A kid wearing a Batman cape picks up an old apple and throws it at a motorbike. The apple explodes on impact, juice and pith covering the seat of the bike.

I pass the old newspaper office and check in on the pop-up shop.

One mask displayed in the window.

Candles lit within, but no electric lights.

I open the door.

It squeaks on its hinges and I have to heave to get it open. Like the door is too big for the frame. Cool inside. At the rear of the room are two shadowy figures. Their chins and the undersides of their noses are lit by flickering candles.

‘Close the door, girl,’ says a familiar voice.

12

I close the door behind me.

Cornelia and Alice Sorlie have opened a pop-up shop?

‘Keep the heat in, girl.’

‘I had no idea you were in Visberg,’ I say.

‘Ain’t permanent, is it, Alice.’

The quiet one shakes her head.

‘Poppin’ up shop, ain’t it, Alice.’

‘Pop,’ says Alice. ‘Pop-up.’

‘It’s good to see you both.’

Alice just snorts at that and the candles flicker in her snort-breeze.

I walk further inside. The trolls are displayed on mounts and columns and stands like prize orchids in a fancy Stockholm florist. There’s a troll here perched on a black shelf. It’s as tall as a newborn baby, if a newborn baby was to suddenly stand bolt upright. Possessed by a demon, perhaps. Controlled and consumed by a dark force. I can’t see the troll’s features clearly in this murk but it looks slightly different to the others I’ve come across before, all of them carved by these sisters.

‘Special,’ says Cornelia, the talking one. ‘We don’t pre-carve specials as a rule but we do some for this week. Always sell out in Visberg last week of October.’

Alice nods and I see she’s completely bald now. She used to have patchy home-cut hair but now she’s shaved, apart from the left hand side of her head where she has some kind of ponytail sticking out at an angle. No hairband required, the hair is as stiff as wire cable.

‘That special’s got some real good skin, ain’t it, Alice.’

Alice puts her hand to her own neck.

I step closer to the troll. Its eyes are at exactly my eye-level. One glass eye, either from a doll or else a reused glass eye. The second eye is smaller. It’s more animal.

‘The right eye?’ I ask.

Alice smiles broadly, showing me her missing teeth.

‘Glass,’ says Cornelia. ‘From Belarus. Pre-war.’

‘The other eye.’