I pull some parchment aside and find a sheet of charcoal sketches. A huge hooded figure in a tattered robe sits on a throne. Where there should be a face is only blackness. The next sheet shows the tree with shadowy figures, all with shoulders slumped and heads bowed. Each of them looks in a different direction, seemingly unaware of the others. Something about it makes me feel terribly lonely. I put the drawing to one side, hoping that Solveig might have been inspired to draw something more cheerful.

No such luck. The next drawing shows a man hanging upside down from one of the tree’s branches. His feet are bound together, and one of his legs is bent outwards. In the distance, two ravens fly around him. His arms reach down to the ground, his finger touching a pool of water. In the ripples are symbols I don’t recognise.

I look at the next page and my stomach drops. It shows the tree and a hideous, grinning creature with a skull for a head. Bulging eyes stare out of its face and it has long, matted black hair. It crawls on all fours, looking out from the page. More disturbing is what lies beneath it. Dozens of human faces are piled together in the earth, as if they’re in a burial mound. My throat tightens. The picture reminds me of Mormor’s stories about draugr – walking corpses who come back to kill the living.

The light bulb fizzes and flickers. I am gathering up the papers, wanting nothing more to do with them, when the room goes dark. Heart racing, I rush to the door, Gandalf following at my heel.

In the lounge Stig is sprawled across the sofa, a roaring fire in the stove. His leather coat lies on the floor, its arms spread wide like it’s marking a crime scene. At first, I think he’s passed out, but his eyes are open. The brandy bottle at his feet is nearly empty. He has an annoying habit of helping himself.

‘You OK?’ I ask.

Stig startles. ‘You made me jump!’ He gives a nervous laugh. ‘The spinning wheel just now – that was a bit creepy.’

I shrug, not wanting to talk about it, and he sits up and moves to one side. For a moment I wonder if he’s expecting me to sit next to him. I rest a hand on the back of the sofa and glance at the kitchen. The washing-up has been done; the room is spotless.

‘I came to get a lamp. I think the electricity is on the blink.’

‘The blink?’

‘It means about to stop working.’

The light bulb overhead burns without a flicker, and Stig raises an eyebrow.

‘I couldn’t sleep either, after Dad died.’

‘Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t know.’

‘Why would you?’

I feel my face flush. I guess he’s right; I don’t know anything about him.