The Lakeside Cabin

On a rainy Sunday, I remembered my old games console. When I moved out of my parents’ house, I bought the latest model. The old one disappeared into the cellar, along with a shoebox full of games.

A wave of nostalgia came over me, so I went down into the bowels of the house to look for an old moving box.

My cellar storage unit was at the end of a long corridor. I was about halfway there when the lights went out.

No problem, I thought. The next light switch couldn’t be far away. A little indicator light would show me where it was.

But there was no indicator light, no light at all. Instead, I heard a hum. Steady, like tinnitus, as if coming from a machine. Why had I only just noticed it?

I felt for the wall, which had to be right beside me. My hand grasped at empty air.

I was breathing fast. The air no longer smelled musty, like a cellar. It smelled stale and damp, like a place that had been standing in water for too long.

A torch would come in handy now. My hand slid down to my trousers, patting my pockets. They were empty. Hadn’t I brought my phone?

Now it dawned on me. This had to be a dream.

But when had I fallen asleep?

My pulse throbbed in my ears.

I needed to get my bearings, so I stretched out my hand again and cautiously slid my foot along the floor. It hit something that clattered loudly. I froze and waited a moment before moving on.

Then my hand struck something. Not the bare concrete of the cellar wall. Not the thin metal walls separating the storage units. The surface was clammy and curved. My fingers moved along it, finding a groove, then a bulge. Groove, bulge. Whatever I was feeling didn’t belong in a cellar.

I turned my head to one side. Somewhere high above, I spotted a small, midnight-blue patch. Its edges were strangely jagged, and the light was so faint I couldn’t tell if it was a window or a crack in the ceiling.

A soft click. The humming died away, turning into a cold gurgle, as though something had grabbed the machine with its bare hands and throttled it.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a shadow. A movement. Fleeting.

My throat tightened and my breath caught. And yet I could hear it: a breath that wasn’t mine.

I wasn’t alone.

Miray?

Something clattered to the floor in the distance, rolled and bumped into something. Then came a guttural whimper, a short snort. No, that didn’t sound like her at all.

Panic took hold of me. I had to get away. Right now. Get somewhere safe.

I felt my way forwards. My fingers brushed against fabric. Warm. Soft. Round.

Silence. The other breathing stopped.

Something clamped around my wrist, tight and painful. I tried to yank my hand back, but the grip held firm.

“Dian,” a voice whispered.

“Miray,” I replied. “So it is you!”

Miray giggled. “I was sure it was you.”

“How could you tell?”

“Your smell,” she admitted, her embarrassment plain in her voice. “Otherwise, the hand that’s been groping me would already be mince.”

Startled, I tried to pull my hand away, but Miray wouldn’t let go.

Then she pulled me towards her, and we held each other close. I don’t remember how long we stayed like that, but I loved feeling her against me.

“I hope there’s no one else here,” I remarked.

“With all the racket we’re making?” I felt her shake her head. “We’d have found out by now.”

“Where the hell are we, anyway?”

“No idea. There are shelves full of stuff. Something just fell on my foot.”

She clicked her tongue loudly. Once. Twice. The echo came back muffled, but straight away.

“It can’t be a very big room,” she said.

“First, we need some light.”

“Mm-hmm. We’d better find a wall and follow it. Hopefully there’ll be a light switch somewhere.”

Her hand found mine.

“Whatever happens, Dian, don’t let go of me. The thought that I might suddenly step into empty space is driving me mad.”

My knees went weak. I hadn’t even considered that possibility.

Together, we slowly felt our way forwards. Our feet slid across the floor.

“There’s something here,” Miray whispered. “The wall feels different. A big flat surface. Maybe a door?”

She pulled me further to the right.

Then came a squeak. It was her.

“I’ve found a switch.”

There was a short hum, a flicker, and a fluorescent light snapped on, dazzling me. I squeezed my eyes shut for a moment, until they adjusted to the bright light. I looked around.

We were surrounded by walls made of large, dark-brown logs stacked on top of one another. The ceiling was wooden too, with a simple fluorescent tube fitted to it. The floor was tiled in white. The room really wasn’t very big, perhaps just over ten square metres.

We were standing by a solid wooden door. Beside us were a washing machine and a utility sink. A large fridge in the corner explained the gurgling and humming I’d heard earlier.

Opposite us stood three sturdy metal shelves stocked with tins, bottles and several packs of toilet paper. A dented tin of sausages lay on the floor.

“Two lines on the wrist,” I heard Miray say beside me. “No surprise guests.”

She was wearing dark cargo trousers and a tight white T-shirt with a print on the right hip. The print looked odd. It was reddish-brown and smudged, as if someone had wiped their fingers on it. Fingers covered in…

Covered in blood!

“Are you hurt?” I cried in alarm.

Miray looked at me, puzzled, then glanced down at herself and spotted the bloodstains on her shirt too. She pulled the fabric taut and briefly brushed her hand over it.

“No, I’m fine,” she said. “I don’t think it’s my blood.”

At that moment, the light went out.

“What’s that about now?” Miray groaned.

“Probably a timer,” I replied. “Like in cellars or stairwells.”

“Right,” she said tersely, and switched the fluorescent light back on.

A broken ice-lolly stick lay on the washing machine, right beside the light switch. I had to smile; it probably hadn’t ended up there by accident. I picked it up and wedged it against the switch button to keep it pressed down.

Miray stared at me in amazement.

I shrugged. “My dad used to do that so the light wouldn’t go out in the garage while he worked on his motorbike late into the night.”

