Margit Sandemo - The Ice People 39 - Silent Voices

They went over to the door. Even Ellen dared to go closer now that she knew that the door was nothing more than an ordinary piece of wood.

She had never imagined that she would be such a coward in a situation like this. She had always stubbornly perceived herself to be a courageous and clear-thinking girl. How terribly shameful!

Before they began, the sheriff went around opening and closing all the other doors.

“It couldn’t have been one of these you heard?”

“No,” said Ellen, “They’re all noiseless. The one I heard creaked and groaned as if it was old and haunted; I heard it two nights in a row. And I am convinced that the sound came from just here at the end of the hall.”

“Very well. Let’s get started, Brink!”

Ellen wouldn’t have minded being able to hold someone’s hand at that moment, but Rikard was preoccupied with the lock and Nataniel – the deity himself – she didn’t dare to disturb. She discreetly grabbed hold of the back of the sheriff’s coat. Rikard chose a skeleton key from his bundle and fumbled for the lock, which he found and ...

“That’s strange,” he muttered. “Does anyone have a torch?”

The sheriff turned on a small, flimsy light. Ellen’s curiosity grew bigger than her fear and she let go of his jacket. The men bent over as they shone the light on the lock. They gave a shout of surprise.

Then they straightened up.

“There is no keyhole,” Rikard said curtly. “It’s impossible to open the door.”

The rushing sound from the river became intrusively loud now in the amazed silence. The evening light fell in through the little square niche down the hallway.

“What sort of nonsense is that?” asked the sheriff. “Is it a blind door?”

“I don’t think so,” the chief constable answered, feeling along the edges of the door. “It looks genuine enough and it gives way a little when you press on it. But there is no keyhole. Only the woodwork under the lock plate. It feels more as if there’s a bolt on the inside.”

“Now you’re trying to be funny,” the sheriff said with disapproval.

“Could the lock have been moved?” Nataniel wanted to know. “So that the keyhole is now under the bolt?”

His gentle voice had a soothing effect on Ellen’s frayed nerves.

They shone the torch at the door again.

“No, there’s no trace of it having been moved,” said Rikard.

All three of them slowly turned with accusing scepticism towards Ellen.

She looked perplexedly from one to the other. Their faces shone indistinctly, their eye sockets dark, as they gazed at her.

“But I assure you ...” she began.

The sheriff looked gruff in the gloom. “Your story becomes increasingly hazy and impossible, young lady. You wouldn’t happen to be a fantasist, would you?”

“Me ... a fantasist?”

“Yes. The kind who thinks up a story and believes it afterwards.”

She shook her head helplessly. She was just as perplexed as they were.

“Ellen isn’t a fantasist,” Nataniel said sharply. “What she experienced last night really happened.”

“How do you know?” Rikard asked softly. “Is there an atmosphere here after all?”

“As thick as porridge,” said Nataniel.

“But you just said that the door was insignificant,” the sheriff noted angrily.

“Yes, the door,” said Nataniel.

“What kind of an ... atmosphere?” Rikard asked in a respectful voice.

Nataniel stroked his forehead. “I don’t know. But it’s unpleasant. There are so many emotions here: despair, loneliness, evil, revenge, greed, poison, longing and hopelessness, all mixed together. But the most dominant of them is low, simple betrayal.”

“That’s quite intense,” the sheriff muttered. “Is there nothing pleasant here at all?”

“No!” Nataniel’s voice was as sharp as the crack of a whip. “There is nothing pleasant here!”

Rikard coughed discreetly. “Are you talking about us, or the surroundings?”

“I’m talking about what is behind that door. Filth is oozing through it.”

“You forgot something on your list, Nataniel,” said Rikard. “Do you sense anything about death?”

Nataniel turned away from them abruptly. “That’s irrelevant here,” he said, almost angrily.

The sheriff sighed. “My legs are getting tired. Let’s go back to Ellen’s room, where we can see each other and speak out loud. I’m tired of standing here whispering to shadowy figures.”

It was wonderful to be back in the little room again. The sheriff took up most of the space on the bed. Nataniel sat on the floor with his back to the wall, and in a kind of act of sympathy between kindred souls Ellen sat next to him, leaving the chair for Rikard. Suddenly a perplexed thought flickered through her. She was still wearing her nightgown under her clothes. When was she ever going to have the chance to change into something more suitable?

“Well, what do we do now?” she asked randomly.

“Break the door open as soon as daylight comes,” said the sheriff. “Cut it down with an axe.”

“Is it really necessary to vandalize it?” asked Rikard.

“Most certainly,” said Nataniel.

“I myself am somewhat sceptical,” muttered the sheriff. “I’m afraid we might end up scaring some scoundrel away by doing that.”

They tried to follow his train of thought.

“Nataniel, you still haven’t said whether what Ellen experienced was a police case or something more ... otherworldly,” said Rikard.

Ellen waited for Nataniel’s response with great anticipation. If she was honest, she was mortally afraid of it.

Nataniel, whom she thought of as ‘one touched by the gods’ – which was much closer to the truth than she could ever have known – took his time answering.

Finally he said: “I wish I could answer that. But everything is so confusing. There was such a medley of impressions out there that it was impossible for me to find its essence.”

“So a great many things have happened here?”

“There’s no doubt about that.”

“Were you able to see what it is that’s behind the door?” the policeman asked.

Nataniel rested his arms on his knees and looked up at the ceiling with a restless expression on his face.

“I saw a small room. Small and dark. Beams criss-crossing the walls. Of course, that was how the walls were constructed before the panelling was put over them. I saw something I didn’t understand. Something that doesn’t belong there.”

“What did this something look like?”

“Big, round ... there were many of them; I couldn’t understand it.”

He was frightening Ellen more and more, this Nataniel. It was clear that Rikard understood his area of expertise, because he always asked the right questions. The sheriff sat staring at Nataniel in awe.

“Is there more?”

“N–no.”

There was a slight hesitation in his answer as he gave Ellen a sideways glance. But Rikard didn’t inquire further. They must know each other very well, those two.

The noise of a truck outside disrupted the silence for a moment. Then it grew quiet again.

“Tell me,” Ellen said carefully to the man sitting next to her. “You told me that it was necessary for me to come here. But I haven’t been of much use.”

His response didn’t help to enlighten her. “What time is it?”

“Midnight.”

“What time did you hear that creature last night?”

“It was later. I don’t know.”

“She came to my office at around four,” said the sheriff.

“Then we’ll wait.”

“But what am I to do?” Ellen asked anxiously.

“You’re not to do anything,” Nataniel answered agitatedly. “Don’t you understand anything? Don’t you understand that I have to figure out whether you have a special talent that I’ve been looking ... No, forget it,” he said remorsefully. “Forgive me for being so unbalanced in my behaviour. It tends to happen when I’m dealing with complicated and difficult cases like this one.”