The contents of his bowels spilled into his pants in a wet explosion that splattered warmth over his rear end. Then his legs crumpled up, his skeleton dissolved, and he fell into a heap, dropped the fighter so it bounced away across the floor. His hand landed straight on the corpse's cold toes. Sharp nails scratched the palm of his hand and while he continued to shriek- But Dad! Haven't you trimmed your toenails?

-he started to pat, to stroke the cold foot as if it were a frozen puppy that needed comforting. Kept petting up the shinbone, the thigh, felt the muscles tense under the skin, move while he screamed in fits and starts, like an animal.

The tips of his fingers felt metal. The statuette. It lay nestled between the thighs of the corpse. He grabbed the figurine by the chest, stopped screaming, and returned for a moment to the practical.

A club.

In the silence after his scream he heard a dripping, sticky sound when the corpse raised its upper body. And when a cold limb nudged the back of his hand he pulled it back, squeezing the statuette.

It is not Dad.

No. Tommy drew back, away from the corpse, with excrement clinging to his b.u.t.tocks, and thought for a moment that he could see in the dark see in the dark as his sound impressions transformed into vision and he as his sound impressions transformed into vision and he saw saw the corpse rise up in the darkness, a yellowish shape, a constellation. the corpse rise up in the darkness, a yellowish shape, a constellation.

With his feet tap-dancing over the floor, he shuffled backward to the wall; the corpse on the other side uttered a short exhalation: ... aa ... And Tommy saw . . .

A little elephant, an animated elephant, and here comes (toooot) the BIG elephant and then .. . trunks up!. .. and toot "A" "A" and then Magnus, and then Magnus, Bra.s.se, and Eva enter and sing "There! Is Here! Where you are not Bra.s.se, and Eva enter and sing "There! Is Here! Where you are not..." No, how did it go . . .

The corpse must have b.u.mped into the stack of boxes because he could hear thuds, the rattle of stereo equipment that fell to the floor, as Tommy slid up against the wall, hitting the back of his head and seeing a kind of static. Through the roar he could hear the smack of stiff, bare feet walking across the floor, searching.

Here. Is There. Where you are not. No. Yes.

Just like that. He wasn't here. He couldn't see himself, couldn't see the thing that was making the noise. So it was only sound. sound. It was just something he was listening to as he stared into the black mesh of the speaker. This was something that didn't even exist. It was just something he was listening to as he stared into the black mesh of the speaker. This was something that didn't even exist.

Here. Is There. Where you are not.

He almost started to sing out loud, but a sensible remnant of his consciousness told him not to. The white buzz started to die down, leaving an empty surface where he started to stack new thoughts, with effort.

The face. The face.

He didn't want to think about its face, did not not want to think about. . . Something about the face that had been momentarily illuminated by the lighter. want to think about. . . Something about the face that had been momentarily illuminated by the lighter.

It was getting closer. Not only did the footsteps sound closer, now hissing across the floor, no, he could feel its presence like a shadow more impenetrable than the darkness.

He bit down on his lower lip until he tasted blood, shut his eyes. Saw his own two eyes disappear out of the picture like two ...

Eyes.

It doesn't have eyes.

A faint breeze on his face as a hand went through the air.

Blind. It is blind.

He wasn't sure, but the lump on the creature's shoulders had not had any eyes.

When the hand went through the air again Tommy felt the caress of air on his cheek one tenth of a second before it reached him, had time to turn his face so the hand only brushed against his hair. He finished the movement and threw himself flat on the floor, started to snake along the floor with his hands circling in front of him, swimming.

The lighter, the lighter...

Something poked into his cheek. A wave of nausea when he realized it was the thing's toenail, but he quickly rolled over so he wouldn't be in the same place when the hands came groping for him.

Here. Is There. Where I am not.