“Good trick,” Miray said. “Now let’s see what’s in the next room.”

Her gaze fell on the door.

“Where’s the handle?”

Sure enough, where the handle should have been there was only a stainless-steel escutcheon. The handle itself was lying on the floor at our feet.

Miray picked it up, but couldn’t fit it anywhere.

“We can’t open the door with this,” she growled, setting the useless handle down on the washing machine. “The other bit must be on the other side.”

“Fate has a sense of humour.” I let out a short laugh. “The door doesn’t have a key to lock it with, and we’re still trapped in here.”

She didn’t find it as funny as I did.

“Have you got anything on you we could use to open it? A pocket knife, maybe?”

“Nothing.” I turned out my empty pockets to show her. “I’ve already checked them.”

Miray sighed. “Same.”

I looked around. A toolbox could help, or a crowbar. But there were no tools on the shelves.

“We could call for help,” I suggested.

She shook her head. “Better not, not until we know how we got here in the first place.”

She was right. But I didn’t want to wait around until someone found us. At some point. Maybe.

I remembered the patch of light I’d seen in the dark. There was a small hinged window about two metres up. A piece of silver film had come loose from one corner of the glass, letting what little light there was into the room.

Miray walked slowly over to the window, slid back a bolt and pushed it open outwards. A small stay clicked into place, holding it open.

With a quick leap, she grabbed the window frame and hauled herself up until she could look outside.

“What can you see?” I asked.

“It’s dark out. I can barely make anything out in the moonlight. There are mountains and a forest in the distance. The cabin’s in a huge clearing. But this clearing…”

She hauled herself a little higher, sticking her head right out of the window.

“It’s shimmering strangely, moving in the wind like a field of wheat. Or… No! Damn it!”

She dropped down, landing on her feet. Pale, she looked at me and pointed outside.

“That’s not a clearing. It’s a lake. The cabin’s right over the water.”

We looked at one another, and I knew Miray was thinking the same thing I was. The window was our way out. But she wasn’t going to climb out of it, let alone jump into the water.

“I’ll go out there,” I suggested, “and try to open the door from the other side.”

Miray shook her head.

“That’s too dangerous. Once you’re outside, there’s no getting back in. And I’ll be stuck in here if you can’t manage it.”

“We don’t have any other choice, do we?”

She sighed and looked awkwardly into the corner. Then she nodded.

“All right,” I said. “Then give me a leg up.”

While I took off my clothes, Miray went over to the window and waited.

“Right, let’s get started,” I said at last, dusting off my hands. I was ready to jump into the water.

“What is it?” Miray asked. “Are you planning to spend the rest of the night walking around in wet underpants?”

I looked down at the only item of clothing I still had on, then glanced at her awkwardly. It took her a moment to understand.

“Seriously?” she snorted.

When I nodded, she groaned and squeezed her eyes tightly shut, making a point of it.

“No peeking,” I said.

“Yeah, yeah. Get on with it!”

Miray clasped her hands together and held them in front of her stomach. Naked, I stepped into her hands, climbed up to the window and looked out. The pale moonlight reflected off the lake, making the surface glitter eerily. It really did look like a field of wheat.

I kept pulling myself through the window until my stomach was resting on the frame. Just a little further, and my own weight would pull me all the way out.

“I hope the water’s deep enough,” I called back inside.

“Be careful, yeah?” Miray’s voice sounded almost pleading. “And don’t forget about me in here.”

“I won’t.”

Then one last push. My stomach slid over the edge, and my upper body pulled me out. Somehow, I managed to push myself away from the outside wall. The surface came towards me in slow motion. With my arms stretched wide, I tried to land as flat as possible.

The lake was freezing. As I plunged in, I felt my muscles seize up and the air being forced from my lungs. The water slowed me before I reached the bottom. When I surfaced again, I swam a few metres out to get a better look.

I saw the back wall of a fairly large log cabin. It was single-storey, with a shallow pitched roof. There were two windows. A small square one on the left, dark behind it. On the right was the hinged window I’d dropped out of. Both were now far too high to reach.

The outline of a head appeared at the hinged window, silhouetted against the light.

“Are you all right?” I heard Miray call. Her voice echoed back from the mountains.

“Yeah,” I replied. Then I swam closer to the window so I could speak more quietly.

“What can you see?” Miray asked.

“The log cabin seems pretty big. I can see just one other window, and it’s dark. There are thick bushes along the shore to the left; there’s no way through there. But there’s a jetty on the right with a rowing boat. I can get out that way.”

“Good,” Miray said tersely. “Be careful. Just because there’s no light in the other window doesn’t mean we’re alone.”

“I will.”

I reached the jetty, spotted a small ladder there and slowly climbed out of the water.

A light, warm breeze picked up, making me shiver. I heard the rustling of the leaves, the lapping of the waves against the shore, and the soft rumble of the rowing boat.

The jetty led to the front of the cabin. I crept carefully along the wall, passed a window with its shutters closed, and peeked around the corner.

There was a small forecourt of coarse gravel edged with fieldstones. Beyond it stretched a dense forest, broken only by a narrow track that led into the darkness like a gaping maw. I had no idea how far the track ran into the woods. There were no lights, no streetlamps, and I couldn’t hear any traffic in the distance. The cabin seemed miles from anywhere.

I stepped off the wooden planks of the walkway and onto the forecourt. The little stones crunched beneath my feet with every step, digging painfully into my soles.

After a few metres, I turned around.

The front of the cabin had two wide windows, this time with the shutters open, though it was dark behind them. Between the windows was a sturdy front door, with a small set of steps leading up to it.

