and she clamps her buttocks together, forcing herself to stand upright and push back. When the pain recedes her teeth start to chatter and she lets out something between a laugh and a snort.

  The fear is here, the creature from her darkest nightmares is waiting for her, but what does any of that matter when you really need a shit?

  On stiff legs and with her arms wrapped around her belly, Carina moves towards the camp. She has been so preoccupied with her internal affairs that she hasn’t taken in her surroundings for a couple of minutes. When she looks up she sees

  thank God

  that their car is approaching from the field. She could hardly bring herself to think about what the fact that it was gone might have meant, but now it’s on its way back. They will be together again, talk their way out of this madness, they will…

  But first she has to go. Has to.

  A new wave is building in her belly, and Carina uses her hands to press her buttocks together so that she can keep moving. As she approaches Isabelle’s caravan she hears noises that sound like a fight, but by the time she gets there it has gone quiet.

  With her back against the wall, Carina slides down into a squatting position, pulling down her shorts and pants at the same time. The diarrhoea explodes out of her, splashing onto the grass, and the stench sears her nostrils. She lets out a long breath and thinks: From me to you, Isabelle.

  As she pulls off her socks to wipe her bottom, she hears movement inside the caravan, then Molly’s voice saying something. As she cleans herself up she also hears their car drive into the camp. Then she hears Stefan screaming.

  *

  ‘Why are you so scared, Daddy?’

  The white figure has vanished from view through the rear window when another appears on the field in front of them. It looks exactly like the first one, except that it is moving faster, as if it is in a hurry. Without realising it, Stefan has locked his hands together and tensed his whole body.

  ‘Look, Daddy, it’s just…it’s just another one.’

  Stefan and Emil have spent the last fifteen minutes talking. Emil has told Stefan about Darth Vader and the elephant; he has explained that the white figures can change, that none of it is real. Stefan has told Emil about what happened when he was six years old, about his new bike and the incident in the lake. He was worried that the story might frighten Emil, but just like Stefan back then, Emil was mainly interested i
n what happened to the bike.

  They have talked and talked, comparing their experiences. However, Stefan is far from convinced, because when the second figure appears, the childish terror returns immediately. But with Emil’s last comment, something happens.

  It’s just another one.

  The significance of that remark hits home. The white figure is not the only one of its kind; it is not an ever-present signpost to the kingdom of the dead, or some evil divinity able to manifest itself to people when life is about to leave them. It is just one of two, of three, of many. Stefan looks at Emil, spreads his hands wide and puts it as simply as possible: ‘It’s just…a white figure!’

  ‘Mmm,’ Emil says. ‘Or a stormtrooper.’

  ‘Is that what you can see?’

  ‘Mmm. It’s not right, though. It hasn’t got a lightsaber. Stormtroopers always carry a lightsaber.’

  ‘But you’re not scared of stormtroopers, are you?’

  ‘No. I’m scared of Darth Vader, but he wasn’t right either. It’s strange, isn’t it, Daddy?’

  ‘Very strange indeed.’

  They sit together, watching as the white figure veers to one side to avoid bumping into the car.

  Like reindeer in Norrland. Like rabbits on the island of Gotland. They’re just here.

  ‘Emil,’ Stefan says. ‘You’re the cleverest little boy in the world, did you know that?’

  Emil gives a modest shrug and Stefan is overwhelmed by a love so strong that it hurts his chest. He wants to pull Emil close and kiss his head, but he knows that the gesture would be more pleasurable for him than for his son, so instead he decides that it’s time.

  ‘I’ve got something for you,’ he says, opening the glove compartment and taking out a small padded envelope, which he gives to Emil.

  Emil’s favourite Star Wars character is Darth Maul, the demonic figure who wields his dual-blade lightsaber like a taekwondo staff. It hasn’t been easy to get hold of the Lego version, but by searching on an online auction site Stefan has managed to track down two different models, and has paid approximately five times as much as they cost to begin with. Darth Maul is very popular.

  Stefan had intended to wait until Emil’s birthday, or at least his name day, but he has to do something for his son right now, he just has to.

  Emil’s delight when he sees what is in the envelope is out of all proportion to the two tiny figures. He holds them up, his eyes sparkling.

  ‘Wow!’ he says. ‘Wow! Two different ones!’

  ‘That’s right. Those are the only two that exist.’

  ‘I know that. Wow! Thank you, Daddy!’

  Emil clicks the lightsabers into place and makes the two figures have a little fight. ‘The battle of the century! Darth Maul versus his twin brother!’

  ‘Darth Miaow?’ Stefan suggests, which makes Emil flop back in his seat, helpless with laughter.

  ‘Darth Miaow! His mother was a cat!’

  A stone has fallen from Stefan’s chest, a great weight has been lifted from his back. For the first time since he woke up this morning he feels as if he can breathe properly. We got here somehow. Somehow we can get away from here. He reaches for the key, ready to turn the car around, but before he can start the engine Emil asks: ‘Daddy, do you think other worlds exist?’

  ‘You mean on other planets, that kind of thing?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘So what do you mean?’

  Emil pulls a face and blows through his nose as he waves the two Lego figures. ‘I mean, like, sort of…’

  ‘Do you mean other worlds inside our own world?’

  ‘Yes. Or outside it. No, that’s not what I mean. It’s…oooooh!’ Emil bangs his head with his wrists, frustrated at his inability to explain.

  Stefan grips his slender arms. ‘Calm down, Emil.’

  Emil pulls away, stares at both Darth Mauls for a few seconds, then says: ‘It’s the same as ours. But different.’

