The cellar appears to be several hundred years old, and consists of one long rectangular room. No doubt it was originally used for storage. The floor is made of the same reddish brick as the walls. Mats is able to stand upright only in the centre beneath the vaulted ceiling. The air is not damp as Anna had expected, but cool and dry. A large square dehumidifier in the middle of the room explains why. There is a chemical smell she recognises but can’t quite identify.

A passageway is lined on either side with what she assumes are storage units, but turn out to be hand-made display cabinets. Various nature scenes and motifs are painted on the back and side walls, and each cabinet contains stuffed animals. Hares, badgers, and further along larger animals like deer, even a stag. All frozen in positions that make them look as if they are still alive – a fox in mid-leap, a bird of prey with wings outstretched, about to sink its talons into a rabbit, a flock of geese grazing on grass while glancing anxiously at the sky.

The lighting is skilfully placed to enhance the impression of life. It makes the animals’ glass eyes shine, and brings out the textures of their fur and feathers. The whole thing reminds her of something she saw on a school trip a very long time ago.

Mats switches off the overhead lights; it feels even more like a museum now. Agnes and Milo lead the way between the cabinets, heading for the far end of the room.

‘I’ve been doing this ever since I was a boy,’ Mats says. ‘I started with birds. Karl-Johan helped me. He was the one who said I could use this place.’

They pass a badger with bared teeth, plundering the eggs from a bird’s nest.

‘Do you shoot the animals yourself?’ Anna asks, mainly to be polite. There is something horrible about Mats’s collection. Killing animals for food is one thing, but stuffing them and expending huge amounts of time and energy to make them look alive is just weird.

‘Some – although I catch most of them in traps, like that one. I’m good at setting traps.’

He points to a large lynx that has clambered up a tree trunk. One hind leg is caught in a gin trap attached to the trunk by a chain. The teeth of the trap are buried deep in the poor animal’s flesh; it has snapped shut with such force that the broken bones are visible. Even though the lynx has been dead for many years, it is still possible to see the pain on its face.

‘That’s my biggest predator,’ Mats says, almost tenderly. ‘But I am hoping for a wolf.’

Anna raises her eyebrows, and he immediately picks up on her scepticism.