The Mist

rented out to travellers. Anna’s room was left untouched. It had been her private refuge until she went away to boarding school. Later, she had moved back to the countryside, not to her old room, but to the neighbouring farmhouse. Erla had been so glad to have her daughter back, even though it was a bit of a trek between the two houses.
She couldn’t see out of any windows from where she was sitting, but she could hear the roaring and whistling of the wind, and sense the storm raging outside, battering the house. Einar had always found weather like this exhilarating and used to remark how cosy it was to listen to the noise of the gale, knowing that they were safe inside, able to watch the elements doing battle from the comfort of home. But then he was a child of nature and belonged to this wild, desolate landscape. She supposed that was the main difference between them.
Where in God’s name was he? Should she call again? Maybe he couldn’t hear her because he had gone to see if she was hiding in the barn.
She couldn’t summon the courage to break the silence again. With every passing second, the chances increased that Leó would have given up and gone away, leaving her in peace.
Curse the power cut. How incredibly unlucky could they get? But what else could she expect? It happened far too often in winter, generally during a storm like this one. Of course, they shouldn’t put up with it, but they had little influence and repairing the power lines to restore electricity to a couple of scattered farms like theirs was never a priority. Anna’s power must be out too; it had to be. She hated the thought of her daughter sitting alone in the dark.
Then there was that business with the phone. That was peculiar. The phone usually worked, whatever happened. Had Einar been right to suspect Leó of tampering with it?
Her shivering subsided a little, but her clothes were wet and clammy with the melting snow and her paralysing fear showed no sign of shifting.
She sat there in the silent house, trying to block out the noise of the gale outside, listening to hear whether Leó had reached the door and was trying to get in.
Oh God, oh God … If he got in, would she be able to spot him in time, in the gathering gloom? She wasn’t sure.
Instinct told her to stay pressed into her corner and wait until the whole thing had blown over.
She closed her eyes again, which wasn’t the most sensible thing to do in the circumstances, but she simply had to try to concentrate on something else, to get her rising panic under control. She made herself think about Anna and Einar. Imagined that it was Christmas Eve and the three of them were here together: she, Einar and Anna. No one else. And that they had finally opened their presents.
She waited and waited, how long for she didn’t know, praying that her wish would come true, but nothing happened.
The urge became too much for her. ‘Einar!’ she shouted, and listened for his answer. There was no reply but the howling of the wind. ‘Einar! Where are you?’
She pushed herself to her feet. It was no good; she would have to search for him, starting indoors. She didn’t dare risk going outside, not yet. She wanted to let the storm die down and give Leó time to give up and go away once he’d realized that he was locked out of the house. But her mind kept presenting her with horrifying images. Einar might be lying out there in the snow, injured. And she had been too much of a gutless coward to go and look for him. Maybe … But with the weather like this and Leó lying in wait, it would be crazy to venture outdoors. She stood in the corner, paralysed with fear and indecision, until finally, slowly, she took a step forwards.
It was then that she heard the knocking.
The sound seemed to reverberate around the house, drowning out the gusts of wind, as if the storm had suddenly died down, so strong was the effect on her.
Her nightmare was coming true.
Or could she have misheard? It was so hard to tell what was imaginary and what was real.
Though her eyes were growing accustomed to the gloom, she put a hand to the wall to steady herself and felt her way along the passage. She had to get closer to the front door to be able to hear properly. She so desperately wanted it to be Einar out there.
She almost jumped out of her skin when the knocking started up again. A series of heavy blows. To Erla, the message was clear: You’re not safe anywhere.
She stood quite still, and time seemed to stand still with her.
A succession of foolishly inconsequential thoughts ran through her head. So much for Christmas Eve this year. No hangikjöt on the table, no carols on the radio, no presents. And no Christmas books. Usually, the thing she looked forward to most was opening the parcel containing her new novel and reading it late into the night by candlelight. The thought briefly cheered her and she almost, for a moment, managed to forget how remote a dream it was, even though she was in her own home, where she had always been safe, until now.
But nothing could be taken for granted any more, and on some level she knew that, after this, nothing would ever be the same again. The only question now was how this evening, this night, would end.
More heavy thuds on the door. She moved closer to the source, as if in a trance; aware of the danger but unable to stop herself.
She craned her head round the corner into the hall and her heart gave such a sickening lurch that she forgot to breathe when she saw the shadow of a face pressed against the coloured glass of