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

"What the hell… we were just having some fun… didn't think…"

Oskar walked toward him, swinging the stick from side to side through the air with a low growl. Micke turned and ran back to shore. Oskar stopped and lowered his stick.

Jonny lay curled up on his side with his hand pressed against his ear. Blood was trickling out between his fingers. Oskar wanted to apologize. He hadn't meant to hurt him so bad. He crouched down next to Jonny, steadying himself on the stick, and he was about to say "sorry" but before he had a chance, he saw Jonny.

He was so small, curled up into a fetal position, whimpering "ow-owowow" while a thin trickle of blood ran down inside the collar of his coat. He was slowly turning his head back and forth.

Oskar looked at him in wonder.

That tiny bleeding bundle on the ice would not be able to do anything to him. Couldn't hit him or tease him. Couldn't even defend itself.

I could whack him a few more times and then it's all over.

Oskar stood up, leaned on the stick. The rush was ebbing away, replaced by a feeling of nausea that welled up from deep inside his stomach. What had he done? Jonny must be really hurt to be bleeding like that. What if he bled to death? Oskar sat down on the ice again, pulled off one shoe and removed his wool sock. He crawled over to Jonny on his knees, poked the hand that he was holding to his ear, and pushed the wool sock into it.

"Here. Take this."

Jonny grabbed the sock and pressed it to his wounded ear. Oskar looked up over the ice. He saw a person on skates approaching. A grown-up.

Shrill screams from far away. Children, screaming in panic. A single high, penetrating shriek that was joined by others after a few seconds. The person who had been on his way over, stopped. Stood motionless for a second, then turned and skated back.

Oskar was still kneeling beside Jonny, felt the snow melting, dampening his knees. Jonny had his eyes shut, whimpering from between clenched teeth. Oskar lowered his face closer to his.

"Can you walk?"

Jonny opened his mouth to say something and a yellow- and white-colored liquid gushed out from between his lips, coloring the snow. A little landed on one of Oskar's hands. He looked at the slimy drops that quivered on the back of his hands and became really scared. He dropped the stick and ran toward land to get some help.

The children's screams from next to the hospital had increased in volume. He ran toward them.

Mr. Avila, Fernando Cristobal de Reyes y Avila, enjoyed ice skating. Yes. One of the things he most appreciated about Sweden was the long winters. He had participated in the Vasa cross-country ski race for ten consecutive

years now, and whenever the waters of the outer archipelago froze solid he drove out to Graddo Island on the weekends in order to skate out as far toward Soderarm as the ice cover allowed.

It was three years ago since the archipelago had frozen last, but an early winter such as this one gave him hope. Of course Graddo Island would be crawling with skating enthusiasts if the waters froze, but that was in the daytime. Mr. Avila preferred to skate at night.

With all due respect to the Vasa Race, it did make one feel like one of a thousand ants in a colony that had suddenly decided to emigrate. It was quite different to be on the open ice, alone in the moonlight. Fernando Avila was only a lukewarm Catholic, but even he could feel in those moments that God was near.

The rhythmic scrape of the metal blades, the moonlight that gave the ice a leaden gleam, above him the stars vaulted in their infinity, the cold wind streaming over his face, eternity and depth and space in all directions. Life could not be bigger.

A little boy was tugging on his pant leg.

"Teacher, I have to pee."

Avila woke from his skating dreams and looked around, pointed to some trees by the shore that grew out over the water; the bare network of branches fell like a shielding curtain toward the ice.

"You can pee there."

The boy squinted at the trees.

"On the ice?"

"Yes? What is wrong with that? Makes new ice. Yellow."

The boy looked at him as if he were crazy, but skated off toward the trees.

Avila looked around and made sure none of the older ones had wandered too far. With a few quick strokes he took off to get an overview of the situation. Counted the children. Yes. Nine, plus the one who was peeing. Ten.

He turned the other way and looked in toward Kvarnviken, stopped.

Something was happening down there. A group of bodies approaching something that had to be an opening in the ice, the spot marked by small straggly trees. While he stood still, watching, the group broke up. He saw that one of them was holding a stick.

The stick was swung and one boy fell down. He heard a howl. Turning around, he checked his own group one last time, then set off swiftly toward the figures by the hole. One of them was now running toward land.

That was when he heard the scream.

The piercing scream of a child from his group. The snow spurted up around his blades as he made an abrupt halt. He had managed to ascertain that the kids by the hole were older. Maybe Oskar. Older boys. They would manage. His charges were younger.

The scream increased in intensity and when he turned and skated toward it he heard more voices join in.

Cojones!

Something happened in the exact moment when he was not there. Dear God, let the ice not have given way. He skated as fast as he could, the snow whirling around his blades as he sprinted toward the source of the scream. He saw now that many children had gathered, were standing and screaming hysterically in a choir of sorts, and more were on their way. He also saw that an adult was moving down toward the ice from up by the hospital.

With a few final strong pushes he arrived next to the children, and stopped so hard a fine ice-dust sprayed over the children's jackets. He did not understand. All the children were gathered next to the network of branches, looking down toward the ice, and shrieking.

He skated closer.

"What is it?"

One of the children pointed down toward the ice, to a lump that was frozen into it. It looked like a brown, frozen clump of grass with a red line on one side. Or a run-over hedgehog. He leaned down toward the clump and saw that it was a head. A human head frozen into the ice so that only the top of the head and forehead were visible.

The boy he had sent off to pee here was sitting on the ice a few meters away, sobbing.

"I-I-I ra-a-an into it."

Avila straightened up.

"Get away! Everyone goes back onto land nowl"

The children seemed as if they were also frozen in place in the ice; the little ones kept crying. He took out his whistle and blew into it sharply,

twice. The screams stopped. He took a few pushes to position himself behind the children in order to herd them toward the shore. The children went. Only a fifth grader stayed where he was, leaning down toward the clump, full of curiosity.

"You too!"

Avila gestured to him with his hand, indicating he should come over. Once they were on land he said to the woman who had come down from the hospital, "Call the police. An ambulance. There is a body frozen into the ice."

The woman ran back up to the hospital. Avila counted the children on land, saw that one was missing. The boy who had run into the head was still sitting on the ice with his face in his hands. Avila glided out to him and lifted him up by his armpits. The boy turned around and put his arms around Avila, who lifted the boy as gently as if he were a fragile package and carried him to shore.

Can I talk to him?"

"He can't actually talk…"