The Girl Who Died, Ragnar Jonasson [small books to read .TXT] 📗

‘Really? Are you aware of other times?’

‘I certainly am …’ Salka hesitated.

Sensing there was more to come, Una waited.

‘He tried it on with me too,’ Salka said at last. ‘Shortly after I moved here. I think he was even quicker off the mark with me than he was with you.’

‘Wow. He’s got quite a nerve for a married man in such a tiny place.’

‘I don’t think he cares, to be honest.’

‘How did he react when you turned him down? Did he try again?’

There was another lengthy silence.

‘I didn’t turn him down,’ Salka answered at last. ‘I was lonely and there aren’t many other good-looking men around here, so …’

‘Did you know he was married?’

‘Yes, I did,’ Salka answered, unabashed. ‘Frankly, I felt that was his problem, not mine.’ She smiled. ‘It may sound a bit cynical to you, but there you go. And we were incredibly careful. For God’s sake, don’t tell anyone, though. I trust you.’

‘Of course not,’ Una assured her, not knowing what else to say.

‘He told me his wife was involved with someone else, from outside Skálar; that it was a marriage in name only. And what do I know …?’

‘How … how did it end?’

‘It didn’t last long, just a few months. Then we both gradually lost interest. Maybe I thought better of it, if I’m being completely honest. It was uncomfortable knowing that his wife lived practically next door.’

This certainly wasn’t what Una had been expecting to hear when she sat down to supper. Clearly, everyone had their secrets. ‘By the way, I heard an interesting story about this house, something about a ghost …?’

An odd expression flitted across Salka’s face and Una sensed that the other woman didn’t find it remotely amusing.

‘Yes …’ Salka paused. ‘I wasn’t necessarily going to bring it up. I try to avoid the subject, especially with you, as you’re … well, as you’re living in the flat upstairs. Most of the stories seem to relate to that part of the house.’

Una waited for her to go on.

‘Have you noticed, er, anything out of the ordinary up there?’

‘Why, should I have?’ Una asked, feeling suddenly spooked. It was one thing to tell ghost stories for a laugh, but she had a horrible feeling that Salka might actually believe in the haunting.

‘Well, it depends who you talk to, Una.’

‘I did have a bad dream one night, but that was right after my encounter with Kolbeinn, when he told me about the ghost.’

‘Bloody Kolbeinn,’ Salka said, with a sudden flash of anger. ‘He never could keep his mouth shut.’

‘I heard, or thought I heard, a little girl singing or reciting a poem. It woke me up and, to tell the truth, I was quite scared. It felt so real. But I’m pretty sure it was my imagination – just a dream or my mind playing tricks on me.’ Yet Una was far from sure; it simply made her feel better to rationalize it away like this.

‘Yes …’ Salka said doubtfully, but didn’t comment any further on Una’s experience, and Una couldn’t bring herself to ask if anyone else had heard something similar.

Eventually, Salka went on: ‘I’ve heard various stories and I was aware of them before I moved here, because the house was in my family, as you know. The girl died in 1927 and her room was upstairs in the attic. That’s to say’ – she made a face – ‘it was the room you’re sleeping in now.’

As she said it, the high little voice started up again in Una’s head, singing the same haunting refrain:

Lullaby, my little Thrá,

may you sweetly sleep …

She tried to banish it from her mind, watching Salka, focusing hard on what she was saying, but the voice seemed to grow in strength, becoming louder and louder, until Una was driven to her feet.

You could have warned me, Salka, she thought.

She sat down again, trying to control her trembling. ‘What, er … what kind of stories? About people seeing or hearing her, you mean?’

‘Honestly, I don’t know how much I should repeat,’ Salka said slowly. ‘I don’t want to frighten you, but, if you really want to know, I’ve heard various tales. There’s one story I’ve heard many times. A woman lived upstairs over the summer and got on fine at first, but then she woke up one night – the midnight sun was shining outside – to see a girl, dressed in white, standing at the foot of her bed and staring at her. Apparently, the woman screamed and ran downstairs and out of the house and refused to set foot in it ever again.’ At this point, Salka smiled, as if to lighten the tense atmosphere. ‘Of course, people have to decide for themselves whether they believe in that sort of thing or not.’

‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Una said, trying to laugh. ‘I think stories like that get blown up over time, the more people repeat them. I expect details get added with every retelling.’

‘No doubt, but there’s so much in this world that we don’t understand. I’m sorry not to have mentioned it before you arrived, but it’s the only free room in my house. If you want to leave – to move out, I mean – maybe we could see if there’s anywhere else available in the village. I suppose there might be a room at Hjördís’s place …’

‘God, no!’ Una intervened hastily. ‘I’ll just put up with it. At least I won’t be lonely up there. She’s never harmed anyone, has she?’

‘Who, Hjördís?’ Salka asked.

‘No, the little girl.’

‘Oh, right, of course. Sorry. I was thinking about Hjördís and wondering what happened with that man who knocked on our door. Whether she gave him a room for the night.’

‘It seemed a bit weird,’ Una commented. ‘His story about sightseeing, at this time of year.’

‘Yes, to put it mildly. Like I said earlier, we just don’t get tourists out here in winter. Only the rare Icelander in summer, come to see the