Юхан Теорин - The Voices Beyond

Veronica gazed at the empty sheet of paper, then she began to write.

Aron’s eyesight was good; if he leaned forward slightly he could read her confession.

‘You’d put the mat under the bathroom door earlier on, and then you jerked it away...’ he said. ‘What happened next?’

Veronica looked down at her hands. ‘I couldn’t hear anything from the bathroom, so I left. No one saw me.’

Silence fell inside the mill. Veronica was still holding the pen, and Vlad was staring at her from behind Aron’s eyes.

‘Carry on writing,’ he ordered. ‘I want you to admit that you refused to help my wife, Ludmila Jegerov, who was seriously ill, in spite of the fact that we asked you for help several times. I want everything written down and signed.’

It was overcast and windy outside, and Jonas fled from the mill as fast as he could. He ran along a narrow path between the trees and undergrowth. It was almost evening now, and he slipped several times on the damp grass but immediately got back on his feet and carried on going. The ropes had chafed his hands and legs, but he was free now.

He could feel the wind off the Sound in his face, and it drew him onwards. Juniper bushes whipped at his arms, tangled hazel branches scratched his face, but he gritted his teeth and forced his way through. He was free, and he just wanted to get away from the tall, black monster behind him — the windmill.

He had no intention of abandoning Casper and Aunt Veronica, but he had to get help from someone. The police, anyone.

The trees began to thin out. He put his head down and speeded up. Suddenly, something reached out towards him, something that grabbed his arm so firmly he was forced to stop dead. This wasn’t a juniper branch, this was a hand. A large hand, and it belonged to a man wearing a pulled-down cap. His gaze was penetrating.

‘Where are you off to?’

Jonas struggled to escape, but in vain, so in the end he gave up and said, ‘To the police.’

The grip on his arm relaxed slightly. The man pushed back his cap and looked at Jonas; he didn’t seem dangerous.

There was a movement behind them in the bushes, then came another voice: ‘Jonas?’

A quiet voice that Jonas recognized; it was Gerlof Davidsson. He emerged slowly from the undergrowth, leaning on his stick for support, and nodded to Jonas. At the same time, the other man let go of Jonas’s arm.

‘What are you doing here?’ Gerlof said.

Jonas jerked his head backwards, towards the clearing with the tall black tower. ‘He let me go.’

‘So you’ve been in the mill?’

Jonas nodded. His knees gave way and he felt sick.

‘Casper’s still there,’ he managed to gasp. ‘With the cairn ghost. And Aunt Veronica... She wanted him to let Casper go, but he chose me instead.’

Gerlof nodded as the other man helped Jonas to his feet.

‘The cairn ghost is called Aron Fredh,’ Gerlof said. ‘Is he still in the mill with your cousin and your aunt?’

‘Yes.’

‘What does he want? Do you know what he’s going to do with them?’

Jonas shook his head. ‘He’s got a big gun... and he said he wanted to talk to Aunt Veronica. He said she had to come to the mill on her own.’

Gerlof looked tired. ‘A confrontation.’ He glanced over towards the mill and asked quietly, ‘Exactly where are they sitting in there, Jonas? Can you remember? Are they downstairs, or up in the loft?’

‘Downstairs.’

‘Good. In the middle of the room, or by the wall?’

Jonas tried to think. ‘Me and Casper were sitting by the door. We were tied to chairs.’

‘And were you tied to the wall as well?’

Jonas shook his head. ‘He put ropes around our hands and our ankles.’

‘Good,’ Gerlof said, looking at the other man. ‘There is something we can do, John, but it’s a bit risky... There’s a trapdoor in the floor of the mill; it was used to drop heavy sacks of flour down on to the ground. If the boy is sitting on top of it, we can get him out. Veronica Kloss, too, perhaps.’

The other man adjusted his cap, frowning in the gathering twilight. He didn’t seem entirely happy with Gerlof’s plan. ‘How do we do that?’

Gerlof thought for a moment. ‘If I remember correctly, there’s a bolt securing the trapdoor from underneath. We’d have to knock it off — and fast.’

The man nodded. ‘I’ll find a suitable stone.’

Gerlof turned his attention back to Jonas. ‘Can you come with us just to make sure?’

Jonas hesitated, but in the end he agreed.

Gerlof smiled. ‘We have to be very, very quiet.’

Gerlof was trying to keep up with John and Jonas, but he was too slow. He was tired, and his feet were dragging on the ground. He was making a noise, rustling in the dry grass, which was no good at all.

He had to stop.

He saw John bend down and pick up a stone, long and flat like a hammer, then carry on with Jonas Kloss at his side.

Gerlof followed them at a steady pace. He knew his way around here; it was less than a hundred metres from his own garden on the other side of the trees and, over to the left, he could see the cairn. The real one from the Bronze Age, the one that was still intact.

The grove was becoming denser all around them, but in a narrow clearing up ahead they saw a tall shadow with spreading sails — the mill. Gerlof’s own father had brought his grain here sometimes; the mill had already been old all those years ago. It had been built at least a hundred and fifty years earlier, before the trees grew tall, when its sails could catch the wind from every direction. In northern Sweden, the mills had been driven by water, but here on the island there were no rivers, just the constant wind blowing across the flat landscape.

The wind had picked up, and the mill was visibly swaying.

The tall structure rested on a single round wooden post so that the body of the mill could be turned to bring the sails into the wind. But it was many decades since the sails had last moved; they were broken now, and the mill stood among the trees like a deserted watchtower.

No, not deserted — a dark-blue Ford was parked among the trees just outside and, a few metres away, Gerlof saw Veronica’s car. He was out of breath and could communicate only by gestures, but he waved to John to indicate that they should keep going.

As they drew closer to the mill, they could see flickering lights through the gaps in the walls and hear the low murmur of voices.

The space beneath the mill was about a metre high. It was dark under there, but Gerlof bent down and saw that the trapdoor next to the post was still there, secured with a heavy iron bolt.

Good. But had the wood swollen or warped over the years, meaning that the trapdoor was now stuck?

They would just have to take that risk.

He waved silently to John, and his old friend stooped down and began to creep towards the mill, with Jonas still beside him. The man and the boy edged underneath the mill, next to the post; they became two shadows.

Gerlof held his breath. There was nothing more he could do now except wait.

Then he heard a series of blows against the floor of the mill as John struck upwards as hard as he could: one, two, three, four blows.

There was a rattling sound, and then the trapdoor loosened and came crashing down.

‘So here we are,’ Aron said to Veronica Kloss, his relative and his enemy.

She didn’t respond.

‘Here we are in the mill,’ he went on. ‘When the wind comes and the sails begin to turn, there is nothing that can stop the grinding process.’

Veronica still didn’t speak, but she had finished writing. The piece of paper with her confession on it was full. She held on to the pen but pushed the paper across to Aron. He carried on looking at her, and wiped his forehead. It was warm inside the mill, thanks to the paraffin lamps, but he had a temperature as well.