Watching You(92)

They set off into the forest and instantly sank up to their ankles in squelching moss. It was a waterlogged world. The trees were close together. They fought their way forward, metre by metre. A branch whipped back and caught Berger across the bridge of his nose. He didn’t say anything, realised this wasn’t the time for words. It was like struggling through a nightmare. The trees seemed to be clutching at them.

Sometimes Berger would think Blom had vanished, but then she would appear again, her rain-soaked jacket shining dark green.

In the end a light emerged from the forest. It was so weak that it might have been a mirage. But they both saw it, a faint break in the darkness. And the trees gradually began to thin out. Presumably they were approaching the clearing.

When they reached the final row of trees it became apparent that the light wasn’t coming from the clearing, but further away. Berger switched his torch off, forced his way through the last of the vegetation and entered the clearing.

The light was coming from the far side, perhaps some two hundred metres away, illuminating the front of a shabby little house.

But that wasn’t the only thing that was lit up.

At least four floodlights, a couple of metres off the ground, were focused on a central area. The area was framed by four bare tree trunks, forming a rectangle. An illuminated rectangle.

Berger couldn’t see much more. He had to focus his gaze, make it cut through the water beating down on the clearing around them, which was covered by grass that was just a little too tall to be ordinary grass.

He fixed his eyes on the illuminated space, an oddly radiant, distant scene in the midst of the darkness. Four sturdy, stripped tree trunks, sawn off three metres up.

They were reminiscent of roof supports.

Thick chains ran between the four tree trunks in an intricate pattern. But not just chains. Berger thought he could also make out a couple of large cogs, some pinions and springs, a couple of shafts, a weight and a pendulum.

It was a clock.

A tower clock without a tower.

And in the middle of the clock was a human being.

Her arms were stretched out sideways, impossibly long, from an elegant, far too summery, floral dress. And the figure’s long hair was perfectly blonde.

‘Ellen,’ Blom hissed and set off. Berger saw her sink in the tall grass. Which on closer inspection seemed more like reeds. And the clearing more like a marsh. She struggled on with the reeds up to her chest, step after laborious step.

He threw himself in behind her. He sank deeper but was considerably taller. The rain lashed at them with increasing intensity as they battled onwards. The image of the perversely illuminated clock shook and trembled in time with their uneven steps. Berger could hear a loud click cut through the darkness and saw Ellen Savinger’s arms get pulled another notch further out. He heard no scream, no sound except the ones he and Blom were making as they fought their way through the marsh.

Their feet sank, got tangled in roots, then resurfaced with a sucking sound. The reeds whipped at their faces. Blom’s face shone white in the night, pale but determined.

Halfway now. Berger pushed with all his might. He could hear himself roar. It was as if the sound came from somewhere else. From deep, deep inside.

Another sharp click rang out. Ellen’s arms were pulled even further out from the flowery dress. They were so close now that they could see the taut figure clearly. Blonde hair covered her slumped head, and Berger realised that they were seeing Ellen from behind.

Her bare legs were lashed together under the dress; only her arms stuck out. Ellen Savinger stood there as though crucified by time itself.

Now the roaring was no longer distant. He tore his feet from the mud with all the strength he could muster. He flew past Blom. He was so close; he suddenly thought he could make out every single blonde hair on the back of Ellen’s head.

Then the next click, louder than ever.

He had more or less reached the illuminated ground when he saw the heavy chains tighten one more notch. And he saw one arm come away from the body. He thought he could hear the sound of joints being wrenched from their sockets, muscles torn asunder, skin split. He watched as the right arm was pulled from the sleeve of the dress. It curved through the air and was left dangling down the bare tree trunk, swinging like a pendulum from one of the chains.

The marsh finally let go of his feet. With a roar he threw himself up onto firmer ground and rushed towards the clock. He ran around Ellen’s mutilated body and looked into her eyes. They didn’t look back.

Her eyes had a fixed stare.

They weren’t human.

They were a doll’s.

‘It a fucking mannequin!’ he bellowed into the night.

Blom emerged from the marsh. Small trickles of pale pink were running from the tiny cuts on her face. She said nothing, just watched the arm as it swung from the thick chain. Then she went over to the body that wasn’t a body. While Berger leaned forward, hands on knees, Blom inspected the face that had never been alive. Then she reached out her hand and pulled an object from the dummy’s mouth. She held it out to Berger.

It was a very small cog.





36




Thursday 29 October, 19.48

Berger looked over at Blom. She was creeping past the shattered mannequin, pistol drawn. She gestured to the side and slipped off towards the front of the little house. Berger followed. As they crouched below the porch steps the echoes of the house in M?rsta felt distinctly creepy. It was like a twin.