The Mist

around last night, and yesterday too, when we weren’t there to see. He wants something from us, Einar. I saw him, he was in our bedroom yesterday. And last night – I don’t know where – up in the attic maybe, or in the sitting room. I don’t know, Einar, all I know is that he … that he…’
‘Come on, let’s get you back to bed, love,’ he said kindly. ‘You need a rest.’

XIV
Hulda knocked on the door again, a prolonged, hard rapping.
‘Why are you behaving like this, Dimma?’ she shouted, her throat constricting with unshed tears and frustration.
From inside the room she could hear some kind of response but couldn’t make out the words. Dimma had emerged that morning and eaten her breakfast in silence, not even returning her parents’ ‘good morning’.
Hulda had suggested that she and Dimma should wrap up their presents together or at least drive round and drop off those that needed to be delivered, but Dimma had merely shaken her head to whatever suggestion she made. It seemed to mean nothing to her that it was Christmas Eve. She had withdrawn so entirely into her own little world that nothing outside it appeared to matter to her.
Hulda had been so sure that everything would improve once Christmas arrived, but it was all too clear that there would be no seasonal good cheer in their house. Only now, belatedly, had it sunk in: she couldn’t just stand by any more, she would have to intervene.
She had found it difficult to admit the situation to herself and face up to the fact that their daughter needed professional help, but she was at her wits’ end. And Jón was no use. She carried on furiously banging on her daughter’s door, although she knew it wouldn’t do any good. Her anger was mainly directed at herself for not having acted sooner. She had gone on deluding herself that Dimma would snap out of it, but it was obvious now that there was no hope of that.
‘Come out, Dimma, come out right now!’ she shouted. ‘Or … or we’ll break the door down. I’m not joking.’
Jón grabbed her hard by the shoulders. ‘Calm down, Hulda. She’ll get over –’
‘She won’t get over it, Jón!’ Hulda yelled, rounding on her husband. ‘She won’t bloody well get over it. She’s had plenty of chances. No one behaves like this.’
‘Come on, come back to the sitting room; you’ve got to calm down.’
‘I have no intention of calming down. We’ve got to get her … get her to a doctor.’ Hulda’s voice broke and, once the floodgates had opened, she found herself sobbing uncontrollably, hardly able to stammer out the words.
Jón pulled her gently but firmly away from the door and guided her into the sitting room. Hulda fought him at first, but eventually gave in, feeling utterly defeated.
‘Jón,’ she cried, ‘we have to get an appointment for her … with a therapist, a psychiatrist … we have to do something.’
‘Isn’t that a bit drastic, Hulda, love?’ he said, his voice soothing. ‘There’s no need to blow this up out of all proportion.’
‘Out of all proportion? Are you completely blind, Jón? Deliberately blind? There’s something seriously wrong and we should have realized it a long time ago. Perhaps there’s a problem at school? Something … I mean, what’s happened to all her friends? She doesn’t seem to have any left.’
‘Darling, let’s wait and see until after Christmas. I know you were hoping she’d come round and things would be like they used to be, but we have to accept that it’s not going to happen. Let’s just take a deep breath and let her lock herself in her room if she wants to. Perhaps she just needs to be alone. What do we know about it?’
‘But that’s exactly what I mean! What do we know about what’s going on in her head? Nothing! That’s why we need professional help. I want us to ring someone now, today!’
‘It’s Christmas Eve. We’re not ringing anybody, Hulda. Forget it. Everyone will be on holiday. I promise we’ll talk to someone between Christmas and New Year, if she hasn’t snapped out of it by then. OK?’
Hulda thought about it, her chest heaving with suppressed sobs. Although she didn’t agree that they should wait, she had to admit there was something in what Jón said. They could hardly justify calling out a doctor or a child psychologist during a public holiday unless it was an emergency. Perhaps she was overreacting.
‘We’ll see,’ she answered grudgingly. It was all she would say for now.
The worst part was that she had to go into work tomorrow, on the twenty-fifth. It was incredibly unfortunate that her shifts should have fallen out like that, and of course Jón was right in a way that she had been with the police long enough to be able to refuse to work on major holidays. But the truth was that she didn’t dare say no: her life in the police was a perpetual battle with the patriarchy and she felt compelled to do more than was expected of her, however much she might regret the fact now.
In fact, damn it, why should she have to take the shift? She would just tell them to find someone else. She rushed out into the hall, snatched up the phone and rang her colleague, who was on duty.
‘Hello, Hulda here…’ Even as she spoke, she realized it was a stupid idea; there wouldn’t be anyone in CID today except this officer, who had no power to release her from tomorrow’s shift.
‘Hello, everything OK?’
‘What, oh, yes, sure … Are you the only person on duty today?’
‘Of course. People aren’t exactly queuing up to come in on Christmas Eve. It’s a hell of a bummer to get landed with this shift. I’m hoping I’ll make it home early this evening, though, if things stay this quiet.’
‘Is … er, I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could take my shift for me tomorrow?’
There was a brief silence at the