Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 25 - The Angel

“Of course, I know Bergqvara. Well, you’d better be off so that your mother doesn’t have to wait for you,” Knutsson said, wiping his sweaty hands on his handkerchief. Tula noticed that he had a big bulge in his trousers. This reminded her of the couple she had surprised out in the forest a few years before and she giggled to herself. She curtseyed politely and ran out. Knutsson watched her run across the courtyard, making her curls swing.

Tula was the finest of them all! Her childish, round frame; her innocent, pure eyes. She was a true child. Soft skin, slightly chubby, warm ... Must be lovely to touch and embrace. In his thoughts, his hands were already exploring under her skirts. What did she look like underneath her fine dress? Feeling her, entering her. The scream. Oh, those delightful screams that made everything in him explode. Oh, that wonderful moment!

He ached so much that he had to sit down with his hands tightly clenched between his thighs. He moaned loudly. It was a long time now ... much too long ... he was no longer able to hold back. But he had to be careful. It was good that there were these children’s choirs scattered all over Sweden. Then he could be near the children and select them ...

No one would ever suspect him, he was safe. He had everybody’s compassion. Nevertheless, he would have to be careful. But he had waited long enough now. What did they want of him? Feeling stirred was such a pleasant sensation. Oh, to be kept away from his obvious right.

It was everyone else’s fault. Other people were to blame entirely ...

He walked home to his wife. She had a confused, submissive expression on her face, as if she was asking for forgiveness, as if she didn’t know why she wasn’t good enough. True, he had kept his distance for quite a long time now. Ever since he had failed to perform his marital duty.

His silent fury flared up again. How on earth could she ever believe that she had anything to offer him? She with her grown-up, dry body and her willingness? When they lived in Eksjö and he had been out in town, he had had to squeeze past a little girl in a gateway – and that was when lightning seemed to strike him. His skin prickled, his underpants became moist and he stared after the girl because he knew that he wanted her.

When he got back home, he realized why he had always felt so lukewarm and dutiful in bed with his wife. She was a rich young widow with four children, and he had thought that she was a good match. Besides, marrying her raised him in people’s esteem. But even if he found her extremely nice, he had never actually fallen in love with her.

But now!

Now he only had one thought on his mind – the little girl in the gateway. He had stalked her and one day when nobody could see them, he had lured her down into a basement that he had staked out in advance. It was a fantastic experience. A big moment for him. Heaven on earth. They found the girl a few days later, but nobody suspected him.

Then they moved to Växjö. He told his wife that her children were to be regarded as his, and she wept with gratitude. So how on earth could anybody suspect him when he became interested in his six-year-old stepdaughter? It wasn’t difficult for him to meet her after she had been out to visit a friend. A walk through the park ... and afterwards hurry home and ask his wife if they ought not to go and meet the girl on her way home because she ought to be back by now. Yes, said his wife. They ought to do that.

Then they met two policemen. They said that they were sorry to ask them but they had found the body of a young girl in the park and somebody believed that she might be their daughter?

Knutsson was devastated and a great comfort to his wife. She thanked him warmly for his consideration and everybody agreed that it was such a terrible tragedy. Since then he had felt safer, and what had happened to his stepdaughter wasn’t his fault. After all, he had asked to give a helping hand when the youngster was being bathed, hadn’t he? He had been allowed to touch her soft skin, washed her with a flannel over her whole body. Rub, rub ... he had ejaculated into the bathtub but the water was splashing anyway so nobody noticed. The girl thought that he was gasping a lot and hadn’t he rubbed her dry by now?

Two days later, he had picked her up on her way home and lured her into the park. Surely there was nothing wrong with that?

Quite some time had passed since the last child murder had taken place and people were beginning to be less vigilant. Perhaps the danger was over?

The day after Tula had spoken to the kind singing teacher, she was skipping happily on her way to Bergqvara. Her mother had accompanied her through the forest, then she was to walk the rest of the way by herself. As she entered the avenue, she saw a man. Could it be the choirmaster? What was he doing here? He was on his way to Bergqvara Estate. Oh, well, then they were going the same way. He seemed happy and surprised to meet her.

“Oh, is it you, Tula? Yes, you did say that you would be going there today!”

He stopped and gazed at her. He didn’t tell her that he had been waiting for her for several hours, hiding in the forest, while his agitation and desire had grown to volcanic proportions. Now he was hardly able to breathe. She was lovelier than anybody else he had had. Like a wonderful home-baked cake, like a cherub, a little angel of God. Oh, he just couldn’t bear it!

He smiled awkwardly. “Do you know what I saw a moment ago? A tiny, young hare leaping into the forest. I think it was hurt because it was limping badly. I was just on my way to look for it. Will you join me?”

Tula answered matter-of-factly: “You’ll never find a young hare!”

“I thought you loved animals. I also saw traces of blood.”

Tula shrugged her shoulders. “We can always look, but they’re too good at hiding themselves.”

“We’d better check to be absolutely sure,” he said eagerly. “Come, I know exactly ...”

As the trees grew very close to the avenue just at this spot, Tula and Mr Knutsson were soon hidden from the outside world. He drew her farther and farther into the forest.

“I don’t think there’s any point in searching for the young hare,” Tula decided.

He had settled on a mound, and patted the ground next to it. “Sit down and listen! Can you hear it? All the sounds of the forest!”

Tula sat down.

“Isn’t it nice to sit like this?” he asked her with a trembling voice. Somehow, he smelled like a bull. Tula had an extremely well-developed sense of smell!

“Yes,” she replied flatly. She knew that it paid to be polite.

He put his arms around her shoulders. “You’re a very nice girl Tula. How old are you?”

“Eleven. I’ll be twelve soon.”

“Then I’m sure you already have a boyfriend.”

“A boyfriend? Yes, but he lives far away in Norway. I’ve only met him once. It’s a long time ago now.”

“Was he allowed to caress you?”

“What? Euw, no. That’s so silly!”

“It’s not silly. It’s very pleasant. Like this ...”

Mr Knutsson stroked her arm up from her hand so that the small hairs rose. He began to perspire and writhe about. His breathing became awkward.

What on earth was going on? Tula became curious and let him continue. His hand glided down her neckline, searching for her breasts. Then he laughed quietly and nervously. “There doesn’t seem to be much here. You’re only a child, Tula, but a lovely young child. I can make it nice and pleasant for you if you want.”

She wrinkled her brow. A glance at his trousers revealed that it was rather cramped in there. Perhaps she would get the chance to take a closer look at that male object that she had seen once before? That would be exciting.