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

"Hm. How are things?"

"Good."

"You know, your mom just told me about this thing with Jonny. That doesn't sound so good."

"No, I guess not."

"He got a concussion."

"Yeah, he threw up."

"That's a common side effect. Harry… yes, you've met him… he took the lead weight in the side of the head once and he… well, he lay there on deck and was sick as a calf after that."

"Was he OK?"

"Sure he was… well, he died last spring. But that wasn't anything to do with that. No. He got better real fast."

"Good."

"And we'll have to hope the same goes for this boy, too."

"Yes."

The voice on the radio kept reciting names of various sea regions: Bottenviken and all the rest. A couple of times he had sat at his dad's place with an atlas in front of him and followed all the lighthouses as they were named. For a while he knew all the places by heart, in order, but he had since forgotten them. His dad cleared his throat.

"Yes, your mom and I were talking about it… if you wanted to come out and see me this weekend."

"Mmmm."

"So we could talk more about this and about… everything."

"This weekend?"

"Yes, if you feel like it."

"I guess so. But I have a little… what about Saturday?"

"Or Friday night."

"No, but… Saturday. Morning."

"That sounds good. I'll take an eider duck out of the freezer."

Oskar pressed the mouthpiece closer and whispered: "Preferably without shot."

His dad laughed.

Last fall when Oskar had been out at his place he had broken a tooth on some shot left in a sea bird that they had eaten. He had told his mom it was a stone in a potato. Sea bird was Oskar's favorite food, but his mom thought it was "terribly cruel" to shoot such defenceless birds. If she knew he had broken a tooth on the instrument of murder itself it might lead to a moratorium on eating that kind of food altogether.

"I'll check extra carefully," his dad said.

"Is the moped running?"

"Yes, why?"

"No, I was just thinking."

"I see. Well, there's a fair amount of snow so we can probably make a round."

"Good."

"OK, I'll see you on Saturday. You'll take the ten o'clock bus."

"Yes."

"I'll come meet you. With the moped. The car is not completely functional."

"OK, great. Are you going to talk more to Mom?"

"Uh… no… you can tell her our plans, right?"

"Uh-huh. See you."

"That you will. Bye."

Oskar put the phone down. Sat there for a little while and imagined how it was going to be. Taking the moped out for a ride. That was fun. Oskar would strap on the mini-skis and they attached a rope to the moped carrier with a stick at the other end. Oskar held the tow rope with both hands and then he motored around the village like a snowborne waterskier. This as well as duck with rowanberry jelly. And only one night away from Eli.

He went to his room and packed up his workout gear, plus his knife, since he wasn't coming home before meeting Eli. He had a plan. When he was standing in the hall putting his coat on his mom came out of the kitchen and dried her floury hands on the apron. "So? What did he say?"

"I'm going to his place on Saturday."

"Fine, but what about the other thing?"

"I have to go work out now."

"He didn't say anything else?"

"Ye-es, but I have to go now."

"Where?"

"The pool."

"What pool?"

"The one next to our school. The little one."

"What are you doing there?"

"Working out. I'll be back around half past eight. Or nine. I'm meeting Johan afterwards."

His mom looked dismayed, didn't know what to do with her floury hands and stuck them both in the big pocket on the front of the apron.

"Yes, I see. Be careful. Don't trip on the side of the pool or anything. Do you have your hat with you?" Yes, yes.

"Well, put it on. When you've been in the water, because it's cold out and when your hair is wet and…"

Oskar took a step forward, kissed her lightly on the cheek and said: "good-bye," and left. When he came out of the front door to the building he glanced up at his window. His mom was standing there, with her hands still pushed into the big apron pocket. Oskar waved. His mom slowly lifted up a hand and waved back.

He cried half the way to the pool.

The gang stood assembled in the stairwell outside Gosta's door. Lacke, Virginia, Morgan, Larry, Karlsson. No one wanted to be the one to ring the doorbell, since this seemed to give the person who rang the responsibility to declare the reason for their visit. Even out in the stairwell you got

a whiff of Gosta. Urine. Morgan poked Karlsson in the side and mumbled something. Karlsson lifted the earmuffs he wore instead of a hat and asked: "What?"

"I said, don't you think you can take those off for once? Makes you look like an idiot."

"That's your opinion."

But he removed the earmuffs, put them in the coat pocket and said:

"It'll have to be you, Larry. You're the one who saw it."

Larry sighed and rang the doorbell. An angry yowl from inside and then a soft thud as something landed on the floor. Larry cleared his throat. He didn't like this. Felt like a cop with the whole gang behind him; the only thing missing was the cocked pistols. Shuffled steps came from inside the apartment, then a voice.

"Are you alright, sweetheart?"

The door opened. A wave of urine-stench washed over Larry's face and he struggled for breath. Gosta was standing in the doorway, dressed in a worn shirt, vest, and tie. An orange- and white-striped cat was curled up under one arm.

"Yes?"

"Hi, Gosta. How's it going?"

Gosta's eyes roamed over their faces. He was pretty drunk. Fine.

"So, we're all here because… do you know what's happened?"

"No."

"Well, you see, they've found Jocke. Today."

"I see. Oh. Yes."

"And then… you know…"

Larry turned his head, seeking support from his delegation. The only thing he got was an encouraging gesture from Morgan. Larry couldn't handle standing out here like some official representative, presenting his ultimatum. There was only one way, however much he didn't like it. He asked: "Can we come in?"

He had anticipated some kind of resistance. Gosta was hardly used to five people dropping by to see him like this. But Gosta simply nodded and backed up a few steps in the hall to let them in.

Larry hesitated for a moment; the smell emanating from inside the

apartment was unbelievable. It hovered in the air like viscous matter. During this moment of hesitation Lacke took a step inside, followed by Virginia. Lacke scratched the cat-still in Gosta's arms-behind the ears.

"Nice cat. What's its name?"

"It's a she. Thisbe."

"Nice name. Do you have a Pyramus as well?"

"No."

One by one they glided in through the door, tried to breathe through their mouths. After a minute everyone gave up the attempt to keep the stench at bay, relaxed, and got used to it. Cats were shooed out of the couch and armchair, a few chairs were carried out from the kitchen, vodka, grape tonic, and glasses appeared on the table, and after a few minutes of chitchat about cats and the weather Gosta said:

"So, they found Jocke."

Larry downed the last of his drink. His task felt easier with the warmth of the alcohol in his stomach. He poured himself a new glass and said, "Yes, down by the hospital. His body was frozen into the ice."

"In the ice?"

"Yes. Damned circus down there today. I was down there to see Herbert, don't know if you know him, anyway… when I came out there were cops everywhere and an ambulance and after a while the fire truck came."

"There was a fire?"

"No, but they had to hack him out of the ice. Well, at that point I didn't know it was him but then when they got him up on land I recognized the clothes, because the face… there had been ice all around it, so you couldn't… but the clothes…"