The Sandman. Ларс Кеплер
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Название: The Sandman
Автор: Ларс Кеплер
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Ужасы и Мистика
isbn: 9780007467808
isbn:
Anders can’t put a finger on why he suddenly feels unsettled, but there’s something strange about the tone of the letter and the precise choice of wording, combined with the almost dyslexic spelling mistakes.
Thoughts about Jurek’s words are chasing round his head as he walks into his study and takes out an envelope. He copies the address, puts the letter in the envelope, and sticks a stamp on it.
He leaves the house and heads off into the chill darkness, across the grass towards the letter-box up by the roundabout. Once he’s posted the letter he stands and just watches the cars passing on Sandavägen for a while before walking back home.
The wind is making the frosted grass ripple like water. A hare races off towards the old gardens.
He opens the gate and looks up into the kitchen window. The whole house resembles a doll’s house. Everything is lit up and open to view. He can see straight into the corridor, to the blue painting that has always hung there.
The door to their bedroom is open. The vacuum cleaner is in the middle of the floor. The cable is still plugged into the socket in the wall.
Suddenly Anders sees a movement. He gasps with surprise. There’s someone in the bedroom. Standing next to their bed.
Anders is about to rush inside when he realises that the person is actually standing in the garden at the back of the house.
He’s simply visible through the bedroom window.
Anders runs down the paved path, past the sundial and round the corner.
The man must have heard him coming, because he’s already running away. Anders can hear him forcing his way through the lilac hedge. He runs after him, holding the branches back, trying to see anything, but it’s far too dark.
Mikael stands up in the darkness when the Sandman blows his terrible dust into the room. He’s learned that there’s no point holding your breath. Because when the Sandman wants the children to sleep, they fall asleep.
He knows full well that his eyes will soon feel tired, so tired that he can’t keep them open. He knows he’ll have to lie down on the mattress and become part of the darkness.
Mum used to talk about the Sandman’s daughter, the mechanical girl, Olympia. She creeps in to the children once they’re asleep and pulls the covers up over their shoulders so they don’t freeze.
Mikael leans against the wall, feels the furrows in the concrete.
The thin sand floats like fog. It’s hard to breathe. His lungs struggle to keep his blood oxygenated.
He coughs and licks his lips. They’re dry and already feel numb.
His eyelids are getting heavier and heavier.
Now the whole family is swinging in the hammock. The summer light shines through the leaves of the lilac bower. The rusty screws creak.
Mikael is smiling broadly.
We’re swinging high and Mum’s trying to slow us down, but Dad keeps us going. A jolt to the table in front of us makes the glasses of strawberry juice tremble.
The hammock swings backwards and Dad laughs and holds up his hands like he was on a rollercoaster.
Mikael’s head nods and he opens his eyes in the darkness, stumbles to the side and leans his hand against the cool wall. He turns towards the mattress, thinking that he should lie down before he passes out, when his knees suddenly give way.
He falls and hits the floor, trapping his arm beneath him, feeling the pain from his wrist and shoulder in the sleep to which he has already succumbed.
He rolls heavily onto his stomach and tries to crawl, but doesn’t have the energy. He lies there panting with his cheek against the concrete floor. He tries to say something, but has no voice left.
His eyes close even though he’s trying to resist.
Just as he is slipping into oblivion he hears the Sandman pad into the room, creeping on his dusty feet straight up the walls to the ceiling. He stops and reaches down with his arms, trying to catch Mikael with his porcelain fingertips.
Everything is black.
When Mikael wakes up his mouth is dry and his head aches. His eyes are grimy with old sand. He’s so tired that his brain tries to go back to sleep, but a little sliver of his consciousness registers that something is very different.
Adrenalin hits him like a gust of hot air.
He sits up in the darkness and can hear from the acoustics that he’s in a different room, a larger room.
He’s no longer in the capsule.
Loneliness makes him ice-cold.
He creeps cautiously across the floor and reaches a wall. His mind is racing. He can’t remember how long it’s been since he gave up any thought of escape.
His body is still heavy from its long sleep. He gets up on shaky legs and follows the wall to a corner, then carries on and reaches a sheet of metal. He quickly feels along its edges and realises that it’s a door, then runs his hands over its surface and finds a handle.
His hands are shaking.
The room is completely silent.
Carefully he pushes the handle down, and is so prepared to meet resistance that he almost falls over when the door simply opens.
He takes a long stride into the brighter room and has to shut his eyes for a while.
It feels like a dream.
Just let me get out, he thinks.
His head is throbbing.
He squints and sees that he is in a corridor, and moves forward on weak legs. His heart is beating so fast he can hardly breathe.
He’s trying to be quiet, but is still whimpering to himself with fear.
The Sandman will soon be back – he never forgets any children.
Mikael can’t open his eyes properly, but nonetheless heads towards the fuzzy glow ahead of him.
Maybe it’s a trap, he thinks. Maybe he’s being lured like an insect towards a burning light.
But he keeps on walking, running his hand along the wall for support.
He knocks into some big rolls of insulation and gasps with fear, lurches to the side and hits the other wall with his shoulder, but manages to keep his balance.
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