Chapter 54
I wake up in bed, stretch, and blink away the sleep in my eyes. My room is pitch black, but it doesn’t feel like the middle of the night.
Then I remember: The moment I got home from school, I collapsed on my bed and fell asleep. My alarm clock reads ten past six. Almost dinnertime.
I sit on the edge of the bed and try to rub my sleepiness away. Everything feels a little off-kilter.
The house is very quiet.
I head downstairs and into the kitchen. The light is on, and I find Dad sitting at the table, reading the daily newspaper. The radio is on in the background.
“Feeling better after that nap?” He puts the paper down, open on the sports pages.
With a little yawn, I sit down on the wooden chair next to him. “How did you know I had a nap?”
“Mom went in and checked on you. She said you looked very sweet while you were sleeping.”
There’s a gray stain on the bandage on his forehead.
“It’s no wonder you’re tired, sweetheart, after the week you’ve had.”
I look around. There are no pots on the stove, no sizzling frying pans or food smells.
“Isn’t it dinnertime soon?”
“I was going to wait until you woke up. There’s no rush; it’s just you and me tonight. Are you in the mood for anything in particular?”
My brain feels sluggish. I can’t quite make sense of my thoughts.
“Why just you and me? Where’s Mom?”
Dad gestures to the door. “The clinic called about an hour ago. One of the other nurses called in sick, so they asked Mom to cover her shift. She got a ride with Iris to Stavsn?s.”
I try to absorb what he has just said. I blink a few times.
“But she wasn’t supposed to be working today, was she?”
Dad picks up the paper again. “No,” he says. “But a little overtime can’t hurt, what with the new boat and everything.”
My eyes are drawn to the window, to the impenetrable blackness outside.
I can sense them out there, meandering and agitated.
“When did she leave?” My voice has become shrill.
“About fifteen minutes ago. What’s the matter, Tuva?”
I can feel my pulse throbbing in my temples.
“Call her. Now, right this second. Tell her she has to come home, she can’t be out on the water at this time of the evening.”
Now my whole body is shaking. Dad looks baffled, but there’s no time to explain.
This is why things didn’t feel right when I woke up in my dark room.
They were no longer waiting outside my window. They found other prey.
“I can’t call her, I don’t have my cell phone,” says Dad apologetically. “I took it to be repaired this morning. It started glitching—must have gotten water damage in the accident after all.”
“Oh, Dad,” I whisper. “No.”
“What’s wrong?” Now he sounds scared, too, even though he has no idea of the gravity of the situation. How could he?
I fling my arms around his neck, hug him as hard as I can, and whisper, “I love you, Dad.”
Then I run out into the hallway, pull on my boots, and rush out the door with jacket in hand.
I hear him calling out behind me: “Tuva, where are you going?”
But I don’t turn around. There’s no time.
I run as fast as my legs will carry me. I stumble over rocks and roots but manage to stay on my feet, even in darkness so thick that I can barely see my hand in front of my face.
When I finally reach Old Man Ingvar’s house, all the windows are already dark. I bang on the door as hard as I can.
My fingers are numb from cold, but I carry on knocking until my knuckles burn.
Open up, open up!
When the front door finally opens, Old Man Ingvar looks surprised to see me. He’s wearing his scruffy old dressing gown over shabby pajamas. His gray hair is disheveled, but his eyes are sharp.
His black cat, Soot, coils around his feet.
“Tuva?” he exclaims. “What’s the matter, girl? Is there a fire or something?”
I gasp, needing to catch my breath before I can speak, all the while horribly aware that every second counts since those writhing monsters picked up the scent of prey.
“Can I borrow your phone?” I stumble over my words. “It’s extremely urgent. I have to call my mom.”
Old Man Ingvar disappears into the kitchen. I hear him open a drawer, then another. Something clatters on the floor.
Time has never passed so quickly and yet so slowly.
Finally, he returns but shakes his head. “I’m not sure where it is right now. Can you come back a little later?”
“Then I need to borrow your boat!” I shout. “There’s no time to explain, but it’s a matter of life and death.”
Old Man Ingvar looks anxiously in the direction of the sea.
“You shouldn’t be out there at this hour, girl. It’s not safe.” He says it plainly. “The sun has set.”
Soot meows plaintively at me, tail twitching.
“My mother is out there,” I whisper with a lump in my throat. “Please.”
It feels like half an eternity before he reaches behind the doorframe and retrieves a tarnished brass key from a small hook.
“Here,” he says, placing it in my sweaty palm. “Just promise you’ll be careful.”