A small white VW Polo with Norwegian number plates was parked beside the cabin. Maybe it belonged to us?

“I don’t think there’s anyone else here besides us,” I muttered. It was high time I got Miray out of her prison.

When I reached the front door and saw nothing but a knob, I had a bad feeling. I pulled and rattled it, but nothing happened. The door was locked.

Embarrassed, I glanced towards the track. I should have thought of that before dropping naked out of the window. What was I supposed to say if someone caught me out here? That I’d been having a shower when the postie rang, and the door had slammed shut behind me? As if.

Something cracked in the woods, making me jump. There was a rustling in the undergrowth, then I saw the head of a fox. It stared at me as if it wanted to ask what on earth I was doing out here at this time of night. Finally, it turned and disappeared beneath a fir tree.

I looked back at the door. I had to find a way into the cabin. And fast.

I went to the left-hand window and peered through the glass. The room behind it was dark, except for a few small red lines glowing by the wall to one side. Further back, I could make out a narrow strip of light on the floor. That had to be the door to the storeroom.

The window suddenly gave way and opened a crack. What a stroke of luck! Carefully, I pushed it all the way open and opened the other casement too. The gap was now wide enough for me to fit through.

I climbed over the windowsill and found myself in front of some sort of counter. Beyond it, I could make out a small kitchen area. The red lights I’d seen turned out to be digits on the oven display. They showed the time: just after half past one.

I felt my way along the counter and reached the door with the strip of light underneath it.

I knocked softly.

“Miray?” I whispered. “It’s me.”

“Who?” I heard her ask.

“Who do you think? Dian!”

For a moment, I heard nothing. Then she asked, “Do you floss?”

A quiet giggle came through the door.

“Cut the crap,” I hissed.

“Okay,” she said seriously. “Get me out of here already.”

I hesitated.

“Could you slide my knickers under the door first?”

Miray gave the door a kick.

“Open it soon, or I’ll shove you under it.”

“All right,” I grumbled, and started searching the floor for the other handle.

It was lying right in front of the door. I picked it up and tried to fit its square spindle into the opening. At first it stuck, but then it slid in. A spring in the lock squeaked as I pushed the handle down. Carefully, I eased the door open.

An arm reached out, grabbed me by the scruff of the neck and dragged me into the storeroom. Miray pressed her head firmly against my shoulder.

“You did it,” she whispered in my ear.

Then she immediately stepped back and wiped her arms.

“You’re wet,” she observed.

“Nothing beats a romantic dip in a cold lake under the moonlight.”

Miray nodded. “Your clothes are on the washing machine. I’ll have a look around next door while you get dressed.”

She left me and went into the next room. A little later, she must have found a switch, because a faint, warm light came on.

“Whoa!” Miray called out.

“What is it?” I called back.

“You have to see this.”

I tried to fasten my belt quickly, but it got stuck and took several attempts. Then I pulled my T-shirt on and hurried over to her. She was standing in the middle of the room, hands on her hips, looking around.

I’d already spotted the kitchen area, with its counter and oven, in the dark. Now, in the light, I could see the whole place. The walls here were made of logs too, and the ceiling of long wooden slats. The wood was stained dark. In the dim light of two spherical lamps hanging from the ceiling, it looked almost black.

Two sofas faced each other across the room, upholstered in a rough, light-grey fabric. Between them stood a low table topped with a large slice of tree trunk. A fireplace was built into the wall opposite the kitchen. Near the window stood a rustic sideboard, with two chairs in front of it.

The room actually looked cosy and inviting, the perfect cabin for a peaceful holiday in nature, if only it hadn’t been for the mess.

Several used plates sat on the table, some of the cutlery still in the food. Beer cans were scattered about, some carelessly tossed into a corner, along with glasses containing who knew what. Only then did I notice how stale the air was, and that it smelled of cold meat.

In a bowl on the table, I found sticky notes with individual words written on them in thick marker.

“Ransom, getaway car, accomplices, Plan B,” I read aloud. “What’s all this supposed to mean?”

Miray was by the chairs, holding a long rope and a roll of grey duct tape.

“No idea, but it can’t be anything good,” she replied. With a serious expression, she put them both back and went into the kitchen.

My eyes fell on a banana skin under the table.

“Maybe they’re keeping us prisoner here?”

“Or worse.”

Miray beckoned me over and pointed to the counter. A chopping board and a long kitchen knife lay there. And there was blood. Lots of blood. It clung to the blade and was smeared across the board and the counter.

“I think we know where the stains on my shirt came from now.”

I nodded and pointed to a small vial. “What’s that?”

Miray picked it up and read the label.

“It’s fentanyl.” She looked at me seriously. “An anaesthetic. The sort of stuff that can really knock you out if the dose is too high.”

I took the vial and examined it. It had a cap you could pierce with a syringe, like the ones used in doctors’ surgeries and hospitals. There wasn’t much liquid left.

“You think we were tied up here, drugged and then locked in the storeroom?” I asked.

She tilted her head. “Could be.”

My whole body tensed, and my hands started to sweat.

“So we were attacked! Or kidnapped and brought here, and now they’re demanding a ransom.”

Miray didn’t seem to be listening at all. She went to another door and opened it. Beyond it was a small bathroom. Beside the shower was the little window I’d noticed at the back of the cabin. We found more traces of blood in the sink, and on the towel hanging beside it.

“Someone really needs to air this place out,” Miray gasped, fanning herself. “Let’s see how bad it is upstairs.”

