Page 73 of The Sleepwalker

Joona has asked Erik to encourage Hugo to describe everyone he sees, regardless of whether they belong in his dream or reality, because the brain doesn’t distinguish between the two when it comes to memories.

‘You’re looking straight at the man who is walking towards you, and you aren’t afraid,’ Erik tells him. ‘And as soon as you feel ready, I’d like you to describe him for me.’

Joona notices the hidden imperative, the direct orders Erik uses whenever he wants to guide a particularly powerfulmemory.

But Hugo remains quiet, his breathing quickening, and one of his feet lifts up off the floor.

Joona glances over to Lars Grind and sees that he is attempting to maintain some sense of professional calm, despite the unsettling dream Hugo is gradually revealing to them.

‘Hugo, listen to my voice,’ Erik tries again. ‘I’m telling you that you’re safe here, that you can .?.?. Tell me what you see!’

‘The barrier across the road. Damp leaves, butterflies,’ he mumbles.

‘You’re already out.’

‘I’m taking the shortcut through the woods, walking as fast as I can. I can see Mum over by the old open-air theatre.’

‘You’ve escaped the house and—’

‘I’m running, but he still catches up with me,’ Hugo says with rising intensity. ‘I don’t know how. He’s so slow, but he still manages to catch up with me, and—’

‘Wait, Hugo. You can stop and—’

‘He’s killing me,’ Hugo cuts him off, his voice raised.

Joona watches as the boy’s chest strains. His thin silver chain pulls tight around his neck, and dark patches of sweat have begun to appear beneath his arms.

One of his hands starts to shake, almost spasmodically, and Erik puts his own hand on top of it until it calms down, then he continues in a soothing voice.

‘Listen to me, Hugo. This is just a dream; nothing bad is going to happen to you. You’ve stopped, and you’re now standing still. You can hear his footsteps behind you, and you turn around.’

‘It’s dark. I don’t understand, it’s—’

‘Look at the man.’

‘I don’t know if it is a man. It’s just a pile of skulls. Bits of bone moving like a person.’

‘It’s good that you’re looking at him, because we know nowthat he’s part of your nightmare and that you don’t need to worry about him anymore .?.?. You can keep going to the campsite, and—’

‘He’s dragging the spade behind him, I can hear the blade on the gravel,’ Hugo continues in a panicked voice. ‘He’s getting closer. I don’t understand .?.?. His back is weird, like a porcupine .?.?. The bones sticking out of him are rattling, a load of broken ribs that—’

‘Hugo, listen to my voice. You can trust me. He isn’t real .?.?. Relax your body and focus on the weight of your eyelids.’

‘I need to find Mum,’ he whispers.

‘Your breathing is calm and steady, and you are relaxed. I want you to keep walking now, just like you did that night. You’re passing the sports field .?.?. Three, two, one, and you’ve reached the entrance to Bredäng Campsite.’

* * *

The flags of the Scandinavian countries are flapping on the poles by the gates, and there are people dressed for hot weather milling around the reception building and on the patio outside the restaurant.

Hugo tries to mask the fear on his face. He can’t afford to start running, can’t stop to talk to anyone, can’t call the police; he just needs to find his mum and hide with her.

He keeps walking down the road, past the crowded tent pitches.

A young girl in a sunhat is fast asleep in a pushchair. Her orange water pistol has leaked, leaving a dark patch on her flowery dress.

Hugo’s heart is racing.