Let the right one in Read Online Free PDF

realized this wasn't going to be like those other times. With blood gushing from a deep cut on his cheek, he tried to escape, but the Murderer was faster. With a couple of quick moves he sliced away the tendons at the back of the knees and Jonny fell down, lay writhing in the moss, begging for mercy.
    But the Murderer wasn't going to relent. Jonny was screaming . . . like a pig... when the Murderer threw himself over him and let the earth drink his blood.
    One stab for what you did to me in the bathroom today. One for when you tricked me into playing knuckle poker. And I'm cutting your lips out for everything nasty you've ever said to me.
    Jonny was bleeding from every orifice and could no longer say or do anything mean. He was long since dead. Oskar finished by puncturing his glassy eyeballs, whack whack, then got up and regarded his work. Large pieces of the rotting, fallen trees that had represented Jonny's body had been hacked away and the tree trunk was full of perforations. A number of wood chips were scattered under the healthy tree that had been Jonny when he was still standing.
    His right hand, the knife hand, was bleeding. There was a small cut right next to his wrist; the blade must have slipped while he was stabbing. Not the ideal knife for this purpose. He licked his hand, cleaning the wound with his tongue. It was Jonny's blood he was tasting.
    He wiped the last of the blood on the newspaper holster, put the knife back, and started walking home.
    The forest that, starting a few years back, had felt threatening, the haunt of enemies, now felt like a home and a refuge. The trees drew back respectfully as he passed. He didn't feel an ounce of fear though it was starting to get really dark. No anxiety for the next day, whatever it would bring. He would sleep well tonight.
    When he was back in the yard, he sat down on the edge of the sandbox for a while to calm himself before he went back home. Tomorrow he would get himself a better knife, a knife with a parry guard, or whatever it was called ... so he didn't cut himself. Because this was something he was going to do again.
    It was a good game.

THURSDAY
    22 OCTOBER

    H is mom reached over the kitchen table and squeezed Oskar's hand. There were tears in her eyes.
    "You are absolutely not allowed to go into the woods by yourself, do you hear me?"
    A boy about Oskar's age had been murdered in Vallingby yesterday. It had appeared in the afternoon papers and his mother was completely beside herself when she came home.
    "It could have been ... I don't even want to think about it."
    "But it was Vallingby."
    "And you mean to say that someone who is capable of doing this to a child wouldn't be able to go two subway stations? Or walk? Walk all the way here to Blackeberg and do the same thing again? Do you spend a lot of time in the woods?"
    "No."
    "You are not allowed to go past the yard now, as long as this... Until they've caught him."
    "You mean I can't go to school?"
    "Of course you can go to school. But after school you come straight here and you don't leave this complex until I get home."
    "Big deal."
    The pain in his mother's eyes mixed with anger.
    "Do you want to be murdered? Do you? You want to go into the woods and be killed and I have to sit here and worry while you're lying out there in the forest and ... you're being butchered by some bestial..." The tears welled up in her eyes. Oskar put his hand on hers.
    "I won't go into the woods, Mom. I promise." His mother stroked his cheek.
    "Little sweetheart, you're all I have. Nothing is allowed to happen to you. I would die too."
    "Mmmm. How exactly did he do it?"
    "What do you mean?"
    "You know. The murder."
    "How should I know? The boy was killed by some kind of maniac with a knife. He's dead. His parents' lives have been ruined."
    "Aren't the details in the paper?"
    "I can't bear to read it."
    Oskar took the copy of Expressen and flipped through the pages. The crime filled four pages.
    "You shouldn't read things