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

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Oskar and Eli. In very different ways, they were both victims. Which is why, against the odds, they became friends. And how they came to depend on one another, for life itself. Oskar is a 12 year old boy living with his mother on a dreary housing estate at the city's edge. He dreams about his absentee father, gets bullied at school, and wets himself when he's frightened. Eli is the young girl who moves in next door. She doesn't go to school and never leaves the flat by day. She is a 200 year old vampire, forever frozen in childhood, and condemned to live on a diet of fresh blood. John Ajvide Lindqvist's novel, a huge bestseller in his native Sweden, is a unique and brilliant fusion of social novel and vampire legend; and a deeply moving fable about rejection, friendship and loyalty.

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Blind man's bluff.

The lighter in one hand, the trophy in the other. He opened his mouth to say something but only managed a hoarse whisper.

"Come on, then…"

The thing appeared alert, turned around, came toward him.

He raised Staffan's trophy like a club and when the creature was half a meter away he swung it at its face.

And like in a perfect penalty kick in soccer, when at the same moment as your foot meets the ball you feel that this one… this one has hit the spot exactly, Tommy felt the same thing already halfway into his swing, that-

Yes!

– and when the sharp stone corner met the thing's temple with a force that continued in an arc along Tommy's arm, he was already feeling triumph. It was only a confirmation of this feeling when the skull crumpled and with a crack of splitting ice, cold liquid splashed onto Tommy's face and the thing crashed to the ground.

Tommy remained in place, panting. Looked at the body that was laid out on the ground.

He has an erection.

Yes. The thing's penis was sticking out like a minimal, half overturned gravestone and Tommy stood there staring, waiting for it to wilt. It didn't. Tommy wanted to laugh, but his throat hurt too much.

A throbbing pain in his thumb. Tommy looked down. The lighter had started to burn the skin on his thumb that was holding the gas tab down. Instinctively he let go. But his thumb didn't obey him. It was locked in a cramp over the tab.

He turned the lighter the other direction. Didn't want to turn it off anyway. Didn't want to be left in the dark with this…

A movement.

And Tommy felt how something important, something he needed in

order to be Tommy, left him when the creature lifted its head again, and started to get up.

An elephant balancing on the little, little thread of a spiderweb!

The thread broke. The elephant fell through.

And Tommy hit again. And again.

After a while he started to think it was fun.

MONDAY

9 November

Morgan walked through the controls, waved the monthly pass that had expired six months ago, while Larry dutifully stopped and pulled out a wrinkled coupon strip and said "Angbyplan."

The ticket collector looked up from the book he was reading, stamped two coupon spaces. Morgan laughed when Larry came over to him and they started to walk down the stairs.

"What the hell do you bother to do that for?"

"What? Get my ticket stamped?"

"Yeah. It's not like you're some model citizen."

"It's not that."

"What is it?"

"I'm not like you, OK?"

"But come on… the guy was just… you could have shown him a picture of the king for all he cared."

"Yes, fine. Quit talking so loud."

"Think he's going to come after us or something?"

Before they opened the doors down to the platform Morgan cupped his hands into a makeshift megaphone and shouted back up to the station hall: "Alert! Alert! Illegal riders!"

Larry slunk away, taking a few steps toward the platform. When Morgan reached him he said:

"You're pretty childish, you know that?"

"Absolutely. Now, run the whole thing by me again. From the top."

Larry had called Morgan already that night and given a summary of what Gosta had told him ten minutes earlier on the telephone. They had agreed to meet at the subway station early in the morning in order to go to the hospital.

Now Larry went over it all again. Virginia, Lacke, Gosta, the cats. The ambulance that Lacke had climbed into with her. Added a few extra details of his own, and before he was done the subway train to the city arrived. They got on and claimed a four-seater for themselves, and Larry finished his story with:

"… and then it drove off with sirens going full blast."

Morgan nodded, chewing on a thumbnail, looking out of the window while the train climbed out of the tunnel, stopped at Iceland Square.

"What the hell made them go off like that?"

"You mean the cats? I don't know. Something made them all crazy."

"But all of them? And at the same time?"

"You have a better suggestion?"

"No. Damn cats. Lacke must be completely crushed and all."

"Mm. Wasn't doing so great before either."

"No," Morgan sighed. "I feel damned sorry for the guy, actually. We should… I don't know. Do something."

"What about Virginia?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. But you know, being injured. Sick. What can you do. You have to lie there. The hard part is sitting next to the bed and… no, I don't know, but he was right… last time, when he… what the hell did he ramble on about? Werewolves?"

"Vampires."

"Yeah. That's not a sign that you're doing so damned great, is it?"

The train pulled into the Angbyplan station. When the doors closed Morgan said:

"There. Now we're in the same boat."

"I think they're more lenient if you have at least two stamped sections."

"That's what you think. But you don't know."

"Did you see the results of the poll? For the Swedish Communist Party?"

"Yes, yes. It'll straighten itself out after the election. There're a lot of people, who are leftist at heart, that when they stand there with the ballot still vote according to their conscience."

"That's what you think."

"No. I know. The day the Communists are pushed out of parliament is the day I start believing in vampires. But of course: there's always the conservatives. Bohman and his lot, you know. Talk about bloodsuckers…"

Morgan launched into one of his monologues. Larry stopped listening somewhere near Akeshov. There was a lone police officer outside the greenhouses, looking up at the subway. Larry felt a brief pang of conscience when he thought about his understamped ticket, but immediately suppressed the thought when he remembered why the police were there.

But this police officer looked simply bored. Larry relaxed; the occasional word in Morgan's rambling made its way into his consciousness while they thundered on toward Sabbatsberg.

***

A quarter to eight, and no nurse had yet appeared.

The dirt-gray strip of light on the ceiling had turned light gray, and the blinds let in enough light to make Virginia feel like she was on a tanning bed. Her body was hot, throbbed, but that was all. It wouldn't get any worse.

Lacke lay in the bed next to her, snarling, chewing in his sleep. She was ready. If she had been able to press a button to summon a nurse, she would have done so. But her hands were bound and she couldn't.

So she waited. The heat in her skin was painful, not excruciating. What was worse was the constant effort to try to stay awake. One moment's forgetfulness and her breathing stopped, lights started to go off in her head with increasing speed, and she had to open her eyes wide and shake her head in order to get them to turn on again.

At the same time, this necessary wakefulness was a blessing; it stopped her from having to think. All her mental energy went to keeping herself awake. There was no room for hesitation, regret, an alternative.

The nurse came in at exactly eight o'clock.

When she opened her mouth to say "Good morning, how are we today!" or whatever it was that nurses said in the morning, Virginia hissed: "Shhhhhh!"

The nurse closed her mouth with a surprised click, and she frowned when she walked through the dim room to Virginia's bed, leaned over her and said, "and how-"

"Shhh!" Virginia whispered. "Sorry, but I don't want to wake him up." She made a gesture with her head in Lacke's direction.

The nurse nodded, said in a lower voice, "No, of course not. But I need to take your temperature and a little blood."

"Sure, whatever. But could you… take him out first?"

"Take him… do you want me to wake him up?"

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