She pointed to a staircase between the bathroom and the storeroom, leading up.

“I’m not sure I want to know,” I groaned.

Then I flicked a switch, and a dim wall light came on upstairs. The stairs ended at a narrow landing roughly in the middle of the roof. Two doors led off from there.

We climbed the steps cautiously, opened the left-hand door and switched on the light. We were in a small attic room. The ceiling was so low you could only stand up straight beneath the ridge. At the far end was a small round window behind a curtain. On either side, beneath the sloping roof, stood a plain bed made up with pastel-green bedding. Between them was a small bedside table with a colourful Tiffany lamp.

“There’s nothing here,” I said.

Miray had pulled open the bedside table drawer, glanced inside and shut it again.

“Nothing,” she repeated. “Strange, isn’t it? Downstairs looks like a robber’s den after a tsunami, but up here everything’s as untouched as a furniture showroom. No clothes, no personal belongings, just two beds and an empty bedside table.”

“Maybe the other room’s been used.”

I turned and tried to open its door, but it wouldn’t budge.

“Hmm… Locked.”

“Then this isn’t our cabin,” Miray concluded. “We wouldn’t have any reason to lock ourselves out of the room.”

She shook her head as if trying to get rid of the thought.

“We’ll deal with that later, Dian. We’re done in the cabin. Let’s see what we can find outside.”

I went ahead to show Miray the way. The kitchen window was still open. I climbed onto the sill and started to get out, but my knee caught on the window casement. I pulled it along with me and promptly got stuck in the frame. I couldn’t get any further, so I had to back out and try again.

The second attempt worked. I was just turning around to help Miray out when a shadow appeared beside me.

I screamed, jerked away, tripped over my own feet and fell over.

The shadow held out a hand.

“It’s only me,” I heard Miray say.

“How did you get out?” I asked, astonished.

Miray helped me to my feet and gave me a puzzled look. “Through the front door. Like anyone who didn’t grow up in a cave. All I had to do was open it.”

I rubbed the back of my head awkwardly. I could have thought of at least trying that myself.

We walked a short way around the car park. On one side of the cabin, the walkway led down to the lake. Miray preferred not to set foot on it.

Next, we walked a few paces along the track into the forest. After a few metres, it took a sharp bend. Beyond it, the trees swallowed up the last of the light. We couldn’t go any further without a torch, so we headed back to the parking area and carried on looking around.

“What’s that?” Miray suddenly asked, pointing to the thick bushes beside the cabin.

Something metallic glinted in the moonlight among them. We pulled it out and found ourselves holding a cross bike.

“It breaks my mechanic’s heart,” I sighed. “The poor thing still looks to be in perfect nick.”

“Too bad it doesn’t have any lights,” Miray said. “We can’t use it to get out of here.”

She pointed at the VW. “What about the car?”

“No idea. Maybe it belongs to us?”

“Then we’d have had a key on us. If it belongs to the others, they could still be nearby.” She gave me an expectant look. “Can you hot-wire it?”

“That only works in old films. Modern cars have an immobiliser. Without the key, the thing won’t go anywhere.”

I pointed towards the lake.

“We could take the boat out and hide until it gets light.”

“Forget it. I don’t fancy getting my feet wet, as you know.”

“So we walk through the woods, then?”

Miray gave a short snort.

“You saw how dark it is. And we don’t know how far we’d have to walk. We could get lost or hurt ourselves.”

“Not this, not that, not the other thing.” I pulled a face. “So what do you suggest? Standing around here waiting for the others to come back?”

“Why not?” Miray planted her hands on her hips. “If we shut the window and turn off the lights, they won’t know we managed to escape. We can catch them by surprise.”

“By surprise!” My voice sounded sharper than I’d intended. “Have you forgotten the kitchen knife and the vial? They’ve already overpowered us and locked us up once. We don’t even know how many of them there are. And you want to surprise them?”

“Still better than wandering through a pitch-black forest at night.”

“If we stick to the track, we’re bound to reach a road eventually. We can hitch a lift from there.”

“A lift, right. And where to?”

“Dunno. Maybe the police.”

“And then what? So far, we’ve had to face the adventure ourselves in every dream. Running away has never solved any of our problems.”

I raised my hands to calm her down.

“Okay. Okay.” I took a deep breath. “But maybe all we’re supposed to do is get out of here alive.”

“And all those clues?” Miray gestured towards the cabin. “Are we just supposed to…”

She suddenly fell silent and stared into the forest. I turned round.

In the distance, a bright beam of light swept across the treetops. It wavered and changed direction. The sound of an engine grew louder.

Miray pulled me towards her.

“There’s a car coming,” she whispered excitedly. “Quick, we need to hide.”

We sprinted to the VW and dropped to the ground behind it. Cautiously, we peered over the bonnet.

The car had already reached the end of the track. Its headlights lit up the front of the cabin. It stopped just short of the door. It was a yellow Toyota with a large dent in its wing. The word “Taxi” and a phone number were written in large letters on the side.

A moment later, the rear door opened. A woman got out. She seemed to be about our age and was tall and solidly built. Her long blonde hair was tied in a plait that hung down her back. A large handbag hung from her shoulder. She pulled a rucksack off the back seat, thanked the driver and shut the door.

The taxi turned round and drove away.

The woman stood in front of the cabin for a moment, staring at it. The fact that there was a light on inside seemed to bother her. After a while, she went to the door, unlocked it and disappeared inside.

Miray nudged me. She put a finger to her lips, then signalled for me to follow. We crept up to the door, took up positions on either side and waited.

