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The idea had only just come to him, but it sounded really good.

‘What will he do then?’ Casper wanted to know.

He didn’t sound all that interested, but Jonas had to keep going.

‘He’ll go to the houses on the other side of the road and...’ Jonas tried to think of something terrible that could happen. Something really bad. ‘He’ll go into every room and raise his sword, then chop off everyone’s arms while they’re fast asleep. The pain will wake them up, and they’ll see the blood pumping out, and their arms lying on the floor. Most of them will survive, but they’ll never be able to swim again.’

Casper was listening, but didn’t look impressed.

‘Wrong. He’ll take over their bodies while they’re asleep. And when they wake up, they’re possessed.’

‘Possessed?’

‘Possessed by the ghost.’

‘Right.’

‘I saw a film about that kind of thing last winter,’ Casper said. ‘Fallen. It was about a demon who came up from hell and took over people’s souls. He could move from one person to another, and when someone was possessed they had to do whatever he wanted. He turned them all into serial killers, but when the police arrested the murderer, the demon simply transferred into another body. So nobody could catch him.’

Jonas nodded. He hadn’t seen the film, but being possessed by a demon sounded worse than having your arms chopped off. He tried to think of something even more terrifying, but he’d run out of ideas.

He looked down at the cairn. ‘More stones have started to come loose — can you see?’

‘Maybe the ghost is on his way out,’ Casper said. ‘But you could always roll them back.’

‘OK.’

But Jonas was just saying that; he didn’t even want to touch the fallen stones. Anything could happen if he did that.

Casper revved his moped one last time and gazed out across the water. He didn’t even look at Jonas; it was as if he was talking to himself.

‘I was thinking of going up to Marnäs, to meet some mates by the harbour... See what’s happening there.’

He didn’t ask if Jonas wanted to go with him, and Jonas didn’t ask if he could come along, but now Casper looked at him and said, ‘You can use my rubber dinghy if you want. If you’re going swimming. It’s in the boathouse.’

‘OK,’ Jonas said.

Casper swung the moped around and set off along the coast road, increasing his speed so that the rattling got louder and louder until he turned on to the track leading past the maypole and the mini-golf course, heading up towards the main road.

Slowly, Jonas walked away from the cairn.

He remembered that Uncle Kent had promised him a great summer. He had said it was going to be fantastic.

But now he was all by himself on the coast, completely alone. As Jonas watched his cousin disappear, he knew that the next month was going to be terrible.

Lisa

The sun had gone down, and the party was under way.

Lady Summertime gazed out across the room at the crowded dance floor, the bubbling cauldron down below her throne. Hands flew up in the air, hair was tossed around, upper bodies swayed to the beat, forming dark, billowing waves.

‘Summer of love!’ she yelled into the microphone. ‘It’s going to be a long, fantastic summer!’

It was one thirty in the morning, the club was packed and Lady Summertime was running the show with flashing lights and a thumping backbeat. She was completely in charge, in her purple wig, oversized yellow T-shirt, black nail varnish and black leather jacket. Lisa would never wear such clothes, but this was Lady Summertime’s uniform.

She had arrived at seven thirty, and the cooks in the kitchen had provided her with a late dinner. Then she had put on her make-up and her wig. At half past eight, Lisa (Lady Summertime!) had gone into the club and put on a CD with fairly gentle tracks as background music.

People had been a little slow on this Sunday after midsummer, but at about ten o’clock they had started making their way down from the hotel and the campsite, red in the face from too much sunshine and front loading. They had gathered at the bars, both indoor and outdoor, ordering beer and glancing over towards the DJ booth.

At half past ten she suddenly turned up the volume, and everyone jumped.

‘OK, everybody on the dance floor! Right now!’ Summertime shouted, and people did as they were told.

When they had had enough to drink they became more adventurous, raising their hands in the air — they were ready to party.

By eleven the bar was jam-packed and the tables were covered with ice buckets. Lisa stuck to water all evening, but she was probably the only one.

At quarter past eleven the first glass smashed on the dance floor. The shards went everywhere, but the dancing continued.

At half past eleven the first bottle of champagne was emptied on to the floor, sprayed all over the place by the guy who had paid fourteen hundred kronor for it. He was rich — that was obvious from his early suntan. People screamed with laughter in the shower of bubbles, and several credit cards were waved at the bar staff. ‘More champagne!’

By midnight the place stank of booze and sweat. People were dancing with few inhibitions, in sleeveless tops and sweat-drenched shirts. A couple of the boys were wearing nothing but swimming trunks. The girls’ hair was plastered to their faces with perspiration; their make-up had slid off long ago. Lady Summertime had acquired her own little group of cheerleaders, standing immediately below her booth. A forest of fists rose in the air, in time with the music.

‘Summertime! Summertime!’

And she shouted back: ‘Love ya! Love ya!’

After twelve, she put on the Cowley remix of Donna Summer’s ‘I Feel Love’, pressed the button for a strobe effect on the lighting desk and set the smoke machine going — then Summertime jumped down from the booth and set off on tour among the dancers, right into the middle of the chaos.

It was sweaty, it was smoky, the darkness split by flashing lights.

Summertime became a jumping body among all the others, moving to the beat, raising her fists in the air, allowing a hug here and there, and rejecting a proposition whispered in her ear by some guy in a white shirt. She shook her head, smiling — Summertime was always in control — and after a few minutes she was back in her booth. She turned off the smoke and switched to ‘Situation’ by Yazoo.

‘Summertime! Summertime!’

Her little group was growing. Deafening shouts, hands in the air, stumbling feet, drinks spilling everywhere.

Summertime flicked through her vinyl collection and smiled at the chaos, but suddenly she spotted three guys at the far end of the dance floor. They looked like Greeks or Italians, and were standing very close together, about a metre from the bar. They were whispering and glancing around them, almost furtively.

She mixed in ‘Firestarter’ by Prodigy, and the next time she looked up they had gone.

Booze was knocked back by the bottle, more champagne was ordered. Lisa watched as one guy who was clearly the worse for wear counted out seven thousand-kronor notes to pay his tab; he passed them over to the bartender with a wave of his hand. ‘Keep the change!’

It was crazy; it was the height of summer.

A security guard appeared at the side of the DJ booth. He signalled to Lisa, and she took off her headphones and leaned forward.

‘We’ve had some trouble!’ he shouted to her. ‘Can you say something? Ask people to be a bit more careful?’

‘What kind of trouble?’

‘Thieving!’ the guard yelled. ‘Some people have lost their wallets!’