David, Nettan, Sebastian and Jan-Olof were interviewed at the police station in Ljungslöv. Together, apparently, which Thea finds a little strange. On the other hand, the police had also questioned Bertil and Erik together earlier that same day, so maybe it wasn’t against the rules.
The interviews seem to have been taped and then transcribed. In a couple of places whoever did the transcription has added brief notes in brackets.
Present in the room were the children and their fathers. All the men are listed in an old-fashioned way, with their professions: bank manager Bertil Nordin, headmaster Staffan Hellman, engineer Pawel Malinowski, machinist Eskil Leander.
David answered most of the questions. Sometimes he was prompted by Nettan, less often by Sebastian. Jan-Olof, on the other hand, says nothing unless he is asked directly, and then he answers in monosyllables.
INTERVIEWER: What were you doing in the stone circle?
DAVID NORDIN: We . . . We were pretending to act out a ceremony.
JEANETTE HELLMAN: Carry out a ceremony.
INTERVIEWER: What kind of ceremony?
DAVID NORDIN: A spring sacrifice. Like they used to do in the old days.
JEANETTE HELLMAN: They pretended to sacrifice a virgin so that spring would come.
INTERVIEWER: I see. And whose idea was that?
DAVID NORDIN: Elita’s. She’d read about it. Seen old photographs. She’d sorted out animal masks for us so that it would look exactly the same.
INTERVIEWER: And what did this ceremony consist of?
JEANETTE HELLMAN: We were going to sacrifice Elita to him. Pretend to, I mean.
INTERVIEWER: To him?
(SILENCE)
INTERVIEWER: Who were you going to sacrifice Elita to?
SEBASTIAN MALINOWSKI: (clears his throat) To the Green Man.
INTERVIEWER: The Green Man? The figure that people burn on the Walpurgis Night bonfires?
DAVID NORDIN: Yes . . .
INTERVIEWER: OK . . . So you were at the circle because you were going to play at sacrificing Elita to the Green Man.
JEANETTE HELLMAN: It wasn’t a game.
INTERVIEWER: No? What was it, then?
DAVID NORDIN: Well, maybe it was a kind of game. But it didn’t feel that way. It felt kind of . . .
JEANETTE HELLMAN: Real.
DAVID NORDIN: Yes. Real.
INTERVIEWER: What do the rest of you have to say?
(INAUDIBLE MURMURING)
INTERVIEWER: Can you repeat that, Leander?
JAN-OLOF LEANDER: Too fucking real . . .
39
Walpurgis Night 1986
Walpurgis Night is here at last. Nature is hungry, and the Green Man is riding through the forests. He is coming to fetch Elita Svart. His spring sacrifice. And nothing will ever be the same again.
T
he boy was frightened. The eye-holes in his mask were tiny, and he had difficulty seeing what was going on around him.
Elita had just switched on the ghetto blaster. The sound of drums reverberated around the glade, bouncing off the stones and tree trunks. His breath inside the mask smelled sweet and cloying. For a moment the boy thought he was going to throw up.
The girl in the owl mask turned towards him. He could only just glimpse her eyes, but he could tell that she was just as scared as him. So were the other two boys. It had all sounded so exciting when Elita first talked to them. The full moon, the ritual, the spring sacrifice. The Green Man coming to fetch her. Although of course none of them believed that bit.
They’d recorded the drums the other night, all four of them sitting around and banging on plastic buckets while Elita directed them. They had to repeat the rhyme she’d taught them over and over again; she’d said that druids and priests used it thousands of years ago.
‘Hoof and horn, hoof and horn. All that dies shall be reborn.
‘Corn and grain, corn and grain. All that falls shall rise again.’
They’d carried on for so long that they’d almost lost track of time, and now their words were pouring out of the ghetto blaster’s loudspeaker. Strangely enough, the voices didn’t sound like theirs; they were much deeper. More unpleasant.
The boy swallowed. His mouth felt dry, the ground was moving beneath his feet. He mustn’t be sick, not now, not here.
Elita had brought a bottle with her. Said it contained a magic potion made according to an ancient recipe, which of course was more of her nonsense, just like the rhyme. They’d all drunk it though. Swallowed the sweet, slippery contents because none of them dared to say no.
He felt the others’ eyes on him as they stood in silence around Elita in their horrible masks. She was wearing a white dress, and holding two sets of antlers in her hands.
She looked in his direction, and as always there was something about her that made him want to do whatever she asked. She nodded to him, indicating that he should pick up the end of one of the silk ribbons attached to her wrists. The others did the same.
‘What do we do now?’ said the girl in the owl mask. Her voice mingled with the drums and the chanting, but there was no mistaking the fear.
Elita closed her eyes and crossed the antlers over her chest.
‘Now we dance.’
The drumming began to speed up. Elita started to move, slowly at first, then faster and faster. She pulled on the ribbons, whirling around and forcing all four of them to follow her.
‘Sing!’ she yelled. ‘Sing, my little tadpoles!’
The rhyme echoed out across the glade, accompanied by their trembling voices.
‘Louder! Faster! Extend the ribbons!’
They obeyed, moving further away so that the ribbons drew Elita’s arms outwards. She spun faster and faster; they had to run to keep up. The moonlight turned the grass to silver, the shadows cast by the fire flickered over the hawthorn trees.
‘Faster! Faster, louder! The Green Man is riding through the forests. Soon he will be here!’
