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Knock Knock

Anders Roslund
Chapters (74)
  1. Cover
  2. BY ROSLUND & HELLSTRÖM
  3. EARLIER
  4. Chapter 1
  5. Chapter 2
  6. NOW
  7. Chapter 3
  8. Chapter 4
  9. Chapter 5
  10. Chapter 6
  11. Chapter 7
  12. Chapter 8
  13. PART2
  14. Chapter 9
  15. Chapter 10
  16. Chapter 11
  17. Chapter 12
  18. Chapter 13
  19. Chapter 14
  20. Chapter 15
  21. PART3
  22. Chapter 16
  23. Chapter 17
  24. Chapter 18
  25. Chapter 19
  26. Chapter 20
  27. Chapter 21
  28. Chapter 22
  29. Chapter 23
  30. Chapter 24
  31. Chapter 25
  32. Chapter 26
  33. Chapter 27
  34. Chapter 28
  35. Chapter 29
  36. PART4
  37. Chapter 30
  38. Chapter 31
  39. Chapter 32
  40. Chapter 33
  41. Chapter 34
  42. Chapter 35
  43. Chapter 36
  44. PART5
  45. Chapter 37
  46. Chapter 38
  47. Chapter 39
  48. Chapter 40
  49. PART6
  50. Chapter 41
  51. PART7
  52. Chapter 42
  53. Chapter 43
  54. Chapter 44
  55. Chapter 45
  56. Chapter 46
  57. Chapter 47
  58. Chapter 48
  59. Chapter 49
  60. PART8
  61. Chapter 50
  62. PART9
  63. Chapter 51
  64. Chapter 52
  65. Chapter 53
  66. Chapter 54
  67. Chapter 55
  68. Chapter 56
  69. Chapter 57
  70. Chapter 58
  71. Chapter 59
  72. Chapter 60
  73. ABOUT THE AUTHOR
  74. What’s next onyour reading list?

Cover

Cover for Knock Knock

BY ROSLUND & HELLSTRÖM

The Ewert Grens and Piet Hoffmann Series

Three Hours

Three Minutes

Three Seconds

The Ewert Grens Series

Two Soldiers

Cell 8

Box 21

Pen 33

EARLIER

Chapter 1

I’m five years old.

Almost exactly.

I know that. Five years and a few days and a few nights.

It still feels like it just happened. I was sitting at the kitchen table with Mom on one side and Dad on the other and Eliot and Julia were across from me. And I blew out five candles all at once. They were in the middle of my cake and they were red with a little blue too but only at the very, very bottom, when you looked really close.

A few days and a few nights.

I clear my throat and try to smile, like I always do when I sing. It’s my favorite song. Happybirthdaytoyooou. And if I sing it loud enough, my voice bounces off the ceiling and the walls and comes back to my open arms, where I catch it and hold on tight.

Happybirthdaytoyooou. Happybirthdaytoyooou.

When I sing, I don’t hear the TV. A kid’s show. I’ve been watching it almost all day. Just like yesterday. And the yesterday before that. I didn’t get to do that before. But I do now.

I stop singing, stand up; it’s hard to stay on the floor when my legs want to move, which they do a lot. I hop out of our living room, which is so big. I have to be careful here, the sofa is almost brand new, and the table is made of glass. If I touch it, my fingers leave smudges.

I jump all the way to Eliot’s room, where he’s sitting at his desk chair with his desk lamp on. He’s pretending to read with a book open in front of him. But he can read, I know it, he’s in second grade now. Eliot’s gotten nicer the last few days. Probably because I turned five. I’m not four anymore, I’m big now. He doesn’t even push me away from his racetrack anymore, the one he keeps high up on a shelf so I can’t reach it. And he even let me win twice with the blue car that has a yellow line on its roof. He never did that before.

I always jump on one leg. Just one leg at a time. And if I use two, I go back and do it all over again. I came up with that myself.