My gaze rests on the axe. There was a symbol, something I’m meant to do. I take a journal from the floor. There are lots of runes inside, but the words next to them mean nothing to me. I throw the book aside and pick up another. Why didn’t I learn Norwegian? Mormor wanted to teach me, so why didn’t I let her? Why didn’t I ask more questions? I should have made Mum tell me the truth. I hurl the book and it slams into the wall.

I pace the cabin, chewing my thumbnail. What was it Stig said? Something about how Hel makes you see the good and bad in yourself … A memory pools at the back of my head. The things I don’t want to feel; the person I don’t want to be. I’ve been so full of self-pity, obsessed with hating the way I look – I pushed Stig away.

I didn’t want to look into Hel’s empty eye socket because I didn’t want to see my own darkness reflected there. Mormor said a life can’t be made up of summers, yet I only came to the island when it was permanently light – never when it was dark. I didn’t want my happiness overshadowed by Mum and Mormor arguing. That’s why I didn’t force them to tell me the truth; that’s why I didn’t learn Norwegian. I didn’t want to know what they were arguing about; I was happier pretending everything was OK.

My head feels clearer than it has in a long time. I may not be able to read Norwegian, but I can read clothing. My ancestors can speak to me through material. The doll is splayed out on the rug. I drop to my knees and snatch it up. Nothing. And then I remember. There was some fabric with the journals. I didn’t look before because I was so focused on the books.

I grab the axe, then go to Mormor’s room and lift the lid of the chest. Inside is a roll of yellow-tinged material. I open it onto the bed, not caring about the smell. On the left is an embroidered trunk with dozens of branches. Under each one is a name and a date. Near the bottom is stitched ‘Frida’ – Mormor’s name – and beneath it, nothing. I touch the space where Mum’s name should be and my chest tightens. Because of her, our family tree is twisted. My fate distorted.

I look up and shiver. Shadows are swirling in the corners of the room. There’s a dark mass behind the wardrobe, expanding and deflating, growing ever bigger. It reaches out to me, and I scramble to the middle of the bed.

Buzzing fills the air and I tell myself not to be afraid. They didn’t hurt you before …