Chapter 5 - Bad Dreams

CHAPTER 5

Disclaimer:
The following is adapted from the novel Let the Right One In by John A. Linqvist and the film bearing the same name. The characters in this work are those of Mr. Linqvist and no copyright protection is asserted to this work.

It’s dark and I’m out of my cell

Hungry, haven’t eaten for days

I drift down a passageway to a door at the end

There’s fresh blood on the handle, it draws me like a magnet

More on the other side, I know

Been in there before, no need for an invitation

I hate this room, but love it too

I reach the door, but instead of pulling the handle I kneel and lick it

My tongue flicks rapidly over the cold, bitter metal until it’s clean,

let nothing go to waste

Then I open it to see

Him sitting in a big chair (throne?)

Waiting for me with his white wig and mouth full of teeth

Teeth just like mine

He smiles and says ‘Do come in’

I step inside, close the door

Same table there as before with the bowls and knives

I look around for it; see movement behind the matching chair opposite

Hear a whimper of fear

I move across the room to it

(the boy)

Throw the chair aside, not heavy to me

He cringes, terrified, in the corner, blood running down the side of his face from the cut

He bolts as hare flees a fox, but I catch him by the legs and he falls down

He struggles to get away but he is no match for me, just a boy and within a few seconds I have him on his back

I pin him to the floor with my mouth in his throat

His fists beat uselessly on my head and shoulders as he screams

I bite deeper and his scream is cut short

His coppery redness spurts into my mouth in freshets,

like rainwater from a downspout after a thunderstorm

Surges into me, its magic pounds into my veins, my head

The flow dwindles, his heart is a little bird in his chest

I begin to suck; suck some more until there is nothing left

The bird’s wings flutter, flutter, then grow still.

He stands over me; I look up at Him through my blood-tinged eyes

I’m crouching on all fours over the blood-splattered body

I open wide and bare my teeth at him

Make a grotesque, guttural growl

I fear him but hate him, too, and leap upon him in my fury

He cuffs me down and I go sprawling; I get back up and attack again

He is laughing as he knocks me away again; it is useless

Finally I stop, defeated once more.

He nods with approval, then is down beside me

Takes my hands and puts them aside the dead boy’s head, his hands over mine

He says you must do this always, never forget

We do it together. And so I learn.

. . .

A loud bang woke Eli up with a start. She was alone.

She looked up out of the tub to see the bathroom door drifting slowly back toward a closed position. Had it just slammed against the wall?

“Oskar?”

She began to climb out and felt the scraping on the porcelain when she grasped the edge of the tub. She glanced down and realized that her hands were . . . .

Understanding flooded through her. Oh no.

Please, no.

She crawled out into the hallway; heard no sound. Glanced into the kitchen and saw only the bags of groceries lined up on the floor. She suppressed a sob and then headed toward the bedroom.

The bedroom door was shut. “Oskar?”

Nothing.

“Oskar, if you’re in there, please tell me you’re okay!”

A small, frightened voice—Oskar’s. Muffled—

(must be in the closet or something)

. . . but high and terrified, like she’d never heard him before. “Don’t come in here! Go away!”

His terror was palpable. She could sense it, even through the door. And something else—

--his blood.

Open the door and go in; make sure he’s okay. Get close and give him a hug, a kiss to make him feel better. Do it.

Eli saw her claw-hand reaching for the knob. She stopped, but continued to stare at the knob; then exhaled sharply and stepped back from the door. It took all of her strength; the pull toward the door was like standing in the surf and being drawn toward a towering wave. It was almost irresistible.

Before her willpower could fade, she spun around to take her eyes off the knob and dropped down to the floor, her mind electrified; racing. Must focus, focus on anything other than—

In the living room she saw their lego house by the sofa, the outlandishly tall tower that Oskar had built jutting up like a landmark. A cheery little blue flag was perched on top. Moaning, she scuttled across the floor toward it. She reached for it as a drowning man would grasp for a life preserver. Touched it.

Just feeling the hard, plastic bricks helped a little. A little lego couple stood atop the tower by the flag: Eli and Oskar in miniature. Oskar was smiling and waving to her with his little lego arm.

Thunder suddenly boomed outside. She heard the sound of rain on the window.

She put her head down onto the floor and saw the Algebra book they had gotten lying nearby, an untidy sheaf of her notebook paper stuffed under its cover.

Don’t think of his blood--think of that. Think of the future, what you could be. Not what you are.

Control—must get control, she thought. Must get rid of these hands. She looked at one. Be normal. It stubbornly refused to change. She thought about her mouthful of fangs. Change, damn you. Nothing happened.

Oh dear God, did I bite him?

(saw no blood, tasted no blood but I smell it)

This isn’t working, she thought. Need to get out of here, away from

(his fear and his blood, they excite me)

--him. But what if he’s badly hurt?

“Oskar, can you hear me?”

A pause. Then his high-pitched, trembling voice. “Uh huh.”