An involuntary chuckle issued from his mouth. He tried to stop it, but couldn't. Saliva sprayed out of his mouth and out of his hoa.r.s.e-from-screaming throat came hiccoughs of laughter or crying, while his hands, two radar beams, continued searching the floor for the only advantage he maybe, maybe had over the darkness that wanted to devour him. G.o.d, help me. Let the light of thy face . . G.o.d, help me. Let the light of thy face . . . . G.o.d. . . sorry about that thing G.o.d. . . sorry about that thing in church, sorry about. . . everything. G.o.d. I will always believe in you, in church, sorry about. . . everything. G.o.d. I will always believe in you, however you want, if you just... let me find the lighter.. . be my friend, however you want, if you just... let me find the lighter.. . be my friend, please G.o.d. please G.o.d.

Something happened.

At the same moment that Tommy felt the thing's hand flailing across his foot the room was illuminated for a split second with blue-white light, like from a flash, and during that split second Tommy really did see the boxes that had tumbled to the floor, the uneven surface of the walls, the pa.s.sageway into the storage rooms.

And he saw the lighter.

It was only one meter from his right hand, and when the darkness engulfed him again the location of the lighter was burned onto the inside of his eyelid. He yanked his foot from the thing's grip, flung his arm out and managed to grab the lighter, held it firmly in his hand, jumped up onto his feet.

Without thinking about whether it was too much to ask, he started to chant a new prayer inside his head.

Let the thing he blind, G.o.d. Let it he blind. G.o.d. Let it be blind. .. . He flicked the lighter. A flash, like the one he just experienced, then a yellow flame with a blue center. He flicked the lighter. A flash, like the one he just experienced, then a yellow flame with a blue center.

The thing stood still, turned its head toward the sound. Started to walk in that direction. The flame flickered when Tommy slid two steps to the side and arrived at the door. The thing stopped where Tommy had been three seconds earlier.

If he had been able to feel joy, he would have. But in the weak light from the lighter everything suddenly became mercilessly real. real. It was no longer possible to escape into some fantasy that he was really not here at all, that this wasn't happening to him. It was no longer possible to escape into some fantasy that he was really not here at all, that this wasn't happening to him.

He was locked into a soundproofed room with the thing he was most afraid of. Something turned in his stomach but there was nothing more to be emptied. All that came was a little fart and the thing turned its head again, toward him.

Tommy pulled at the wheel of the locking mechanism with his free hand so that the hand holding the lighter trembled, and the flame went out. The wheel didn't budge, but out of the corner of his eye Tommy had had time to see how the thing was coming toward him and he threw himself away from the door, in the direction of the wall where he had been sitting before.

He sobbed, snuffled.

Let this end. end. G.o.d, let it end. G.o.d, let it end.

Again the big elephant who raised his hat and with his nasal voice said: This is the eeeend! Blow the trumpet, trunk, tooootl This is the end! This is the eeeend! Blow the trumpet, trunk, tooootl This is the end!

I'm going crazy, I. . . it. . .

He shook his head, flicked the lighter on again. There on the floor in front of him was the trophy. He bent over, picked it up, and jumped a few steps to the side, kept going toward the other wall. Looked at the thing groping the s.p.a.ce where he had just been.

Blind man's bluff.

The lighter in one hand, the trophy in the other. He opened his mouth to say something but only managed a hoa.r.s.e whisper.

"Come on, then.. . ."

The thing appeared alert, turned around, came toward him.

He raised Staffan's trophy like a club and when the creature was half a meter away he swung it at its face.

And like in a perfect penalty kick in soccer, when at the same moment as your foot meets the ball you feel that this one . . . this one has. .h.i.t the spot exactly, Tommy felt the same thing already halfway into his swing, that- Yes!

-and when the sharp stone corner met the thing's temple with a force that continued in an arc along Tommy's arm, he was already feeling triumph. It was only a confirmation of this feeling when the skull crumpled and with a crack of splitting ice, cold liquid splashed onto Tommy's face and the thing crashed to the ground.

Tommy remained in place, panting. Looked at the body that was laid out on the ground.

He has an erection.

Yes. The thing's p.e.n.i.s was sticking out like a minimal, half overturned gravestone and Tommy stood there staring, waiting for it to wilt. It didn't. Tommy wanted to laugh, but his throat hurt too much.

A throbbing pain in his thumb. Tommy looked down. The lighter had started to burn the skin on his thumb that was holding the gas tab down. Instinctively he let go. But his thumb didn't obey him. It was locked in a cramp over the tab.