  ‘What do you mean by the same?’

  Emil shakes his head. ‘I can’t explain.’

  Stefan waits as Emil walks the figures to and fro across his thighs. It’s obvious that he is still thinking, that in spite of his last remark he is trying to find the right words. After a couple of minutes Stefan looks out through the windscreen and sees yet another white figure approaching in the distance. He checks the side windows: nothing.

  Why do they all come from the same direction?

  No, that’s not true. The first time he and Emil went out in the car, they went in precisely the opposite direction, and that was also where the white figure he saw when he was on the caravan roof came from. So they don’t all come from the same direction, but they are all following the same line.

  Emil removes the lightsabers and puts everything in his breast pocket before buttoning it carefully. Then he says: ‘We can kind of decide what’s real.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘No,’ Emil says, stroking his pocket. ‘Neither do I. Can we go home now?’

  *

  Home…

  It’s amazing how quickly we adapt. As soon as he spots the caravans, Stefan experiences a little of the relief that is always part of coming home, of knowing that we can switch off from the tension involved in transactions in the outside world. The relief is even greater when he sees the Toyota. Carina is back, and without her the concept of ‘home’ has no real meaning.

  The two white figures he has already seen are standing in the middle of the camp along with two others who must have come from the opposite direction, if his theory is correct. They are all facing one another, apparently deep in conversation.

  Stefan drives slowly, heading for his caravan. There is no sign of anyone apart from the white figures, who slowly turn their heads to look at him.

  Even if ‘the white figure’ is no longer a single entity, and has therefore lost something of its dramatic impact, it can’t be denied: there is still something ghostly about that silent contemplation, those expressionless faces.

  Stefan is ten metres away from the group when Isabelle comes flying out of her caravan with a knife in one hand. Stefan automatically brakes and covers Emil’s eyes, because Isabelle is obviously heading for the figures, intent on harming them. Why is a question for later, but he doesn’t want Emil to see.

  ‘Stop it, Daddy!’ Emil says, trying to twist free.

  ‘Sweetheart, I don’t want you to see…’

  When Isabelle reaches the white figures, she falls to her knees in front of them.

  ‘…this.’

  What is she doing?

  Isabelle is slightly obscured by the figures, and it is only when she holds up one arm that Stefan understands. Blood is pouring from two long, diagonal gashes running from wrist to elbow. As Stefan looks on, Isabelle begins to slash at the other arm.

  He lets go of Emil, and as he opens the door he says: ‘Close your eyes, Emil! Don’t look!’ He gets out of the car and sees that Lennart and Olof have also realised what is going on. But they are too far away, and as Stefan runs towards Isabelle, she brings the knife up to her throat.

  ‘Isabelle!’ he shouts. ‘No!’

  His cry makes her stop in mid-movement and look at him. Her face is swollen, and there is not a trace of sanity in her wide, staring eyes. Her face contorts in a horrible smile as she tips her head to one side to give her better access to the jugular vein. Stefan hurls himself at her with his arms outstretched, knocking her over before she has time to carry out her plan.

  Blood spurts over his shirt, his face, as Isabelle’s arms flail wildly; the deep gashes in her arms have opened up several arteries, which continue to pump out their contents in a steady stream. Stefan screams when Isabelle manages to stab him in the right shoulder; a second later the knife is wrenched from her hand.

  ‘What the hell are you doing?’ Lennart says, tossing the knife aside. ‘Have you gone completely mad?’

  Stefan’s shoulder is throbbing, a red stain is spreading on his shirt, and yet
another thing can be added to the list of things he could never have imagined.

  Stabbed. I’ve been stabbed.

  All at once Isabelle goes limp. Her bleeding arms flop to the ground, and she lies there staring up at the sky with empty eyes. Pain radiates outwards from Stefan’s shoulder, and he can no longer feel the fingers of his right hand. From somewhere he hears Majvor’s voice: ‘Does anyone have any bandages?’

  Together Olof and Lennart lift Isabelle and carry her towards their caravan, her arms leaving a trail of blood on the grass. Majvor follows them.

  Stefan touches the wound with his left hand and his fingers come away sticky with blood. He swallows and closes his eyes, opens them again. Blood, blood, there is blood everywhere.

  *

  Emil didn’t close his eyes. He saw the four stormtroopers, who no longer look like stormtroopers because their armour and weapons are slowly fading away, he saw Daddy jump on Molly’s mum to stop her from cutting herself. When Daddy got stabbed Emil wanted to get out of the car, but he was too scared. He might get stabbed too, so he tucked his hands between his legs and carried on watching.

  Things got a bit better when one of the farmers took away the knife, but Molly’s mum is covered in blood, and Daddy is bleeding too. It’s really horrible, all this blood. The worst thing Emil has seen in a film was when Darth Vader chopped off Luke Skywalker’s hand, but there wasn’t any blood. Emil has never thought about it before, but there should have been lots of blood! The grass where Molly’s mum was lying is covered in the stuff, litres of it, and she’s still bleeding as they carry her away.

  But here comes Mummy! She runs over to Daddy, and is horrified when she sees the blood. She gives him a big hug and Emil feels a little calmer, but still he doesn’t move. He wants them to come and get him, pick him up and give him a cuddle, because he’s terrified.

  Then the stormtroopers do something Emil has never seen real stormtroopers do. All four of them get down on their knees at the same time, then they lie down. Emil leans closer to the windscreen so that he can see more clearly. They are lying exactly where Molly’s mum was, in all that blood—they must be crazy.