Page 5 of The Sleepwalker

The walls, ceiling and floor are all drenched in blood.

On the coffee table, between two fake plants, John notices a head. The chin and jaw are both missing, but it is clear that the victim is a man with straggly black hair with bleached tips.

The surface of the table beneath it is slick with blood, dripping down into a large pool on the floor.

On the sofa, the screen of a mobile phone lights up with the name Anna, and the strange ringtone starts blaring again:

‘Pick up, stud. Pick up .?.?. Pick up, stud .?.?.’

At the other end of the caravan, Einar has just opened the door to the main bedroom. His torch beam swings across the double bed, illuminating a limbless torso. The wounds are ragged and crude, revealing pale cartilage and sharp bone.

He stares down at the dismembered man’s hairy stomach, limp penis and muscular, tattooed chest. At his throat and the lower section of his head.

The blood has soaked into the mattress, and the entire torso glistens in the light from the torch.

Einar feels his pistol trembling in his hand, as though an electric current is surging through him. The sight is so shocking that his legs feel like jelly.

He shoves the torch beneath his arm and claps a hand to his mouth. The lingering smell of ketchup on his fingers mixes with the stench of fresh blood, and his stomach turns.

John hears his heavy footsteps, and he glances down the hallway and sees Einar backing out of the bedroom. His colleague drops his torch as he fumbles with his radio, rushes out of the caravan and throws up.

John has just started making his way back towards the door when he stops. As he strains to listen, a shiver passes down his spine. He can hear an oddly relaxed, yet robotic laugh through the walls.

Maybe it’s coming from outside, he thinks, right as thelaughter gives way to a wailing sound. A moment later, it stops.

Heart racing, he approaches the last closed door.

Out of nowhere, he imagines finding his brother Luke standing on the other side, with blue lips, pinprick pupils and a bloody machete resting over one shoulder.

He can hear Einar talking to command outside. His colleague sounds shocked and incoherent.

John turns the handle, pushes the door open and aims his pistol at the darkness beyond.

Mounted to the wall beneath the window, there is an unplugged radiator. The white surface is flecked with blood.

The hinges creak softly as the door comes to a halt, and John reaches out to open it the rest of the way, then steps inside.

On the floor beside the bunkbed, a young man is lying on his side with a severed arm beneath his head.

His pale face is calm, his eyes closed. He is wearing jeans, trainers and a moss green sweater.

John moves towards him to check his pulse.

There is an axe on the lower bunk, he notices.

Outside, Einar shouts something.

The floor creaks beneath John’s feet as he leans forward.

Right then, with his eyes still tightly shut, the boy laughs. His white teeth flash brightly against his bloody face.

John stumbles back, fumbling with his pistol. He flicks off the safety catch, slips in a pool of blood and crashes against the wall. His gun goes off, hitting the floor.

The boy wakes with a start and sits up. He blinks a few times, staring at John in confusion as he pushes back his fringe with a bloody hand and licks his lips.

‘Where am I?’ he asks in a frightened voice. ‘What’s going on?’

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