Yrsa snatches the scarf and the connection is lost. She fixes me with a look that’s part accusatory, part wary, and I have an uncomfortable feeling of being caught out, as if she knows what I was doing. The unease she felt about Mormor she has for me too. I watch as she puts on her gloves and scarf, wanting to ask her about it, but not knowing how.

Stig’s voice breaks the silence. ‘Martha?’

He looks at me as if he’s waiting, and I realise I can’t have heard him before.

‘Sorry, what?’

‘Olav says we need to stay inside the cabin, at least for a few days. He’s worried there’s something out there.’

I glance at the dark window. ‘What do you mean, out there?’

Stig exchanges a few hurried words with Olav and the old man strokes his beard. ‘Gaupe? Ulv?’ Stig turns back to me. ‘A lynx maybe, or a wolf, he’s not sure.’

Yrsa grunts. ‘Sheep have been killed this past week. Their guts …’ She draws a hand over her middle and pulls a face. ‘Olav went to mainland for gun.’

A shiver runs through me. So that’s what was in the metal case. I think back to what I heard when I got off the ferry – No bullet can stop the dead – but it doesn’t make sense. The voice I heard wasn’t Olav’s; it didn’t even sound human.

Yrsa stands with her hands on her hips. ‘You have oil for lamps, yes?’

I look at her, my mind blank.

She squats and opens the cupboard under the sink. ‘Yes, enough oil, I think.’ She pats her legs and stands with a grunt. Her huge form takes up half the kitchen; she looks like she could wrestle a wolf herself.

‘The dark can make people’s minds …’ Yrsa frowns as if she can’t find the words, then starts again. ‘The dark, it can play tricks – up here.’ She taps a hand against her temple and I expect her face to soften, but it doesn’t.

Olav opens the door but Yrsa hesitates. She touches her scarf and for a moment I think she is going to say something about it, but she just clears her throat, and I convince myself that I imagined the knowing look she gave me.

‘Your mormor, she asked me strange thing. She wanted me to water the tree from the well if your mother or you no come. It has rained lately, so I haven’t watered it.’ A look of regret crosses Yrsa’s face but she shakes her head and it goes as quickly as it came. Her voice is brisk. ‘Your mother come tomorrow. Don’t go far from house, and you’ll be OK.’ She looks Stig up and down, then pats the dog’s head. ‘Gandalf can stay with you. He will keep you safe.’