When she exited the bathroom, it was like she got stuck in something; she kind of froze mid-step. She stood staring at the door to the kitchen. The grain of the wood in the mirrors. The rusty holes left by an old rim lock. The polished trim plate of the handle. The keyhole that was a shape that always made her think of that classic Swedish picture book about the red yarn that in mysterious ways leads all the way through a house to a kitten hidden in a vase inside a cupboard in the attic. Susso had reminded her not to open the kitchen door and she hadn’t had any intention to. But now, standing here, it was hard to resist the temptation. Maybe simply because she wasn’t allowed. Like in Bluebeard’s castle. But there was something else too. She found the squirrel disturbing. Not the squirrel so much, perhaps, as the act of keeping it indoors. In the kitchen. It shouldn’t be in there; not letting it out would be unnatural. She felt that very strongly. That it needed to get out. She even put her fingers on the handle. But she didn’t open it. Instead she went outside and fetched her charger from the car, singing as she walked. She found an outlet in the hallway and plugged the charger in.

When she passed the kitchen window, she couldn’t help but look. And there it was. Staring at her.

She walked up to the glass and bent down to get level with the tiny face. Tapped with the nail of her index finger and watched the funny faces her mirrored self pulled.

‘You can’t keep a squirrel in the kitchen,’ she said and sat down. ‘Pooping everywhere and stuff. Super unhygienic. Bloody impractical too, because it probably hides things, and you have to keep a kitchen neat.’

She pulled the plastic carrier bag out of the water and took out the last couple of bottles. Their labels had peeled off. Then she threw the bag back in the river.

‘Now you have to tell me. Why do you have a squirrel?’

Susso didn’t respond; she stood up, so quickly she wobbled. Diana grabbed her to keep her from falling. Then she noticed Susso was staring at something.

A little man was standing between the house and the jetty, watching them. No taller than a child. But his back was bent and he was wearing some kind of mask. Diana figured it was a local urchin who had put on a costume to scare them and asked Susso who it was, but got no reply.

Now he was walking toward them with a slow, shuffling gait. As though some kind of geriatric zombie had caught their scent in the summer night.