He turned the lighter the other direction. Didn't want to turn it off anyway. Didn't want to be left in the dark with this ...

A movement.

And Tommy felt how something important, something he needed in order to be Tommy, left him when the creature lifted its head again, and started to get up.

An elephant balancing on the little, little thread of a spiderweb!

The thread broke. The elephant fell through.

And Tommy hit again. And again.

After a while he started to think it was fun.

MONDAY.

9 NOVEMBER.

Morgan walked through the controls, waved the monthly pa.s.s that had expired six months ago, while Larry dutifully stopped and pulled out a wrinkled coupon strip and said "Angbyplan."

The ticket collector looked up from the book he was reading, stamped two coupon s.p.a.ces. Morgan laughed when Larry came over to him and they started to walk down the stairs.

"What the h.e.l.l do you bother to do that for?"

"What? Get my ticket stamped?"

"Yeah. It's not like you're some model citizen."

"It's not that."

"What is it?"

"I'm not like you, OK?"

"But come on .. . the guy was just.. . you could have shown him a picture of the king for all he cared."

"Yes, fine. Quit talking so loud."

"Think he's going to come after us or something?"

Before they opened the doors down to the platform Morgan cupped his hands into a makeshift megaphone and shouted back up to the station hall: "Alert! Alert! Illegal riders!"

Larry slunk away, taking a few steps toward the platform. When Morgan reached him he said: "You're pretty childish, you know that?"

"Absolutely. Now, run the whole thing by me again. From the top." Larry had called Morgan already that night and given a summary of what Gosta had told him ten minutes earlier on the telephone. They had agreed to meet at the subway station early in the morning in order to go to the hospital.

Now Larry went over it all again. Virginia, Lacke, Gosta, the cats. The ambulance that Lacke had climbed into with her. Added a few extra details of his own, and before he was done the subway train to the city arrived. They got on and claimed a four-seater for themselves, and Larry finished his story with: ".. . and then it drove off with sirens going full blast." Morgan nodded, chewing on a thumbnail, looking out of the window while the train climbed out of the tunnel, stopped at Iceland Square.

"What the h.e.l.l made them go off like that?"

"You mean the cats? I don't know. Something made them all crazy."

"But all of them? And at the same time?"

"You have a better suggestion?"

"No. d.a.m.n cats. Lacke must be completely crushed and all."

"Mm. Wasn't doing so great before either."

"No," Morgan sighed. "I feel d.a.m.ned sorry for the guy, actually. We should ... I don't know. Do something."

"What about Virginia?"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. But you know, being injured. Sick. What can you do. You have to lie there. The hard part is sitting next to the bed and ... no, I don't know, but he was right. . . last time, when he . . . what the h.e.l.l did he ramble on about? Werewolves?"

"Vampires."

"Yeah. That's not a sign that you're doing so d.a.m.ned great, is it?" The train pulled into the Angbyplan station. When the doors closed Morgan said: "There. Now we're in the same boat."

"I think they're more lenient if you have at least two stamped sections."

"That's what you think. think. But you don't know." But you don't know."

"Did you see the results of the poll? For the Swedish Communist Party?"

"Yes, yes. It'll straighten itself out after the election. There're a lot of people, who are leftist at heart, that when they stand there with the ballot still vote according to their conscience."

"That's what you think."

"No. I know. The day the Communists are pushed out of parliament is the day I start believing in vampires. But of course: there's always the conservatives. Bohman and his lot, you know. Talk about bloodsuckers ...".

Morgan launched into one of his monologues. Larry stopped listening somewhere near Akeshov. There was a lone police officer outside the greenhouses, looking up at the subway. Larry felt a brief pang of conscience when he thought about his understamped ticket, but immediately suppressed the thought when he remembered why the police were there. But this police officer looked simply bored. Larry relaxed; the occasional word in Morgan's rambling made its way into his consciousness while they thundered on toward Sabbatsberg.

A quarter to eight, and no nurse had yet appeared.

The dirt-gray strip of light on the ceiling had turned light gray, and the blinds let in enough light to make Virginia feel like she was on a tanning bed. Her body was hot, throbbed, but that was all. It wouldn't get any worse.