“Are you hurt? Did I hurt you?”

“Yeah. But . . . I’ll be okay, I think.” His words trailed off without conviction.

“Oskar, you know where the money is. If you need to, go to the Emergency Room. I have to leave. I can’t stay here right now—it’s not safe. I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

“Okay.”

“We . . . we can’t do that any more, Oskar. I should’ve . . . .”

She touched the lego house once more and began to cry. Pulled Lego Oskar off the tower and clutched him in her hand. Then she scrambled to the door without looking toward the bedroom, and fled into the night.

* * *

Oskar heard the front door slam shut. He sat, crying and shaking, in the deepest corner of the closet behind the bifold doors, his legs drawn up to his chest with his arms wrapped around them. His neck ached terribly.

He had woken up a few minutes earlier, and had been enjoying being held by Eli. She had begun to toss and turn a little, and he had thought about getting up. Then, suddenly, she had grabbed him. It had felt like his head was in a vise--a vise with spikes. And then she had twisted his head violently. He was certain that if he had not awakened before she had done it, he would be dead now. As it was, he had rolled in the tub and narrowly escaped having his neck broken.

He waited a full five minutes before moving. During that time he listened for any sound to indicate that Eli was still in their apartment, but all he heard was the occasional clap of thunder from the storm. He relaxed as the silence dragged on, and his heart, which had been beating like a triphammer, returned to normal. Finally he stood, banging his head on the hanger bar. He grimaced, pushed his way out, and went into the bathroom.

He turned on the light and looked in the mirror. His neck was already starting to swell, and was so stiff and sore that he had to move his whole torso to see the sides of his head. There were dark, wet blotches in his hair on either side of his head where her claws had sunk into his scalp. But the cuts were not deep, and the blood was already tacky. His head throbbed horribly, and the slightest movement of his neck caused a stabbing pain down into his shoulders.

He looked at himself. A terrified, pale young man with gray under his eyes stared back at him.

She almost killed me—Eli. Why? She would never hurt me on purpose. Had she even been awake?

He turned away from his reflection and began to cry. He carefully found the toilet and, trembling, sat down. Sat on his pants that he’d thrown there the night before; felt under his bottom the crucifix that he’d been carrying around in his pocket. He put his head in his hands and sobbed bitterly.

The unspoken strain of living with Eli suddenly broke through the veneer and intruded into conscious thought. The hours and days spent being alone while she was out, missing his mom and even his dad. For the better part of a year he had not even heard his mother’s voice.

Mom . . . what is this life I’ve chosen? he thought. If only I could just talk with you once in awhile. Let you know I’m alive and okay.

No doubt, there had been good things about living with Eli. For sure, he had been forced to grow up quite a bit. He had learned to do the things that his mother had done in the past, the kinds of things he’d taken for granted: cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry. Learning to take care of himself. And to his surprise, Eli had helped do all of these things too, although he was sure she had never thought much about household chores before.

But, he now admitted to himself, the biggest strain in living with Eli was not the isolation, or missing his parents. It was, instead, the mental wall he had constructed and was maintaining in his mind, so he would not have to think about . . . everything. About what it meant when she left hungry, and came home with even the smallest signs of physical violence on her person. He knew she had been careful to hide that from him. Somehow, for instance, she had figured out a way to change her clothes while she was out. But she couldn’t hide everything. He saw the signs—in the corners of her mouth; on the clothes he washed; on the tub he cleaned. It was like his mother’s secret smoking habit—he knew where she hid her cigarettes in the cupboard; knew where she was going when she slipped outside to smoke. And even if he could not see these things, the cycle of her hunger and feeding was unmistakable in her mood and physical appearance. No matter how hard Eli tried to keep all of this from him, he knew what she did. That she killed other people—people not much different from him, when it came right down to it—to live. To stay alive for—

. . . for him.

The happy, joyful memories of his time spent with Eli suddenly didn’t feel quite so happy; in fact, they felt somehow polluted. How many people has she killed since we’ve been together?, he wondered. All that praying he’d done, hoping that she would be normal again—had it been for her, or for him? And of what benefit had it been? Maybe she was right; maybe it was all just a waste of time and energy. A bitter lesson she’d learned long ago. Would he now learn it, too?

Could he simply . . . accept it? He realized that he kind of did, because he loved her and lived with her. But could he embrace it fully? Have a little talk with her? Tell her that—that . . . there was no more need for her to hide that side of herself from him? That he would be happy to . . . to what? Give up trying to be good and . . . untainted. Let her darkness into himself, as it had claimed so much of her. Maybe even . . . become like her? She would vehemently refuse, he knew, but would they be happier that way? And would she agree if it were the only way they could remain together?

And what would making that choice mean for their future together? Would he still have any desire to finish school and get a job? Would Eli want to continue studying, like she’d been trying to do? What would be the point? They would both be . . . supernatural. Live in the dark together, completely outside society. Instead of how it was right now—with one foot in, the other out.

