John Lindqvist - Let The Right One In aka Let Me In

"Of course."

Eli shifted slightly away from the woman, who pulled up her legs and rested her head on Eli's lap. Eli slowly stroked her hair. They sat like that for a while. The shimmering backs of whales broke the surface of the water, spurted out a fountain, disappeared.

"Tell me a story," said the woman.

"What do you want to hear?"

"Something beautiful."

Eli tucked a tendril of hair behind the woman's ear. She breathed slowly now and her body was completely relaxed. Eli spoke in a low voice.

"Once upon a time… a long, long time ago, there was a poor farmer and his wife. They had three children. A boy and a girl both old enough to work together with the adults. And then a little boy, only eleven years old. Everyone who saw him said he was the most beautiful child they had ever seen.

"The father was in villeinage to the lord who owned the land, and had to work many days for him. Therefore, it often fell to the mother and her two oldest to look after the house and garden. The youngest boy wasn't good for much.

"One day the lord announced a competition that all of the families who worked his land had to enter. Everyone who had a boy between the ages of eight and twelve. No reward was promised, no prize. Even so, it was called a competition.

"On the day of the competition the mother took her youngest to the lord's castle. They were not alone. Seven other children accompanied by one or both parents had gathered in the courtyard of the castle. Three more came. Poor families, the children dressed in the best clothes they had.

"They waited all day in the courtyard. When it was starting to get dark a man came out of the castle and told them they could come in."

Eli listened to the woman's breathing, deep and regular. She slept. Her breath was warm against Eli's knee. Right below her ear Eli could discern the pulse ticking under loose, wrinkled skin.

The cat was quiet.

The credits for the nature program rolled on the TV. Eli put a finger on the woman's throat artery. It felt like a beating bird heart under her fingertip.

Eli braced herself against the back of the couch and carefully pushed the woman's head forward so it leaned on Eli's knees. The sharp smell of Roquefort cheese drowned out the other smells. Eli pulled out a blanket from the back of the couch and draped it over the cheeses.

A soft squeaky sound, the woman's breathing. Eli leaned over and held her nose close to the woman's artery. Soap, sweat, the smell of old

skin… and that hospital smell… something else that was the woman's own smell. And beneath all this: the blood.

The woman moaned when Eli's nose brushed against her throat, started to turn her head, but Eli gripped the woman's arms and chest with one hand, held the other one firmly around her head. Opened her mouth as much as she could, brought it down to the woman's throat until her tongue pressed against the artery and bit down. Locked her jaws.

The woman jerked as if she had received an electric shock. Her limbs flung out and her feet hit the armrest with such force that the woman pushed away and Eli ended up with her back across her knees.

The blood spurted rhythmically out of the open artery and splashed against the brown leather of the couch. The woman screamed and waved her hands in the air, pulling the blanket down from the table. A waft of blue cheese filled Eli's nostrils as she threw herself over the woman, pushing her mouth against her throat and drinking deeply. The woman's screams pierced her ears and Eli let go with one arm in order to be able to place a hand over her mouth.

The screams were muffled but the woman's free hand went out to the coffee table, grabbed the remote control, and banged it into Eli's head. The sound of plastic breaking as the sound of the TV came on again.

The signature melody of Dallas floated out into the room and Eli tore her head away from the woman's throat.

The blood tasted like medication. Morphine.

The woman stared up at Eli with wide eyes. Now Eli perceived yet another flavor. A rotten taste that combined with the smell of the blue cheese.

Cancer. The woman had cancer.

Her stomach turned with revulsion. She had to sit up and let go of the woman in order not to vomit.

The camera flew over Southfork while the music approached its crescendo. The woman wasn't screaming anymore, just lay still on her back while the blood pumped out of her in weaker and weaker spurts, streaming down behind the sofa cushions. Her eyes were damp and remote as she met Eli's gaze and said, "please… please…"

Eli held back her impulse to be sick, leaned forward over the woman.

"Excuse me?"

"Please…"

"Yes, what is it you want?"

"… please… please."

After a while the woman's eyes changed, stiffened. Became unseeing. Eli closed them. They opened again. Eli took the blanket from the floor and covered her face with it, sat up straight in the couch.

The blood was palatable even though it tasted bad, but the morphine…

There was a skyscraper of mirrors on the TV. A man dressed in a suit and a cowboy hat got out of his car, walked toward the skyscraper. Eli tried to get up out of the couch. She couldn't. The skyscraper started to lean, to turn. The mirrors reflected clouds that floated across the sky in slow motion, taking on the shape of animals, plants.

Eli burst out laughing when the man in the cowboy hat sat down behind a desk and started to speak in English. Eli understood what he was saying, but it was meaningless. Eli looked around. The whole room had started to lean in such a funny way it was strange the TV hadn't started to roll away. The cowboy-man's words echoed in her head. Eli looked for the remote control but it lay in pieces strewn across the table and floor.

Have to get the cowboy-man to stop talking.

Eli slid to the floor, crawling on all fours over to the TV with the morphine rushing through her body, laughing at the figures that dissolved into colors, colors. Didn't have the energy. Sank onto her stomach in front of the TV with the colors dancing in front of her eyes.

A few children were still sliding on their Snow Racers down the hill between Bjornsonsgatan and the little field next to the park road. Death Hill, it was called for some reason. Three shadows started out at the same time from the top and some loud swearing was heard, when one of the shadows was forced off course into the forest, as well as laughter from the other two as they continued down the slope, flew up from the dip at the bottom, and came to rest with a muffled clatter.

Lacke stopped, looked down into the ground. Virginia tried carefully to shove him onward with her. "Come on, Lacke."

"It's just so damned hard."

"I can't carry you, you know."

A snort that was probably a laugh, that became a cough. Lacke dropped his arm from her shoulders, stood there with arms hanging, and turned his head toward the sledding hill.

"Damn it, here there are kids sledding, and there…" He gestured vaguely in the direction of the underpass that started at the far end of the hill that the slope was on."… that's where Jocke was murdered."

"Don't think about that anymore."

"How can I stop? Maybe it was one of those kids who did it?"

"I don't think so."

She took his arm in order to put it around her neck again, but Lacke pulled away. "No, I can walk on my own."

Lacke started gingerly down the path. The snow crunched under his feet. Virginia stood still and watched him. There he was, the man she loved and whom she could never live with.

She had tried.

It was during a time eight years ago when Virginia's daughter had just moved away from home. Lacke had moved in. Then as now Virginia worked at a local grocery store, ICA, on Arvid Mornes Road above China Park. She lived in a one-bedroom apartment about three minutes' walk from the store.