The boy tripped over a branch and almost fell. His heart was pounding, sweat was pouring down his back.
The drumming and the chanting continued, but suddenly the boy became aware of another sound, increasing in volume and making his stomach contract. The sound of approaching hooves.
The others seemed to have heard it too. Their movements slowed as they glanced anxiously towards the forest.
Elita was beside herself. ‘The Green Man is coming! The Green Man is coming! He’s coming!’
The trees in front of them parted, revealing a sight that could have come straight out of their nightmares.
A huge black horse, foaming at the mouth. On its back a tall, faceless rider with a shapeless body made up of leaves and branches. On top of his head was an enormous crown made of antlers.
The boy stood there as if he had been turned to stone. Every muscle was tensed, and the silk ribbon was cutting into his palms.
The horse stopped no more than a metre away, then it reared up and made a noise that sounded like a scream. Or was someone else screaming? Was it his own scream he could hear?
Or Elita’s?
40
T
hea continues to read the transcript with rising excitement. There is something strange yet deeply fascinating about reading twelve-year-old David’s words, while the forty-five-year-old version lies sleeping on the other side of the bedroom wall. She feels as if she is getting much closer to him with every sentence.
INTERVIEWER: So you played music on a tape recorder and danced. Then a man arrived on a horse. What happened next?
DAVID NORDIN: Someone screamed. We ran away as fast as we could. Tore off our masks and dropped them in the forest. We were terrified.
INTERVIEWER: All of you?
ALL FOUR CHILDREN: Yes.
INTERVIEWER: Did you see who was riding the horse?
DAVID NORDIN: It was Leo. Elita’s stepbrother.
INTERVIEWER: Leo Rasmussen?
DAVID NORDIN: Yes.
INTE
RVIEWER: And you’re sure of this, even though the rider was dressed up as the Green Man? Even though you were wearing masks, and Elita had given you alcohol?
JEANETTE HELLMAN: Yes, we are.
INTERVIEWER: But how can you be? You said he was disguised as the Green Man.
JEANETTE HELLMAN: We recognised the horse – Bill. We’ve seen him at Elita’s place several times.
INTERVIEWER: Did you see what happened next? What Leo did to Elita?
(SILENCE)
INTERVIEWER: Did any of you see what happened next?
(SILENCE)
INTERVIEWER: Nordin, did you see anything?
DAVID NORDIN: Mm.
INTERVIEWER: What did you see?
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
T
he 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
T
hea 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.
A
rne 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 the back.
Property of Arne Backe, Tornaby.
The car had extra lamps on the front. It passed by slowly, as if the driver was looking for something. A short distance away the headlights were reflected in a parked car, which must be his. The driver braked, and now Arne recognised the vehicle; it was Lasse Svart’s old red pick-up.
What if Lasse stopped, got out of the car and started wandering around? What the fuck would Arne do then? He was soaking wet, shivering like a dog, and couldn’t lie here in the mud for much longer.
For a moment he was on the verge of bursting into tears. This was all Elita’s fault. She was the one who’d lured him here, toyed with his emotions and made him dance to her tune like a lovesick fool. Well, now she’d got what she deserved. His sorrow was mixed with anger now; he rubbed his eyes with his uninjured hand.
The brake lights went out. Lasse drove past the police car and continued along the track.
Arne used his anger to get to his feet. He had no intention of allowing himself to be dragged down into the mud. He wasn’t going to let the Svart family destroy his life.
He found the fallen tree. It was even harder to scramble onto it this time. His legs felt wobbly, and the ghetto blaster almost made him lose his balance right away.
He was abou
t halfway across when he slipped, pitched forward, hit his head on the tree and dropped both the torch and the ghetto blaster. He heard the splash as the black water swallowed them up; he scrabbled wildly at the slippery surface to stop himself from following them. If he fell he would sink deep into the stinking mud, just like in his nightmare. The thought made his body begin to shake uncontrollably. His mouth was filled with the taste of iron.
Pull yourself together, for fuck’s sake.
He heard the sharp crack of a branch breaking in the forest behind him. Was someone there? Someone who’d seen him, seen what he’d done? Someone who was following him . . .
Arne managed to get up on all fours. Crawled along the fallen tree with trembling arms and legs until he reached the other side. He staggered up the slope to the car, fumbling for his key. His hand was shaking so much he had difficulty unlocking the door.
He slumped down on the driver’s seat, pressed the button to lock the car and managed to pull off the heavy binoculars; the strap was cutting into his neck. The relief at having reached safety was so great that he was close to tears again.
After a while he looked up and saw his reflection in the rear-view mirror. Jesus. His face was streaked with dirt, his lips were swollen, a huge graze covered one cheek. When he raised his left hand to rub away the worst of the mud, he saw several rusty-red stains on the cuff of his shirt.
Blood.
Elita Svart’s blood.
The nausea overcame him again. He covered his mouth with his hand and just managed to get the door open before the contents of his stomach spurted out between his fingers. Now his mouth was filled with the taste of shame.
He really ought to switch on the police radio, call it in, get his colleagues over here and tell them what had happened. But if he did that, his life would be smashed to pieces. All those who’d fucked him around, called him Downhill Arne, would be proved right. Bertil and Ingrid wouldn’t be able to hold their heads up for the rest of their lives.
Rites of Spring Page 16
