Rites of Spring by Anders Motte (hardest books to read txt) 📕

DAVID NORDIN: I . . . I stopped in the forest and went back.

INTERVIEWER: Back to the stone circle?

DAVID NORDIN: Yes.

INTERVIEWER: And what did you see there?

Thea realises that she is holding her breath. Her fingers are shaking, it’s hard to turn the pages.

41

Walpurgis Night 1986

The boy ran. He’d already pulled off the mask and dropped it when he left the glade. Sharp branches whipped his face, brambles tore at his legs, but he hardly noticed.

The scream echoed inside his head, lingered on his lips, in his throat. His three friends were running too – terrified, panic-stricken. They were running away from the stone circle, away from the Green Man and his phantom steed.

The nausea he’d been fighting for so long suddenly gained the upper hand, forcing him to stop. He doubled over, hands resting on his knees, and vomited into the darkness.

He could hear the other three up ahead of him, running towards the place where they’d hidden their bikes. He was desperate to follow them, but his body refused to co-operate.

He threw up over and over again until his stomach stopped contracting. The fear loosened its grip a fraction, enabling him to think a little more clearly.

What had just happened? What had they actually seen?

The boy straightened up and took a couple of deep breaths. His friends were gone, cycling towards safety. But what safety? If the ghosts really existed, they would never be safe again. Not anywhere.

He turned and began to creep back to the stone circle. He had to know. However scared he was, he had to find out if the ghosts really existed.

And what had happened to Elita.

42

Thea turns the page. She can picture David out there in the dark forest, a solitary, frightened little boy who somehow manages to pluck up his courage and go back to see what has become of his friend.

INTERVIEWER: So what did you see when you reached the stone circle, David?

DAVID NORDIN: She . . . Elita was lying on the sacrificial stone. Leo was bending over her. Her face was covered in blood.

INTERVIEWER: Go on.

DAVID NORDIN: Then he covered her face with his handkerchief.

INTERVIEWER: Did you see anything else?

DAVID NORDIN: No. I ran back to the others. To the bikes. Then we cycled to my house. Told my dad as soon as he got home.

INTERVIEWER: And you’re absolutely certain that it was Leo Rasmussen you saw?

DAVID NORDIN: Yes.

INTERVIEWER: Was he dressed up?

DAVID NORDIN: What?

INTERVIEWER: You said the rider was dressed up as the Green Man. Did Leo still have the costume on?

DAVID NORDIN: Oh, yes. I think so. Although I did see his face. It was Leo.

INTERVIEWER: I ask you once again: are you absolutely certain? Even though it was dark, you saw him from a distance, and he might still have been wearing the costume?

UNKNOWN VOICE: David has answered the question. He’s already told you he’s sure.

INTERVIEWER: The last comment was made by David’s father, Bertil Nordin. I must ask you not to interrupt, Bertil. David, let me ask you one more time. Are you sure it was Leo Rasmussen you saw bending over Elita?

DAVID NORDIN: Y-yes I am.

The interview comes to an end. Thea slowly closes the file. Her heart is beating fast, and she is suddenly overwhelmed with a feeling of tenderness towards David.

So he saw Elita. Saw her battered face, saw the man who murdered her. He was also forced to relive the experience when questioned by the police, and when he testified in court. It’s hardly surprising that he moved away from the area as soon as he could, that he stayed in Stockholm and came home to visit only when he couldn’t avoid it. But he’s here now, living only a kilometre or so from his childhood trauma. Partly for his own sake, partly for hers, so that they can both make a fresh start. Have a second chance.

She gets out of bed and goes into the hallway. David’s bedroom door is ajar.

‘Are you asleep?’ she whispers.

He doesn’t answer, but he moves slightly in bed. She lifts the covers and slides in beside him. Puts her arm around him and presses her body to his back.

43

Walpurgis Night 1986

Every story needs a beginning, a middle and an end. And now my end is near.

Who was it? you ask. Who killed Elita Svart?

Why should I tell you? By the time you read this, I will no longer exist. I will be floating high above your heads like a dragonfly.

Can you see me, dear readers?

I can see you.

Arne stumbled through the forest. The moon had slipped behind the clouds, everything was pitch dark. The ghetto blaster in his left hand was heavy, and one corner kept banging against the back of his knee. The binoculars were bouncing around on the strap around his neck, and the brambles ripped holes in his clothes and his skin.

He switched on his torch, tried to direct the beam in front of him. Searched for a path, a gap in the undergrowth, the quickest way out of here. Out of this fucking nightmare.

His head was pounding, his back was aching, his right hand could hardly hold the torch, but the adrenaline would keep him on his feet for a few more minutes.

He saw the gleam of water and stopped. Swept the torch back and forth, looking for the fallen tree he’d used as a bridge. Suddenly he became aware of car headlights on the other side of the canal, and switched off the torch. The track was at least twenty metres away from him, and the headlights weren’t pointing in his direction, but still he threw himself on the ground.

The movement made the fall from the tree replay in his head. How long had he been unconscious? He looked at his watch. Quarter to one, so he must have been out for half an hour, maybe longer.

He pulled the ghetto blaster towards him. Ran his fingers over the letters etched into the plastic on