Footsteps drew closer. The woman was coming back.

“Damn it,” we heard her mutter. “Where have those two scoundrels got to?”

Then she stepped outside. Blinked into the darkness. Looked straight at me.

“Dian?” she asked in surprise. “What…”

At that moment, Miray grabbed her from behind. She twisted her arm behind her back and forced it up.

The woman cried out.

“Miray?” she shouted. “Have you gone mad?”

“We’ll sort out my mental state later,” Miray growled. “First, we’re going inside, all right?”

She pushed the woman ahead of her into the cabin, and I closed the door behind us.

Miray pressed the woman down onto a chair, then looked at me and pointed to the rope.

“Tie her up, Dian. Then we’ll hear what she has to say.”

The woman’s eyes widened. She looked at me in horror, then at Miray.

“What’s got into you two?” she asked in a panic. “It’s me, Silje! Don’t you recognise me?”

I looked at Miray, confused. She shrugged. So I picked up the rope and started tying Silje’s hands to the chair. Silje tried to wriggle free of Miray’s grip. When she realised it was no use, she let out an angry shout.

“And Sondre warned you,” she yelled. “His homemade booze really packs a punch. But you two have completely lost the plot.”

Once I’d tied Silje securely, Miray let her go. We sat down opposite her on the sofa and stared at her in silence.

“Why are we here?” Miray finally asked.

Silje stared at her, unable to believe what she was hearing. “Miray,” she said seriously, “I swear, if this is supposed to be one of your jokes, you’ve gone too far this time.”

“She asked you a question,” I said sharply.

Silje shook her head. “You really don’t remember? The party? With Sondre and Magnus? I wanted to introduce you to Henrik, and then we were going to celebrate sankthans together.”

“A party?” I asked in disbelief. “With ropes and duct tape as props?”

“You won’t believe me if I tell you.” Silje gave a despairing laugh. Then she had an idea. “Get my phone out of my handbag, unlock it with my thumb and watch the latest videos.”

I stood up and picked up the handbag Silje had left beside the door. I found her phone between a bunch of keys and a pack of chewing gum. It was locked, so I held her thumb against the sensor. The screen lit up.

With the phone in my hand, I sat down beside Miray on the sofa. She edged closer and watched as I opened the app and selected one of the videos.

The video had been filmed in the cabin. Miray, three other men and I were sitting round the table, on the sofa and chairs. Each of us had a yellow sticky note stuck to our forehead.

“Am I a murder weapon?” I heard my own voice ask. The others said no. The camera zoomed in on my note. It said “Plan B”.

At least that solved the mystery of the sticky notes in the bowl.

I swiped to the next one. Miray and I were standing on the table now, each with a banana in hand, singing “Stand By Me” in a hopelessly out-of-tune duet. Neither of us could hit a note. The others still whooped and clapped along.

The next clip showed Miray and one of the men sitting back-to-back on two chairs. The rope was wrapped several times around their upper bodies and the backs of the chairs, their hands tied on their stomachs. The man’s mouth was taped shut with duct tape. Another man went over to him and whispered a word in his ear. Then the gagged man set to work.

He grunted, hummed, snorted and jerked his bound hands as if he were filleting an invisible fish.

“Beehive!” Miray guessed.

“Wrong!” the others shouted. “Drink!”

My other self appeared in the frame, poured spirits from a hip flask and held the glass to Miray’s lips. She obediently swallowed.

The gagged man tried something else. This time he made a thin, circling buzz, like a mosquito close to someone’s ear.

“Dentist’s drill!”

“Wrong! Drink!”

More spirits. The other Miray’s face glistened after she drank.

Now the man really gave it everything, puffing out his cheeks, hissing through his nose and tugging at his restraints.

“Sparkling water?”

“Wrong!” the others roared.

The man let his head drop and groaned into the tape over his mouth. Behind the camera, Silje was laughing so hard the footage shook.

Miray took the phone out of my hand and switched it off.

I looked at Silje, trying to make sense of what I’d just seen.

“Some kind of drinking game, don’t ask me,” she sighed. “Your better half came up with it on the spot. We all knew it couldn’t possibly work, but she was having so much fun.”

Miray cleared her throat loudly.

“And what happened in the kitchen?” she asked. “The bloody knife? The fentanyl? Was that a party game too?”

Silje’s face darkened.

“Henrik wanted to make us another round of Caipirinhas. He was cutting the limes when the knife slipped and he cut his hand badly.”

A tear ran down her face.

“There was blood everywhere. On the knife, on the worktop. Everywhere, really. Luckily, Magnus had his medic’s kit in the car. He treated Henrik’s wound as best he could and gave him a painkiller injection. Then he said we had to get him to hospital straight away.”

She looked at us in despair. Her gaze shifted from Miray to me, then back again.

“Do you really not remember anything? When you tried to help, you got blood all over your shirt too, Miray!”

Miray didn’t flinch.

“And us?” she asked. “Why did we stay here on our own?”

Silje snorted dismissively.

“Actually, I was supposed to spend the night here in the cabin with Henrik, and you with Dian. Magnus has an early shift at the hospital tomorrow, so he and Sondre were planning to drive home after the party. When the accident with the knife happened, it obviously put an end to the party mood. Magnus drove Henrik to the hospital, and Sondre and I went with them. That left no room in the car. You said you’d stay here and tidy up.”

“You could have called for an emergency doctor,” I said.

“Out here?” Silje laughed. “There’s no mobile reception anywhere in the area.”

“And the VW?”

