The Mist

He shook his head and snorted contemptuously: ‘Going shooting without a gun, can you beat that?’
Had that been the tipping point? Little by little, the clues that something wasn’t quite right had been piling up. But maybe Einar had only started putting two and two together now, because this was something he knew about, as a keen hunter who had shot quite a few ptarmigan himself that winter – that no real hunter would have left his gun behind.
Einar’s gun … Suddenly Erla had a horrible thought. ‘Einar,’ she whispered, ‘your gun! Could he have broken into the cabinet last night? Could that have been what he was looking for?’
Her husband frowned. ‘It’s locked, and I always keep the key on me, you know that.’ He patted his pocket. ‘Still, that’s a good point. I’ll go and check.’
He disappeared down the passage and returned shortly afterwards, shaking his head. ‘No, the gun’s still in the cabinet and there’s no sign that anyone’s tried to tamper with the lock. Right, let’s have a look at his things.’
Erla stood, rigid, watching as he went into the spare room, and suddenly, incongruously, found herself thinking about the smoked lamb. To distract herself, she started trying to work out what time she would need to put it on to boil and when she would have to start on the side dishes to accompany it. Christmas dinner was the most important meal of the year and it always required a countdown to make sure everything went smoothly. They normally had a light snack at midday too, but it had completely escaped her mind in all the fuss.
She closed her eyes, trying to block out the hammering and yelling from upstairs and focus on these mundane concerns, as if they could transport her to another world where all was well. Where the light hadn’t fled before the darkness of a power cut; where no visitor had turned up unexpectedly out of the snow; where Christmas carols were playing softly on the stereo in the background; where only the familiar phantoms went on the prowl at night and not a sinister stranger, and where Anna had turned up to lunch on Christmas Eve …
Anna?
The thought of Anna jolted Erla out of her daydreams and back into the harsh present. There was still no sign of their daughter.

XVI
Hulda’s mother was comfortably ensconced on the sofa with a glass of malt brew. She said little, but every now and then helped herself to a chocolate from the bowl on the coffee table. Hulda had done her best to pretend everything was fine. On the radio in the background, greetings were being read out from the families of fishermen who were away at sea over the holiday.
‘Apparently it’s an extra-long Christmas this year,’ Hulda’s mother announced, apropos of nothing.
‘Extra long?’
‘Yes, someone was talking about it on the radio yesterday. When Christmas falls just before a Sunday, you get an extra-long holiday.’ Her smile seemed strained. She was habitually tired and always had been, as far back as Hulda could remember; always on the go, trying to make ends meet, trying to hold down several jobs simultaneously. Even now that she was approaching retirement, she still worked from morning to night, cleaning houses.
Hulda had promised herself many times that she wasn’t going to end up like that when she was her mother’s age. On the contrary, she was determined that by then she and Jón would be debt free and sufficiently well off to be able to give up work at a reasonable age and make the most of their retirement.
Jón was nowhere to be seen; he’d retreated into his study, claiming there was some urgent business he needed to tie up before Christmas. It got on Hulda’s nerves that he chose to work such long hours, despite being his own boss, but she couldn’t really complain when it meant they had such a comfortable lifestyle. There were times, though, like now, when she suspected it was nothing but an excuse to avoid having to spend too much time with his mother-in-law.
Hulda forced herself to keep her mother company in the sitting room, though they had little to say to each other and any conversation they did have wasn’t usually initiated by her.
‘Are we going to listen to the carol service later?’
‘Yes, Mum, during supper, as usual.’
‘I just wanted to make sure. It feels right somehow. Puts you in the Christmas spirit.’ After a brief silence, she added: ‘Are we having the usual gammon this evening?’
‘Yes, Mum, we’re not doing anything different from usual.’
‘Oh, good, that’s lovely. Not what I was brought up with, but lovely all the same … By the way, where’s Dimma?’
‘She’s resting, Mum. You know what teenagers are like…’
‘Oh. I’ve got two presents for my darling girl.’ She lowered her voice: ‘A jumper I knitted myself and a book. I do hope she’ll like them.’
Hulda nodded dutifully. ‘I’m sure she will, Mum. I’m sure she will.’


XVII
Erla hung back and let Einar go alone into the spare room to search Leó’s luggage. She waited, caught between hope and fear, still trying to block out the banging and shouting from upstairs.
Now that Einar was acting on her suspicions, she suddenly started having second thoughts. Supposing she had misread the situation and Leó hadn’t been lying to them after all? He could indeed have got lost and muddled up a few details because he was in a bad state after his ordeal.
Oh God, she thought, if that was true, what would happen? He was bound to report them to the police the moment he got back to the village. They might even find themselves facing criminal charges … She could feel herself breathing faster. No, stop being silly, she told herself: they could simply deny everything. It was the only way. It would be his word against theirs.
No, I have absolutely no idea what the man’s talking about. We took him in and offered him a room for the night,