He thought briefly of leaving. Just—calling it quits. She had said herself she would never want him to stay with her if he was unhappy. So, was he happy? In his heart of hearts?

He thought of the moment she had pulled him up from the pool, had saved his life. Remembering it made him stop crying and straighten up. He wiped the tears from his eyes. In that instant, the bond between them had been sealed. As far as he was concerned, it was sealed for all time. He would never leave her, even if she did attack him again. If it came to that, he would fight the thing inside her. How, he didn’t know. But he would fight to reclaim the Eli he loved and try to save her from the darkness.

Oskar glanced over and saw the thick, fuzzy blanket they had shared, lying in the bottom of the tub. He thought about how warm they had been together, wrapped inside it like peas in a pod. Not anymore. An anguished cry escaped his throat, and he began to sob all over again.

* * *

Eli plunged down the stairs toward the exit to their building. Once outside their apartment, her fear of being near Oskar rapidly turned to rage. She slammed the door open and, not caring who might see, launched herself into flight when she was only a few meters outside.

She climbed rapidly into the darkness, the warm rain drenching her face and arms, not sure where she was going, or for what reason. She wanted only to get away. To be alone.

A tall, metal radio tower with a flashing light at the top caught her eye, and she turned in its direction. Soon she was crossing over the industrial district of the city. She saw a large warehouse, and landed noiselessly on its roof next to a massive, humming piece of air handling equipment. No one was around. She slipped into an opening in the side of the gray, metal structure and sat down out of the rain. A burst of lightning flickered across the sky, and a low growl of thunder rolled across Vänern.

She wrapped her arms around herself, huddled into a ball and rocked back and forth, weeping. Her hair and clothes were soaked, and soon a small puddle formed under her.

She looked out at the dark, ponderous sky. Her eyes gleamed, cat-like, in the darkness. Hate You, she thought. Hate You for what happened to me. What did I do to deserve this? Where were You with your awesome power to protect me when I needed You most? When I was just a child? Why have You cursed me?

Enough; no more. Can’t do it anymore. Can’t keep trying to be good.

She remembered the tiny piece of plastic she’d been carrying. Opened her hand to stare sadly at Lego Oskar in her palm. She closed her hand around him and brought him to her chest; closed her eyes and slowly shook her head. Almost killed him and didn’t even know it, she thought. And now, who knows how badly I’ve hurt him. Fresh tears welled up and rolled down her cheeks. Something I had vowed never to do, and it happened, just like that. How pathetic; how—utterly ridiculous I am. What I want, what I try to do; it’s all meaningless. Stupid and pointless. All that hope, all the effort, to try and build a life with him, just . . . blown away like chaff in the wind. All we have is each other, and now even our little bit of togetherness is spoiled. What else will You take away?

I’ll never waste another moment praying to You, and he won’t either if I have anything to say about it. I’ll ask him if he wants to be like me, and if he does, we’ll do it. No second thoughts; no hand-wringing; no agonizing about right and wrong. You’ve made me wrong, and that’s what I’ll be from now on. To Hell with your so-called, infinite loving--

Through the rain she heard a metallic click, a creak, and then the sound of a door closing. She froze, then withdrew into the tiny space . . . listening and waiting.

Footsteps in the gravel approached. Then a middle-aged man in a uniform and carrying a flashlight came into view. He stopped, turned, and shined the light directly into her face.

He must have seen her eyes because he staggered backwards, completely surprised. “What the—”

Eli exploded out at him. He began to bring the flashlight up to fend her off, but there was not enough time and she hit him. He fell and landed on his back, striking his head on a steel pipe that ran close to the ground, parallel to and a couple of meters from the air handler. His hat flew off and the flashlight rolled away. Eli got up from a crouch and leaped onto his chest.

The man did not react. His surprised, frightened expression slackened, and his head turned to the side and rolled down off the pipe to the ground, offering its profile to her.

Eli bared her teeth, prepared to bite. Then—

. . . Papa?

. . . You look like--Papa.

She gasped and froze. Her breath staggered to a standstill in her throat. The rain poured down, gently splashing in small droplets on his unconscious face. Another bolt of lightning flashed, illuminating him for an instant in a stark contrast of dark and light. Thunder boomed again, but softer this time as the storm receded.

She closed her mouth. Her pupils relaxed and changed from elliptical to round. She reached out, touched his face; turned it to her.

The shape of his face was the same. The same chin; the same pepper-gray hair; the same skin, weathered and worn from years spent working outside.

Father—is it you? No—impossible; but now I remember. I can remember my father . . . after all these years.

For a few moments Eli simply sat on the guard’s chest in the rain, staring at his face. The hatred that had distorted her features a few moments before had vanished. After awhile, she placed her fingers under his jaw to feel for a pulse. It was there; he wasn’t dead. She stood up and withdrew from him; walked to the edge of the roof. And flew away.