“It’s mine. But Magnus was the only one of us who’d stayed sober. The rest of us were in no fit state to drive.”

Her face turned serious again.

“At the hospital, they operated on Henrik straight away. I stayed until I knew he was all right. Then I came back by taxi to help you. Besides, you’d left the rucksack with your things in Magnus’s car when he brought you here that afternoon. I brought it back for you. And then I found you here, completely out of it.”

Miray had leaned back and folded her arms. She tapped her upper arm with one hand.

“Why were we locked in the storeroom?” she asked at last.

Silje paused. Then she suddenly laughed.

“The door handle’s broken. We even joked about it, remember? Maybe you pulled it off and locked yourselves in.”

She looked at us. Her eyes were tired, and she looked worn out.

“Miray, Dian,” she pleaded quietly, “it’s been a long, really shitty day. If you’re done interrogating me, could you please untie me?”

Miray tapped the tip of her nose. Then she looked at me and nodded towards the door. I followed her outside.

“Do you believe her story?” she asked me.

I looked back into the cabin and thought of Silje, tied to a chair inside. I felt a bit sorry for her.

“At least she knew our names,” I said.

“That doesn’t prove anything.”

I nodded. “True. But her story sounds plausible. And the videos? That really looked like a wild party, not a kidnapping.”

Miray looked at me as if she’d bitten into a lemon.

“Please never mention those videos again! Especially the last one.”

Then she nodded slowly.

“You’re probably right, Dian. It does all add up.”

“Good,” I said, rubbing my hands together. “Then I’ll go and untie the package.”

Silje rubbed her wrists and looked at me, hurt and uncertain. Her gaze drifted to Miray, who was standing by the kitchen counter with her arms folded and her eyes narrowed to slits.

Miray watched her every move. She wasn’t convinced. Not really.

Silje slowly stood up.

“Maybe you should just go to bed,” she suggested. “I don’t know what stuff you’ve taken, but hopefully you’ll be back to your old selves tomorrow and we can laugh about this over breakfast.”

I picked up our rucksack and held out my hand to Miray.

“And you?” I asked Silje.

“I’ll tidy up a bit more. The landlord’s coming at nine tomorrow. If he sees this mess, we’ll lose the deposit. I’ll try to be quiet too, so I don’t disturb you.”

We went upstairs. In the bedroom, I dropped the rucksack onto one of the beds and unzipped it. Clothes, fresh socks, a wash bag. Our alter egos had packed properly. They’d even thought of a pack of dental floss. I had to smile.

Miray pulled her stained T-shirt over her head, scrunched it up and shoved it deep into a side pocket of the rucksack, as if she never wanted to see it again. I changed into clean pyjamas while she went to brush her teeth.

Then we lay in our beds. The Tiffany lamp on the bedside table cast colourful patches of light across the ceiling. Outside, the wind gently swept over the roof, making the shingles rattle. Through the slightly open window, I could hear the water lapping against the boat at the jetty in the distance.

It would have been a romantic moment for a little pillow talk, for a lively chat between two people in love. But Miray’s thoughts were elsewhere.

“What on earth does all this mean?” she asked quietly, almost as if she were talking to herself. “No green circle. We don’t even know what our task is. Are we already in the middle of the adventure, or hasn’t it started yet?”

I turned on my side and looked at her.

“Nothing else is going to happen tonight, Miray. Get some sleep. I’m sure we’ll find out more tomorrow.”

She looked at me as if she wanted to say something. Then she simply nodded.

“Goodnight, Dian.”

I snuggled deeper under my blanket.

“Goodnight, Miray.”

She reached for the in-line switch and turned off the light. The lamp’s coloured spots still danced before my eyes as afterimages, but soon faded.

I heard Silje clattering dishes downstairs. She was probably loading the dishwasher. I thought about the evening, the videos, the party our alter egos had thrown here. It felt strange seeing myself in the videos without remembering any of those scenes. As if I’d been watching a twin brother.

We’d been lucky, really. As on every trip, we had no idea what had happened before we woke up in the dream world. Each time, we had to improvise and adapt to our surroundings. The fact that Silje thought Sondre’s homemade booze had given us a massive blackout worked in our favour on this adventure.

Silje was a good friend, that much was clear.

And we’d overpowered her, tied her to a chair and interrogated her like a criminal. We’d done her wrong.

My thoughts grew sluggish, mingling with the clattering from the kitchen until they fell silent altogether. I drifted off into a dreamless sleep.

A loud, dull thud jolted me awake.

“What was that?” I heard Miray say. Then she switched on the light.

“Probably Silje,” I mumbled sleepily. “Maybe she dropped something.”

Miray got up and went to the door. I followed her sluggishly.

“I think it came from the stairs,” she whispered.

I tried to open the door. It slammed against something and opened only a narrow crack.

“What’s going on now?” Miray growled.

I reached through the gap and found the cause.

“The other bedroom door’s open and blocking ours,” I explained. “Hang on, I’ve nearly got it.”

I managed to get hold of the other door and pushed it aside a little, just far enough for ours to finally open.

We stopped at the top of the stairs and listened. When we heard nothing, we crept downstairs and looked around the living room. There was no one there.

Then the front door opened and Silje came in. For a moment, she looked at us in surprise.

“Did I wake you?” she asked at last.

She forced a smile, but it looked wrong, more like a grimace.

“What was that thud?” Miray asked.

“Thud?” Silje thought for a moment. Then she seemed to remember. “Oh, I just dropped my suitcase down the stairs. Maybe that was it.”

Miray hesitated. “Your suitcase?” She looked around. “Where is it, then?”

