The Snowman ( PDFDrive )

The tracks led to a stream whose gurgling noise drowned his quickened breathing. One of the trails
disappeared while the other followed the stream on lower ground.
He went on. The stream wound hither and thither, but he wasn’t concerned about losing his
bearings; all he had to do was retrace his steps.
An owl, which must have been close by, hooted an admonitory to-wit-to-woo. The dial on his watch
glowed green and showed that he had been walking for over fifteen minutes. Time to go back and
send in the team with proper footwear, gear and a dog that was not afraid of foxes.
Harry’s heart stopped.
It had darted past his face. Soundless and so fast that he hadn’t seen anything. But the current of air
had given it away. Harry heard the owl’s wings beating in the snow and the piteous squeak of a
small rodent that had just become its prey.
He slowly let out the air from his lungs. Shone the torch over the forest ahead one last time and
turned to go back. Took one step, then came to a halt. He wanted to take another, two more, to get
out. But he did what he had to do. Shone the light behind him. And there it was again. A glint, a
reflection of light that should not be there in the middle of the black forest. He went closer. Looked
back and tried to fix the spot in his mind. It was about fifteen metres from the stream. He crouched
down. Just the steel stuck up, but he didn’t need to brush away the snow to see what it was. A
hatchet. If there had been blood on it after killing the chickens, it was gone now. There were no
footprints around the hatchet. Harry shone the torch and saw a snapped twig on the snow a few
metres away. Someone must have the thrown the axe here with enormous strength.
At that moment Harry felt it again. The sensation he had had at Spektrum, earlier that evening. The
sensation that he was being observed. Instinctively, he switched off the torch, and the darkness
descended over him like a blanket. He held his breath and listened. Don’t, he thought. Don’t let it
happen. Evil is not a thing, it cannot take possession of you. It’s the opposite; it’s a void, an absence
of goodness. The only thing you can be frightened of here is yourself.
Harry switched on the torch and pointed it towards the clearing.
It was her. She stood erect and immobile between the trees, looking at him without blinking, the
same large sleepy eyes as in the photograph. Harry’s first thought was that she was dressed like a
bride, in white, that she was standing at the altar, here, in the middle of the forest. The light made
her glitter. Harry breathed in with a shiver and grabbed his mobile phone from his jacket pocket.
Bjørn Holm answered after the second ring.
‘Cordon off the whole area,’ Harry said. His throat felt dry, rough. ‘I’m calling in the troops.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘There’s a snowman here.’
‘So?’
Harry explained.
‘I didn’t catch the last bit,’ Holm shouted. ‘Poor coverage here ’