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

"Don't know."

"Need any help?"

"… No."

"What? Me and a few of my pals can take him out."

Jonny pulled off a big piece with shrimp, his favorite, put it in his mouth and chewed. No. Better not drag Jimmy's friends into this, then it would get out of hand. Nonetheless Jonny smiled at the thought of how scared shitless Oskar would be if he appeared at his house with Jimmy and, say, those guys from Racksta. He shook his head.

Jimmy put his pizza roll down and looked seriously at Jonny.

"OK, but I'm just saying. One more thing, and then…"

He snapped his fingers hard, then made a fist.

"You're my brother and no little shit is going to come and… One more thing, then you can say whatever you like. Then I'm going after him. OK?"

Jimmy held out his fist across the table. Jonny also made a fist and bumped Jimmy's with it. It felt good. That there was someone who cared. Jimmy nodded.

"Good. I have something for you."

He bent down under the table, took out a plastic bag that he had been carrying all morning. He drew a thin photo album out of the bag. "Dad came by last week. He's grown a beard, almost didn't recognize him. He had this with him."

Jimmy held the album out to Jonny, who wiped his fingers on a napkin and opened it.

Pictures of children. Of Mom. Maybe ten years ago. And a man he recognized as his father. The man was pushing the kids on swings. In one picture he was wearing a much-too-small cowboy hat. Jimmy, maybe nine years old, was standing next to him with a plastic rifle in his hands and a grim expression. A little boy who had to be Jonny sat on the ground nearby and looked wide-eyed at them.

"He loaned me this till next time. He wants it back, said it was… yeah,

what the fuck was it… 'my most valuable possession,' I think he said. Thought it might interest you too."

Jonny nodded without looking up from the album. He had only met his dad two times since he left when Jonny was four. At home there was one picture of him, a pretty bad one where he was sitting around with some other people. This was something completely different. Here you could kind of construct a real image of him.

"One more thing. Don't show it to Mom. I think Dad kind of swiped it when he left and if she sees it… well, he wants it back, as I told you. Promise. Don't show Mom."

Still with his nose buried in the album, Jonny made a fist and held it out over the table. Jimmy laughed and then Jonny felt Jimmy's knuckles against his. Promise.

"Hey, you check it out later. Take the bag too."

Jimmy held out the bag and Jonny reluctantly folded up the album, put it in the bag. Jimmy was done with his pizza, leaned back in his chair, and patted his stomach.

"So. How are things on the chick front?"

The village flew by. Snow that was kicked up by the wheels of the moped trailer was sprayed back and peppered Oskar's cheeks. He gripped the towrope with both hands, shifted his weight to the side, swinging out of the snow cloud. There was a sharp scraping sound as the skis sliced through the loose snow. The outer ski nudged an orange reflector where the road split in two. He wobbled, then regained his balance.

The road down to Lagaro and the summer houses wasn't plowed. The moped left three deep tracks in the untouched snow cover, and five meters behind it came Oskar on skis, making two additional tracks. He drove zigzag over the moped tracks, stood on one ski like a trick skier, crouched down into a little ball of speed.

When his dad slowed down on the long hill heading down to the old steamship pier, Oskar was going faster than the moped and he was forced to brake a little in order not to let too much slack into the line, which would then result in a strong jerk when the hill leveled off and the moped picked up speed again.

The moped got all the way down to the pier and his dad switched down out of gear and stood on the brake. Oskar was still traveling at full throttle and for a short moment he thought about dropping the rope and keeping going… Out over the end of the pier, down into the black water. But he angled the mini-skis out, braked a couple of meters from the edge.

He stood panting for a while, looked out over the water. Thin sections of ice had started to form, bobbed up and down in the small waves by the shores. Maybe there was a chance of real ice this year. So you could walk across to Vato on the other side. Or did they keep a channel in to Nor-rtalje open? Oskar couldn't remember. It was several years since there had been ice like that.

When Oskar was out here in the summer he would fish for herring from this pier. Loose hooks on the line, a lure on the end. If he found a school he could end up with a couple of kilos if he had the patience, but mostly he ended up with ten or fifteen fish. That was enough for dinner for him and his dad; the smallest ones went to the cat.

Dad came up and stood behind him.

"That went well, it did."

"Mmm. But I went all the way through the snow a couple of times."

"True, the snow is a little loose. If we could pack it tighter, somehow. If we could… maybe take a particleboard and hitch it up, put some weight on it. You know, if you put the board and the weight down, then…"

"Should we do it?"

"No, it'd have to be tomorrow, at any rate. It's getting dark now. We'll have to get home and work on that bird a little if there's going to be any dinner."

"OK."

His dad looked out over the water, stood there quietly for a while.

"You know, I've been thinking about something."

"Yes?"

It was coming now. Mom had told Oskar that she let Dad know in no uncertain terms that he had to talk to him about what happened with Jonny. And actually Oskar wanted to talk about it. Dad was at a secure distance from it all, wouldn't interfere in any way. His dad cleared his throat, gathered himself. Breathed out. Looked over the water. Then he said: "Yes, I was thinking… do you have any ice skates?"

"No, none that fit me."

"No, no. No. Well, if we get ice this winter and it looks like… then it would be fun to have some, wouldn't it. I have some."

"They probably won't fit."

His dad snorted, a kind of chuckle.

"No, but… Osten's boy has some he's grown out of. Thirty-nines. What size do you wear?"

"Thirty-eight."

"Yes, but with woolen socks you'd… I'll ask him if you can have them."

"Great."

"Then it's settled. Good. Should we get going, then?"

Oskar nodded. Maybe it would come later. And the part about the skates was good. If they could manage it tomorrow then he could bring them back with him.

He walked on his mini-skis over to the end of the towrope, backed up until the line was taut, signaled his dad that he was ready. His dad started the moped. They had to go up the hill in first gear. The moped roared so that it frightened some crows out of the top of a pine tree.

Oskar glided slowly up the hill like he was going up a rope tow, stood straight with his legs pressed together. He wasn't thinking about anything except trying to keep his skis in the old tracks in order to avoid cutting through the snow layer to the ground. They made their way home as twilight was falling.

Lacke walked down the stairs from the main square with a box of Aladdin chocolates tucked inside the top of his pants. Didn't like to steal, but he had no money and he wanted to give Virginia something. Should have brought roses as well, but try swiping anything at a florist.

It was already dark and when he reached the bottom of the hill toward the school he hesitated. Looked around, scraped the snow with his foot, and uncovered a rock the size of a fist that he kicked loose and slipped in