“I… er… I just took it out to the car.”

“What, now? Just before four? And won’t you still need it?”

“No… Well…” Silje stammered awkwardly. “I thought I…”

“That’s enough,” Miray interrupted loudly. “Just stop lying to us! Why did you lock us in the storage room?”

Silje shook her head indignantly. “Here we go again, Miray?”

She slowly backed towards the counter, never taking her eyes off us.

“You locked yourselves in. Maybe you wanted a bit of peace and quiet to have a shag, who knows. Then you shut the door and pulled the handle out of the lock.”

“Nonsense,” cried Miray. “The piece of the handle in the storage room had no spindle. I couldn’t attach it anywhere. If we really had shut the door from the inside and locked ourselves in, like you say…”

“…then the part with the spindle would still have had to be in the lock,” I finished her sentence. Even as I said it, I realised what Miray was getting at.

“Exactly,” said Miray. “So someone pulled the handle out from the outside. That also made the handle on our side fall off.”

Her gaze bored into Silje’s eyes.

“And that someone was you, wasn’t it?”

Silje opened her mouth, then closed it again. Suddenly, she grabbed the long knife that was still lying on the counter and pointed it at us.

Miray raised her hands in a placating gesture. “It’s all right,” she said calmly. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

She slowly took a step towards Silje. Silje swung the knife. The blade whistled past Miray’s chest by inches.

That was exactly what Miray had been waiting for. She stepped in, slipped over Silje’s arm and pinned it beneath her armpit. Silje pushed back with all her strength and tried to wrench her arm free, but it was firmly trapped. She screamed in rage and struggled like a woman possessed.

“Take the knife off her, Dian,” Miray grunted. “I can’t hold her much longer.”

I stared at Silje’s fist, with the long blade jutting out of it. Metal, sharp, smeared with Henrik’s dried blood. There was nowhere I could grab it.

“I’d slice my hand open,” I shouted.

“Then think of something!”

I looked around. I needed something, anything, to get rid of the danger.

On the table, among the plates and cans, I spotted an object.

This might work!

I grabbed it with both hands and rammed it down onto the knife. The blade punched through the tin base with a loud bang.

“You can let go,” I said proudly. “She’s disarmed.”

Miray released Silje’s arm. For a moment, we all stared at her fist. The blade had disappeared. It was stuck inside a colourful cardboard tube, hidden among a stack of crisps.

“Damn it!” Silje hissed. Furious, she flung the useless thing into a corner, then watched us warily. And we watched her.

Suddenly, she sprinted for the front door, with Miray right behind her. Silje shoved a chair aside. It landed in front of Miray’s feet. She tripped over it, but managed to catch herself on the chair frame. In that instant, Silje reached the door. She yanked it open, slapped the light switch with her palm and everything went dark. The door slammed shut.

“She’s getting away!” I shouted into the darkness.

“Thanks for the update,” Miray groaned.

Wood clattered, then I heard footsteps moving away. There was a loud rattling at the door.

“Damn it, she’s locked us in.”

The room lit up again as Miray found the light switch.

“This time we’re going out through the window,” I said, setting off. Miray followed me.

Outside, we looked around, but Silje was nowhere to be seen. Then we heard a loud clatter.

“It’s coming from the lake!” Miray shouted.

We ran to the jetty.

By the time we reached it, Silje had already rowed the boat a fair way out. She was crouched inside, pushing at a large plastic sack that she was apparently trying to shove over the side.

Her hands slipped. The boat rocked, and she lost her balance. A brief scream, then she fell backwards into the water.

She surfaced, flailing her arms wildly. Her foot was still caught on the edge of the boat, tangled in a rope. She tried to free herself, but couldn’t.

“Help!” she screamed, then went under for a moment.

My gaze fell on Miray. She stared at the boat, which was drifting in the lake just a few metres away. Her body was tense, as if an invisible force were stopping her from simply jumping into the water.

“She’ll drown if we don’t do something,” she whispered.

My hand brushed her shoulder. I sighed, then grabbed the hem of my pyjama shirt to pull it over my head.

“Help!” Silje screamed again, then coughed violently.

“Oh, sod it,” I groaned, jumped into the water and started swimming.

By the time I reached Silje, she was barely moving. I lifted her up. With the last of her strength, she hauled herself over the side and collapsed into the boat. I pulled myself up and climbed in after her.

I’d expected Silje to attack me the next moment. But she was lying beside the sack, completely exhausted, coughing water out of her lungs. She was out of action.

So I grabbed the oars and rowed back to the jetty, where Miray was already waiting for us. She helped Silje out of the boat, then twisted her arm behind her back. Silje let us lead her to the cabin without putting up a fight.

In the bedroom, I quickly changed into some dry clothes, then went downstairs. A fire was crackling in the fireplace. Silje sat in front of it, soaked through, staring at the flames in resignation.

Miray hadn’t let her change clothes either. She was sitting on the floor beside Silje, keeping watch over her. When she noticed me, she beckoned me over.

I sat down beside the women. My thoughts kept circling back to what had just happened. Why had Silje attacked us with the knife? Why had she fled onto the boat? None of it made sense.

“That thud earlier, that was the sack you hauled down the stairs and into the boat, right?” Miray broke the silence. “What’s inside? Your ex’s body?”

Silje flinched. “How did you know?”

The corner of Miray’s mouth twitched.

“He made it as far as your bedroom. A burglar wouldn’t have risked a confrontation, he’d have scarpered straight away. But him? He wasn’t here to nick anything. No, he was looking for someone. And Henrik’s new to the group, so he was looking for you.”

