Putti lifted his head and growled, longer and deeper than before. Garðar snorted. ‘You can bet your life that what’s really freaking us out is this bloody dog. If he’d just shut up we wouldn’t be reacting like this. People can make up all sorts of nonsense and start imagining the most ridiculous things.’
‘Don’t talk about the poor thing like that. Come here, Putti, come to mummy.’ Líf patted her thigh, but Putti didn’t appear to be particularly impressed, though he did stop growling. He didn’t move any closer to Líf, however, but stayed snuggled against Katrín. After her fall down the stairs he’d stuck close to her and was apparently determined not to leave her side. Garðar watched the dog, shook his head and yawned, then was clearly reminded of the video clip and the disjointed sentences of the sleep-deprived man, and quickly tried to swallow his yawn. ‘Shouldn’t we be getting inside? It’s starting to get colder and we can’t sit here all night.’
‘I don’t want to be in there.’ Líf had started scratching Putti behind his ears, apparently jealous that the dog now seemed fonder of Katrín. ‘I actually like the cold out here better.’ She cuddled the dog, who appeared not to notice. ‘Couldn’t we just bring our sleeping bags out here?’
‘No.’ This reminded Katrín of her students. When the children were faced with something they didn’t like, they came up with all sorts of unrealistic ways to avoid the inevitable or at least to postpone it. Líf must have known that eventually they’d have to go inside. Right now it seemed a bit more tolerable sitting there outdoors, but they were unlikely to still feel that way when it came to closing their eyes and going to sleep.
‘But we could go and sleep in the doctor’s house. We have the keys, of course.’ Katrín didn’t want to say it, but there might be a radio there or something that could put them in touch with the outside world. She was no better than Líf in her unrealistic expectations.
Líf was thrilled with this idea, but Garðar needed a bit more deliberation. ‘Would we be any better off there?’ He was still on his feet, peering out into the darkness at where the house stood. The night sky was overcast, and there was no light from either the moon or the stars. ‘The child is just as likely to harass us there as here.’
‘Maybe. Maybe not.’ Katrín was also standing up now, despite her protesting muscles. Putti lay still but gazed up at her, looking sad somehow. She smiled at him, uncertain whether dogs understood different facial expressions. ‘Well, I’d feel better about going there than staying here tonight, at least. What about you?’
Nothing else needed to be said; none of them was particularly interested in bedding down on the first floor again, in the room that the previous owner also appeared to have chosen to sleep in. Putti watched their every move, always staying close to Katrín, who had to endure piercing pain with each step. It had become embarrassingly clear that he preferred her to his owner. Perhaps there was nothing particularly strange about the poor creature realizing that it had limited support from Líf, but Katrín was surprised that the dog wasn’t focusing its attention on Garðar. He was the one who was at least attempting to pretend that everything was fine.
‘I think I felt a snowflake.’ Líf adjusted her sleeping bag in her arms and stroked her cheek. ‘Wouldn’t it be good if it snowed more? Then maybe we’d see footprints.’
‘Would you follow them?’ Garðar was behind Katrín and Líf, who had just enough room to walk side by side on the narrow trail. Garðar’s walk was barely faster than Katrín’s, as his foot had barely healed. ‘I don’t really see that happening.’
‘I’m not talking about going out tonight, but maybe tomorrow when it’s light. It’s not as if there are so many people here that the place would be covered in footprints. Just imagine if we could find the little bastard, tie him up and finally have some peace. Maybe we get to kill him, since he obviously killed the man who used to own the house?’
Katrín raised her eyebrows, which made the sore spot on her scalp ache. Líf wasn’t quite right in the head. But she left it to Garðar to respond to this nonsense and the two of them continued to bicker back and forth about it on the way over. Although Katrín generally found it boring to listen to quarrelling, she found it comfortable now. There was something so mundane and familiar about it, almost like standing between an old couple who couldn’t agree on anything. When they tiptoed carefully across the dilapidated bridge over a branch of the stream, Katrín didn’t even feel her heart beating rapidly, as it had done before now, at the thought of falling into the icy water. She was too busy listening to Garðar talk irritably about how tracks could be covered over by snow in a surprisingly short amount of time. Líf didn’t believe this for a second and the issue was still unresolved when they suddenly came to the pale yellow two-storey house that had previously housed the village physician.
‘God, I hate how they’ve boarded up the windows. It’s as if the house’s eyes have been poked out and bandages slapped on.’ Líf shuddered.
They stood silently, staring at the house. Líf’s description was unnervingly accurate. Garðar was the first to break the silence. ‘At least it’s obvious that no one’s gone in there except with a key. The door’s the only thing that hasn’t been nailed shut. However good this child is at hiding, I doubt he’s that good at break-ins. It doesn’t look as if the door’s been messed with.’ Although Garðar sounded confident, none of them seemed keen to be first to try the door.
Putti was hopping around between Katrín and Líf, apparently agitated by something – the cold, perhaps. He looked miserable. The prospect of the poor thing freezing to death prompted Katrín to cut to the chase. ‘Who has the key?’ As soon as she said it, she realized none of them had thought to bring it.
‘I’ll shoot back over. I’ll be no time at all.’ Garðar didn’t listen to their feeble protests. Neither of them was keen on turning back, nor did they want him to go. But someone had to get the key, and it was pointless to make a big fuss over who should go when someone had already volunteered. They watched him jog rather awkwardly, due to his heel, out into the darkness and he seemed to disappear from sight incredibly fast. When they’d stood staring at the darkness for an uncomfortably long time, Katrín walked up to the house and put her sleeping bag down by the door. Líf followed her example. Then they sat down on the porch, which was far sturdier than the one attached to their own house, and waited for Garðar and the key. Putti stood at the base of the porch, sniffing the air.
‘Please. Don’t growl.’ Líf wrapped her jacket tighter. ‘I can’t take any more.’ The dog made no sound but turned quickly towards the house and stopped abruptly. This house stood much closer to the sea than theirs and here the sound of the waves was louder, as they hit the beach more vigorously than earlier in the evening. From time to time there also came a more forceful splashing sound, as if someone were kicking around in the shallows. ‘How long is it since Garðar left? Shouldn’t he be back by now?’ Líf didn’t look at Katrín, since she herself knew how silly the question was. ‘I can’t wait to get inside and into my sleeping bag.’