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

Una nodded. ‘Actually, I just wanted to see which newspapers you had.’

‘Oh? Any one in particular?’

‘Today’s Morgunbladid, if you have it.’

Gudrún laughed good-naturedly. ‘Today’s Morgunbladid ? No, dear, no chance of that. We never get the papers the day they come out and, what with it being a holiday tomorrow, I’m not expecting deliveries until the second of January at the earliest.’

‘Oh, OK. I thought as much, but I just wanted a quick look at it, just …’

‘Was it something urgent, dear?’

‘Well, I heard something on the lunchtime news. About a man who’s gone missing.’

‘Oh?’ Gudrún said, stretching out the sound, her gaze narrowing almost with suspicion. ‘Oh?’ she repeated. ‘Somebody you know?’

‘What? No, nothing like that,’ Una replied, wondering if she should tell Gudrún the truth, then decided that it couldn’t do any harm. ‘It’s just that the description reminded me of the man who knocked on our door shortly before Christmas. It was quite strange. Did you hear about him?’

Gudrún shook her head. ‘No, I didn’t hear anything about that.’

‘Well … Anyway, I wanted to see if there was a photo of him in the paper before I contacted the police.’

‘The police?’ Gudrún drew her brows together in a frown.

‘Yes, or, I thought … you know, the police might want to know … that he was here, I mean. If it was him.’

‘I find it very unlikely that it could have been him,’ Gudrún said, her tone dismissive. ‘What are the chances? I think you’re letting your imagination run away with you.’

‘I suppose you’re probably right,’ Una said, thinking about the ghostly girl. Perhaps her stay in this isolated place was having a peculiar effect on her mind, making her prey to delusions and diminishing her ability to think rationally.

She must be careful not to lose touch with reality.

‘Was there anything else?’ Gudrún asked, with a brusqueness that was unusual for her. She glanced at the clock on the wall. ‘I’m closing in a minute.’

‘But it’s only a quarter past one,’ Una muttered under her breath, then said more loudly: ‘No, there’s nothing I need … Not today.’

Gudrún nodded. ‘Not even another bottle of wine?’ she asked acidly, and Una shrank from the insinuation.

‘No wine today, thanks anyway.’ Una forced herself to smile. ‘But could you possibly do me a favour?’

Gudrún waited without speaking.

‘Could you keep back a copy of Morgunbladid for me when it arrives? Put one aside for me?’

‘Put a copy aside? Of course, Una dear, of course.’

XIII

There it was again: that song, the same tune, same lullaby.

And this time she could see her distinctly. It wasn’t Edda; it was the girl in the photo, wearing the same white dress, inside the house this time, standing there in the downstairs sitting room.

The girl paused in her song and a remote smile touched her lips, but her eyes were profoundly sad.

This time it wasn’t fear Una felt so much as an overpowering sense of curiosity. She wanted to speak to the child and ask what had happened and why she kept appearing like this.

The girl finished her lullaby and stood there, quite still, staring into space, her eyes empty, then blinked once, and Una had a momentary confused impression that it might be Edda, but then the feeling passed. She had missed Edda’s funeral. No one had reminded her about it or asked if she was coming, though she assumed most of the villagers had gone along.

Una waited without daring to breathe, she didn’t know what for, unless it was for the girl to speak or move. Perhaps she would sing the lullaby again; perhaps she just wanted to draw attention to herself so she wouldn’t be forgotten … And then Una became aware of a mounting sense of dread, as if something ominous was brewing, something horrifying, that the girl couldn’t comprehend …

Her stare was so unrelenting that Una couldn’t take it any more.

She awoke with a gasp and opened her eyes to find herself wrapped in darkness. With part of her mind, she registered that she had kicked off the duvet. And then it came back to her that she was lying on the sofa downstairs. She hadn’t seen any need to leave the lights burning, as up to now she had been left in peace in Salka’s rooms, but now a paralysing fear prevented her from getting up to switch on a lamp. Far from reassuring herself that she was alone in the house, she was convinced it would only confirm that she wasn’t. The apparition hadn’t felt like a dream at all; the girl’s presence had been almost palpable. Una had been looking straight at her, though her eyes had been closed and she had been lying there in the limbo between sleep and waking. Yet, even through her fear, she was aware again of an overwhelming curiosity and knew instinctively that the girl didn’t wish her any harm.

After this unsettling experience, sleep was the last thing on her mind. She wasn’t sure she would be able to drop off again, even if she tried. Instead, she lay there, not moving a muscle, her heart thudding in her chest, until the cold got the better of her and she forced herself to reach down to the floor for the duvet, half-expecting someone to clutch at her hand. Snatching up the duvet, she spread it over herself again and waited for the warmth to steal back into her body.

She closed her eyes.

Listened.

Heard the incidental noises in the house, the roaring of the wind outside. A storm had blown up during the night and she was grateful, hoping that the noise of the weather would drown out the sound of anything else that might be lurking unseen in the darkness.

Una didn’t know what time it was; it could have been anything from the middle of the night to just before dawn. There was no telling from the light at this time of year since the morning was as black as the