Yrsa Sigurðardóttir - I Remember You

The floor creaked sharply and they looked at each other, their pupils wide in the dull light. ‘What was that?’ asked Líf, through a mouthful of biscuit. ‘It sounded like it was right behind me. Is someone there? Is that fucking child standing behind my chair?’ Líf’s voice sounded like she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Her eyes bulged and she hadn’t blinked since their terrified gazes had met.

There was a certain security in looking only into Líf’s eyes and Katrín had no desire to turn her gaze elsewhere, least of all in the direction from which the sound had come. But she did just that, shifting her eyes slightly to the side without moving her head so that she could let them flick back to their place if she saw something bad. But she saw nothing in either direction. ‘There’s nothing there.’ Neither of them found much consolation in this and they continued to stare distraught at each other, waiting for the inevitable second creak that would surely follow. Despite their anticipation, they were startled nevertheless when it came, especially Líf as she turned her back to the sound.

This noise was followed by a low whine from Putti, which had little effect since the floor creaked again, now slightly more softly. This was followed by a whisper, just like the one that Katrín thought she’d heard before but hadn’t wanted to mention. Since she was always alone when it came, she hadn’t wanted the others to think she was hallucinating or deranged. But despite her hope that the others would hear this unbearable voice, she took no comfort in the fact that Líf was hearing it now. Katrín actually felt even worse on seeing her look so frightened. Now she could no longer flirt with the idea that she’d just been hearing things. ‘Who said that?’ Líf seemed on the verge of tears and Katrín didn’t feel much better.

‘I don’t know,’ Katrín whispered, so softly she could barely hear herself. ‘I don’t know.’ The words sounded better the second time as Katrín’s courage rose again, but it was rising and falling like ocean waves. ‘What did you hear it say?’ She leaned closer to Líf, making sure not to look past her for fear of seeing the outline of the boy deep in the darkness of the kitchen.

‘O-o-op-open it.’ Tears were pouring down Líf’s cheeks. They gleamed, making it look as if she was weeping gold.

Katrín had heard the same thing. ‘Open what?’ She asked the question softly, without expecting an answer. Again the words sounded behind Líf. Katrín felt goose bumps spring up on her arms and she clamped her eyes shut as Líf let herself slump forward onto the kitchen table. She didn’t want to see what was behind her friend, but her eyes immediately snapped back open, making her flight from reality last only a second. It hadn’t been intentional; Putti had stepped on her injured foot as he sought shelter between her legs. The pain was unbearable and Katrín cried out. This earthbound, vivid feeling of pain cleared a path for her back to common sense. It also helped that there was nothing to see behind Líf, besides a crowbar propped up against the wall near where Garðar had been working in the night. Katrín got up. ‘I’m going to see whether there’s a hole there where this whispering could be coming from.’ Líf shook as she lay face down on the table and said something inaudible. But Katrín had made her decision.

She hopped to the wall where the sound had originated from, concentrating on taking care with the candle flame. There was nothing strange to see, although Katrín was seized with the vague feeling that something was sharing the immediate vicinity with her. She half expected to feel a warm breath creep beneath her neckline, but nothing happened. The only thing she sensed was an unpleasant, powerful smell ascending from below, not unlike the one that had emanated from Líf after she’d come down the stairs. She let herself sink to her haunches to better view the floor, with all her weight on her good foot. It was difficult and the intensifying pain strengthened her resolve. Damn it, nothing could happen that wasn’t going to happen anyway. It was only a question of taking it kneeling down or standing on her feet, boldly. She tried not to think that Garðar had probably gone missing because of his boldness, and they had escaped the same fate by being cautious. ‘Jesus.’ She raised the hand not holding the candle to her face and stuck her nose and mouth into the crook of her elbow. The fungus or mould had actually spread, nearly hiding the wood beneath the new planks under its green patina.

‘What?’ Líf had risen and turned in her chair. She clearly found it better to have what she knew in the foreground, rather than in the darkness that could hide anything at all. ‘What’s there?’

‘A disgusting smell and a disgusting growth, like what we saw on the floorboards, remember?’ Katrín’s voice was muffled as she spoke into her arm, but Líf seemed to understand every word. ‘Only much, much more of it.’ Katrín moved the candle closer and spotted a little area next to the wall that the green slick seemed not to have reached. She brought the candle flame as close to it as she could, having to use both her hands to do so.

‘Don’t breathe in that stuff!’ Líf stood up and covered her mouth. Putti moved over to her and stood pinned against her legs, from where he stared dejectedly at Katrín. He whined softly, once.

‘I’m dead anyway if this is dangerous. Both of us are.’ Katrín squinted in order to see better. ‘There are hinges here. It’s probably an old trapdoor.’ She turned to Líf. ‘There’s something under the floor. Maybe we’ll finally get an explanation for all the disturbances in the house.’

It didn’t look as if Líf were desperate for an answer. ‘If that bloody child is under there, do we really want to be opening it for him? Have you lost your mind?’ When Katrín didn’t reply, but instead shifted herself enough to be able to reach the crowbar, she added: ‘Why do you think the man who lived here before laid a new floor over this trapdoor? He knew that there was something bad under the floor. Don’t open it, Katrín.’ She was commanding, pleading and horror-struck all at once.

‘He probably never saw these hinges. I didn’t notice them until now, after the mould spread through the wood and uncovered them. They’re all the way up against the wall so they could have been lying partly under the old skirting board. Plus there’s not much light in here, in case you hadn’t noticed.’ Katrín tried to find the outline of the trapdoor, without success. She took the crowbar and tried to stick it between the planks where she thought the end of the trapdoor might be, but nothing happened, so she tried the next ones with the same result; the same went for the two other pairs of remaining planks before the new floor material took over again. She hesitated and realized that there were perhaps other hinges on the side opposite to where she’d been trying and that the end of the trapdoor was on the other side. She shifted awkwardly again to apply the crowbar to that spot.

‘Katrín. Don’t do this. What will you do after you’ve opened it? Stick your head into the hole? It was impossible to determine whether Líf was concerned mainly about Katrín’s head or her own safety if it were cut off. ‘Please. Don’t do this. At least wait until morning.’

It was too late. The floor broke open when Katrín finally found the right spot. She was terribly scared, and what Líf had just said was weighing heavily on her mind. If she let go of the crowbar the hatch would probably drop down through the opening. The latch that held it up, as well as the old hinges, had creaked; all three had probably given under the force. But what then? Was she going to stick her head down there? Hardly. ‘Hand me your camera, Líf. Isn’t there still some life left in its battery?’