Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 33 - Demon of the Night

Agnete laughed quietly. “You don’t normally suffer from nightmares. It probably means nothing.”

“Yes, it does,” Henning replied slowly, “because this time it was ... different.”

“How?”

“It was about Tengel the Evil.”

“Oh, dear! But isn’t it quite natural? That you Ice People should dream about what you fear the most?”

Henning said, almost as if to himself: “He was here, and yet he wasn’t.”

“Do you mean to say that his spirit was here?” asked Viljar.

“N-no,” said his son, hesitantly. “It wasn’t his spirit. But even so, I felt that I was being ... watched.”

“Do you know something, Father?” said Benedikte, who was sitting with young André on her lap. “I’ve also felt that lately.”

As quick as lightning, Henning turned to her. “Have you? That’s serious, because you’re one of the stricken and therefore more sensitive than the rest of us. Tell us about it!”

“Well there’s not much to tell. It’s nothing but some vague dreams and a hoarse voice asking questions. I can hardly remember them when I wake up in the morning. I just think ... we should ... pay attention.”

“Yes,” said Malin. “I’ve had the same feeling. Now and then, I wake up and register a certain anxiety in my body. And I’ve dreamt that somebody is looking at me.”

Henning was surprised. “You as well? And you don’t even live in this house!”

“That doesn’t mean anything. Christoffer also complains of nightmares, and he’s generally such a healthy boy.”

“Yes,” agreed Christoffer. “It’s as if I see somebody in my dreams, and answer them. As if somebody wants to know what I’m doing, and what I think about this and that. That doesn’t sound very horrible, but it is!”

Now Viljar was concerned. “From what you’re saying ... It’s not Tengel the Evil. It’s something much ... smaller.”

The others nodded.

“Nevertheless,” said Henning, “my instincts tell me that Tengel the Evil is involved in it.”

Agnete straightened her back. “It would seem that it’s those who are of the Ice People who are suffering from nightmares.”

Benedikte, who was holding young André tightly, shuddered. “Oh, dear, I hope André will be allowed to sleep in peace.”

“He always sleeps like a log. But what about Vanja?”

Belinda, who was sitting in the corner of the sofa, a wrinkled relic from a bygone age, said: “Yes, where is she, by the way?”

“I assume she’s in her room,” replied Henning. “She spends a lot of time in there. She’s doing her homework.”

Agnete smiled. “She’s started playing with dolls again. She’s never been so particular about keeping her dolls and their stuff so neat and tidy as she is now. She washes bed linen and sews new clothes like a proper housewife.”

Benedikte laughed. “That’s been going on for quite some time.”

“Yes, for several months. Could it be that she’s lonely?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Agnete replied. “She has many friends in her class and they walk to school together. And she plays with them when they drop by and ask her. But you’re right: she does like to spend time in her room, doing her homework or playing with her dolls. She never invites her friends to come here.”

Benedikte got up. “I’ll go and fetch her. She ought to join us.”

“Yes, let’s sit down to dinner,” said Agnete. “It’s ready.”

“I expect she’s deeply absorbed in a book on demons,” Henning called to Benedikte with a smile on his face. “What will become of that child?”

Benedikte came back. “She’ll be in in a moment. You were right: she was sitting at her desk, reading aloud from the book. She started as I walked in. I agree with you, Father: whatever will become of her?”

Per Wolden, Malin’s husband, laughed. “Homework and dolls and demons! What a mixture!”

“Judging by her grades, homework is the last thing she focuses on!” said Agnete.

Henning added: “Yes, they’ve become really bad over this past year.”

They sat down at the table.

“But Vanja is intelligent, isn’t she?” said Per. “Childish and precocious at the same time.”

Henning agreed: “Yes, she’s very intelligent.”

“And an exceptionally nice girl,” said Per emphatically.

Vanja came in at that moment, with a blissful, dreamy expression in her eyes. She was a strikingly beautiful child with hair like polished copper, a peachy complexion, and tiny freckles on her small nose. Her features were elfin and she seemed to float instead of walking. She had a neat figure – flat-chested, of course, because she was still only a child, but it was promising. Her whole personality was extremely pleasant, with elegant movements and a fleeting smile. Her voice sounded like delicate bells, and there was something defenceless about her that affected everybody.

But Vanja was far from being defenceless. She was one of the most complex of the uncursed Ice People, and nobody knew her true personality. She could baffle those around her with her intelligence and mental strength, which nobody expected. The first impression you got was of a slightly confused, sweet little bird-brain, which was totally untrue. Vanja was extremely clear-sighted (most of the time) and she had great courage. She just knew that she appealed to the protective instincts of others, and she played on this consciously when there was something she wanted. Even so, she was as good as only someone of the Ice People could be. She had discovered long ago that her personality was split, which she blamed on her mixed parentage. Her mother was a priest’s daughter, her father had been horribly stricken, a black angel – Lucifer himself – was her grandfather, while the wonderful, chosen Saga was her grandmother. Just because Henning, her foster-father, was the world’s nicest, most solid farmer, didn’t make her background any less complicated.

There was a bit of all of them in Vanja, perhaps the least from her father, Ulvar. There wasn’t a trace of evil in Vanja, just a certain preference for the mystical, such as demons.

Of course, there was a reason for that.

But now she sat down and the birthday dinner could begin.

During the meal, Christoffer asked, rather casually: “Have you also been suffering from nightmares recently, Vanja?”

She started. “Pardon?”

The others weren’t all that eager to raise the subject again, but Christoffer, who was a young man of twenty-one, was insensitive to their silent signals, stony faces and stiffened body language. He ploughed on. “Nightmares! We’ve all had some unpleasant experiences. As if something horrible is keeping a watchful eye on us during our sleep.”

“For heaven’s sake, Christoffer!” murmured his mother, Malin.

Vanja bent her head over her plate. “No, I haven’t had any nightmares.”

“Thank goodness for that!” said Henning. “Everybody else has experienced more or less the same dreams. All the Ice People, I mean.”

She looked up. “All ...?”

She didn’t want to seem left out. “Well, now you mention it. Actually, I also ... Let me see ... There was something the other night ...”

Belinda interrupted. “Now I really think we should talk about something more pleasant. After all, it’s Agnete’s birthday.”

Vanja lowered her shoulders. At first she seemed relieved, but then she grew nervous again during the main course. But when Henning made a speech to his wife, she relaxed and listened, touched and happy on behalf of her mother.

The dessert was put on the table and everybody admired the delightful savarin. Malin had made it, and the praise made her blush with pride.

The atmosphere was jolly and relaxed until Vanja suddenly stared up at the splendid chandelier hanging from the ceiling and yelled: