‘Stop it.’ Katrín felt a surge of desperate anger envelop her and she had the urge to slap Líf in the face. She didn’t want to hear her potential fate put into words, and certainly not from Líf, like this. It was unfair to compare her relationship with Garðar to the one that Líf and Einar had ripped to shreds between them. But then her anger vanished, and sorrow was waiting to take its place. Katrín knew that if she gave in to tears it would be difficult to stop them; she forced down a huge lump in her throat and cleared it. ‘We should talk about something else. Garðar will come back. You can be sure of that.’
Líf didn’t reply, and they said nothing until they’d got into the kitchen and lit a new candle. Their stock had been dwindling rapidly but the need for light overcame common sense, and just to be able to see reasonably well perked them up enough for them to eat something. Neither had any appetite, so they made do with taking whatever they found in the boxes and laying it out on the kitchen table. Putti was given a slice of liverwurst, in which at first he seemed to have no interest, but then started to eat slowly and steadily.
‘I hate milk biscuits.’ Still, Líf didn’t let that stop her from taking another bite of biscuit number two. ‘There’s no point in eating them somehow. They taste of nothing, they’re hard and dry, and you’d think they’d been made in a cement factory.’ She took a drink from the milk carton and frowned. The milk wasn’t off, but since she had no appetite it was difficult getting anything down.
Katrín smiled and hoped it was a good sign that they were able to talk about something besides their situation. Maybe soon she could suggest that they go out for some fresh air. They had to fetch firewood and Putti surely had to pee, though he wasn’t showing any signs of it. She didn’t feel she wanted to let him go out by himself, in case he ran off and never came back. In case the child got him as it had got Garðar. She swallowed a dry mouthful of the flatbread she’d been nibbling. ‘I hate flatbread.’ Neither of them smiled.
The floor creaked sharply and they looked at each other, their pupils wide in the dull light. ‘What was that?’ asked Líf, through a mouthful of biscuit. ‘It sounded like it was right behind me. Is someone there? Is that fucking child standing behind my chair?’ Líf’s voice sounded like she was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. Her eyes bulged and she hadn’t blinked since their terrified gazes had met.
There was a certain security in looking only into Líf’s eyes and Katrín had no desire to turn her gaze elsewhere, least of all in the direction from which the sound had come. But she did just that, shifting her eyes slightly to the side without moving her head so that she could let them flick back to their place if she saw something bad. But she saw nothing in either direction. ‘There’s nothing there.’ Neither of them found much consolation in this and they continued to stare distraught at each other, waiting for the inevitable second creak that would surely follow. Despite their anticipation, they were startled nevertheless when it came, especially Líf as she turned her back to the sound.
This noise was followed by a low whine from Putti, which had little effect since the floor creaked again, now slightly more softly. This was followed by a whisper, just like the one that Katrín thought she’d heard before but hadn’t wanted to mention. Since she was always alone when it came, she hadn’t wanted the others to think she was hallucinating or deranged. But despite her hope that the others would hear this unbearable voice, she took no comfort in the fact that Líf was hearing it now. Katrín actually felt even worse on seeing her look so frightened. Now she could no longer flirt with the idea that she’d just been hearing things. ‘Who said that?’ Líf seemed on the verge of tears and Katrín didn’t feel much better.
‘I don’t know,’ Katrín whispered, so softly she could barely hear herself. ‘I don’t know.’ The words sounded better the second time as Katrín’s courage rose again, but it was rising and falling like ocean waves. ‘What did you hear it say?’ She leaned closer to Líf, making sure not to look past her for fear of seeing the outline of the boy deep in the darkness of the kitchen.
‘O-o-op-open it.’ Tears were pouring down Líf’s cheeks. They gleamed, making it look as if she was weeping gold.
Katrín had heard the same thing. ‘Open what?’ She asked the question softly, without expecting an answer. Again the words sounded behind Líf. Katrín felt goose bumps spring up on her arms and she clamped her eyes shut as Líf let herself slump forward onto the kitchen table. She didn’t want to see what was behind her friend, but her eyes immediately snapped back open, making her flight from reality last only a second. It hadn’t been intentional; Putti had stepped on her injured foot as he sought shelter between her legs. The pain was unbearable and Katrín cried out. This earthbound, vivid feeling of pain cleared a path for her back to common sense. It also helped that there was nothing to see behind Líf, besides a crowbar propped up against the wall near where Garðar had been working in the night. Katrín got up. ‘I’m going to see whether there’s a hole there where this whispering could be coming from.’ Líf shook as she lay face down on the table and said something inaudible. But Katrín had made her decision.
She hopped to the wall where the sound had originated from, concentrating on taking care with the candle flame. There was nothing strange to see, although Katrín was seized with the vague feeling that something was sharing the immediate vicinity with her. She half expected to feel a warm breath creep beneath her neckline, but nothing happened. The only thing she sensed was an unpleasant, powerful smell ascending from below, not unlike the one that had emanated from Líf after she’d come down the stairs. She let herself sink to her haunches to better view the floor, with all her weight on her good foot. It was difficult and the intensifying pain strengthened her resolve. Damn it, nothing could happen that wasn’t going to happen anyway. It was only a question of taking it kneeling down or standing on her feet, boldly. She tried not to think that Garðar had probably gone missing because of his boldness, and they had escaped the same fate by being cautious. ‘Jesus.’ She raised the hand not holding the candle to her face and stuck her nose and mouth into the crook of her elbow. The fungus or mould had actually spread, nearly hiding the wood beneath the new planks under its green patina.
‘What?’ Líf had risen and turned in her chair. She clearly found it better to have what she knew in the foreground, rather than in the darkness that could hide anything at all. ‘What’s there?’
‘A disgusting smell and a disgusting growth, like what we saw on the floorboards, remember?’ Katrín’s voice was muffled as she spoke into her arm, but Líf seemed to understand every word. ‘Only much, much more of it.’ Katrín moved the candle closer and spotted a little area next to the wall that the green slick seemed not to have reached. She brought the candle flame as close to it as she could, having to use both her hands to do so.
‘Don’t breathe in that stuff!’ Líf stood up and covered her mouth. Putti moved over to her and stood pinned against her legs, from where he stared dejectedly at Katrín. He whined softly, once.
‘I’m dead anyway if this is dangerous. Both of us are.’ Katrín squinted in order to see better. ‘There are hinges here. It’s probably an old trapdoor.’ She turned to Líf. ‘There’s something under the floor. Maybe we’ll finally get an explanation for all the disturbances in the house.’
It didn’t look as if Líf were desperate for an answer. ‘If that bloody child is under there, do we really want to be opening it for him? Have you lost your mind?’ When Katrín didn’t reply, but instead shifted herself enough to be able to reach the crowbar, she added: ‘Why do you think the man who lived here before laid a new floor over this trapdoor? He knew that there was something bad under the floor. Don’t open it, Katrín.’ She was commanding, pleading and horror-struck all at once.