Silje nodded, her shoulders slumping.

“Yes, it’s Lars. That utter pillock. He couldn’t handle me breaking up with him. He kept texting me, then started sending flowers. After that, he started stalking me.”

“Then he turned up here, didn’t he?” Miray continued. “You had a row. Next thing, he was lying on the floor.”

“It was an accident,” Silje cried. Then she coughed violently. “Henrik and I had come here that morning and got everything ready. When we’d finished, we still had time for a quickie. Then suddenly Lars was standing in the doorway. He knew the cabin from before, and must have guessed we’d be having the party here. I don’t even know how he got in.”

She burst into tears.

“He completely lost it. Shouted and screamed. Tried to hit me. When Henrik stepped in, he shoved him away. That’s when I saw red. I grabbed the Tiffany lamp from the bedside table and smashed it over his head. The lampshade broke. And then… blood… It shot out of Lars’s neck like a fountain. It splattered everywhere. He looked at me, clutching the wound, horror in his eyes. Then he collapsed.”

Silje struggled to get her breathing under control, but Miray would not let up.

“He came by bike, didn’t he?” she asked. “If we’d seen it, we’d have known he was here. So it had to disappear.”

Silje nodded.

“We’d just managed to throw Lars’s bike into the bushes and wash ourselves off when Magnus came up the drive, with Sondre and the two of you. We didn’t have time to deal with the body. We left it in the bedroom, locked the door, and then we partied…”

“…until blood started dripping from the kitchen ceiling.”

Silje stared at Miray in horror. “You noticed?”

Miray shook her head. “But your bedroom is directly above the kitchen. It was only a matter of time before the blood seeped through the wooden ceiling.”

I looked up at the kitchen ceiling. “With the dark wood and the subdued lighting, you can’t see anything up there,” I pointed out.

“Eventually the blood dripped down,” Miray replied. “And it dripped…”

“…onto the kitchen counter,” Silje finished. “Exactly. Henrik was standing there, cutting limes for the cocktails, when he noticed and beckoned me over. There were already a few thick drops on the worktop. Sooner or later, one of you would have spotted it too. What were we supposed to do? Wiping them up wouldn’t have helped, because the blood kept dripping from the ceiling.”

Miray’s mouth fell open.

“The knife!” she cried. “Henrik cut his own hand to cover up the drops on the worktop with his blood. How clever!”

Silje laughed. “Henrik’s so crazy about me, he’d do anything for me. All I had to do was hint at it. He looked at me. And then he plunged the knife into his palm.”

She mimed driving an invisible knife into her own hand. Then she sighed.

“Sadly, he took it a little too far. Well, you know the rest.”

Miray nodded. “And then you had the next problem, didn’t you? Magnus took Henrik to hospital, and of course you went with him. Sondre came along too, since the party was over anyway. Magnus’s car was full, and there was no one sober enough to drive the VW. So Dian and I had to stay behind here, alone, with a dead body in the bedroom.”

“Yes. It was too risky. So I told Magnus I’d left my handbag in the cabin and quickly went back. You two were busy with each other in the storeroom. I took the opportunity to shut the door and pull out the broken handle. Then we drove off.”

She smiled briefly. “You were completely out of it and barely knew what was going on. You probably nodded off in there as soon as the light went out.”

“I see,” said Miray seriously. “Later, you came back in a taxi to sink Lars’s body in the lake, get rid of the evidence, and then let us out of the storeroom. But when you saw a light in the cabin, you knew we’d managed to get out on our own.”

“Luckily, you were all completely muddled and couldn’t remember a thing. I felt safe. Too safe.”

She looked at us sheepishly.

“So, what now? What are you going to do with me?”

Miray gave a brief snort. “We can’t let you go, Silje. You killed someone, even if it might have been self-defence.”

We stayed with Silje all night. She changed into dry clothes while Miray kept an eye on her. Then we waited for the landlord to come to the cabin. When he heard what had happened, he went straight to his pickup and radioed the police.

We retreated to the storage room. In daylight, it had lost all its menace.

Miray was standing by the washing machine. She had got hold of one of the yellow sticky notes and was writing on it.

“We can’t take anything with us when we wake up,” I reminded her.

“I know.” She slipped the note into her pocket. “It’s a message to my alter ego. She needs to behave herself.”

“Because of the video?”

Miray grimaced. “Because of everything.”

Then she waved the wrist with the green circle on it. “Let’s get out of here before the police show up.”

I nodded, then looked up at the hinged window. It reminded me of how Miray had helped me climb out through it.

A question suddenly popped into my head.

“When I crawled out of there with nothing on, did you really not take a peek?”

Miray burst out laughing.

“What do you take me for, Dian?” she asked indignantly.

She placed her hand on the green circle and looked at me expectantly. I nodded, then did the same, and the dark nothingness carried me away.

“Dian,” I heard a voice say. My head hurt. I blinked.

I was back in the basement of my house, sitting on the floor. The light was on. My neighbour was standing beside me, holding out a hand.

“Are you all right, Dian?” he asked. “I found you here in the dark. You must have banged your head on the pipe.”

“I’m fine,” I mumbled groggily, letting him help me up. Then I rubbed the sore spot.

“That’s going to be quite a bump,” he said, pointing at my forehead. “Put some ice on it and it won’t swell up too badly.”

I nodded. “I’ll do that now.”

On my way back to my flat, I stopped abruptly. I couldn’t help smiling. It had only just occurred to me that Miray hadn’t actually answered my question.