I rush to Mormor’s room and drag the cover from the bed, then go to the spare room and take another. Returning to the lounge, I throw them on the sofa and help Mum remove Stig’s coat and boots.

She tucks the blankets around him, then notices my worried face. ‘He needs to warm up. Give it a few minutes.’ She shakes her head and sighs. ‘That thing outside – I’ve seen it in visions, but I never believed –’

‘Visions?’

‘Hallucinations … I used to paint the images to get them out of my head.’

Mum touches Stig’s forehead. She rubs his arm and I do the same.

‘Once I started the medication, I hoped the visions would stop, but they didn’t. And then you had the accident. If only I had –’ She takes a deep breath. ‘The doctors say I didn’t foresee what happened, they say it was a false memory that I created after the event, but the images kept coming. In every one was the tree. I knew I had to keep you away from it.’

She rubs her temples and glances at Stig. His skin is more white than blue now, and his breathing is shallow but regular. If only he would open his eyes.

‘Just before you went, I started to get a new vision. I kept painting that … that thing outside.’

Mormor said there have been many seers in the family. Maybe Mum painted the draugr for the same reason my ancestors did those charcoal drawings: to warn of what was to come.

‘Is that why you told me to leave the cabin?’

She nods and a lump comes to my throat. ‘We tried, Mum! We were going to Olav and Yrsa’s, but we found them dead in the snow. They’d been clawed to death.’

Mum’s face is ashen. She looks at me, unsure, then swallows hard. ‘I’ll drive to the police station later. First I need to know what’s been happening. And I mean everything.’

Stig’s eyes flutter open. I wrap my arms around his neck. ‘You’re OK!’ I pull away and look at him, but there’s something wrong. His eyes are dark and vacant, like he’s not really inside.

‘Mum?’

‘Give it a few minutes, Martha.’ Mum tries to sound reassuring, but I can tell she’s worried too.

Stig turns his head to one side and groans. Maybe Hel let him live but he’s just a shell – or worse, a creature like the draugr. His mouth parts and he licks his lips. He opens his eyes and briefly looks at me, then stares over my shoulder as if he’s seen someone he recognises. ‘Nina?’ he croaks. My heart twists. Mum gives me a quizzical look and I shake my head. Why would he say her name?