Harbour by John Ajvide Lindqvist

wood that needed chopping could well do him some good.
    From a distance of a hundred metres away, he could already see that today’s conversation group by the mailboxes consisted of Holger and Göran. They were instantly recognisable. Holger stooped and miserable from disappointments that had started when he was only young, Göran still straight-backed after forty years in the police service.
    But what the…?
    The two men were deep in an intense discussion. Holger was shaking his head and waving one arm in the direction of the sea, while Göran was kicking at the ground as if he were annoyed. But that wasn’t what was peculiar.
    The mailboxes were gone.
    The wall of the shop, closed for the season, was completely empty. Only the yellow box for outgoing post was still hanging there, and that looked odd as well.
    Have they stopped the postal service?
    As Simon got closer he realised that wasn’t the problem. Ten metres away from the shop he stood on the first splinters. Splinters of plastic and splinters of wood, bits of the mailboxes that had been hanging on the wall only yesterday. The yellow metal box for outgoing post was dented and crooked.
    Holger caught sight of him and burst out, ‘Oh, here comes the Stockholmer. We’re not likely to get much sympathy there.’
    Simon stepped into the mosaic of shattered, multi-coloured plastic. ‘What’s happened?’
    â€˜What’s happened?’ said Holger. ‘I’ll tell you what’s happened. Last night when we were fast asleep some bastards from Stockholm came over here in a boat and smashed our mailboxes for the hell of it.’
    â€˜Why?’
    Holger looked as if he couldn’t believe his ears. That was his normal reaction to anything he perceived as a challenge to his theories, and as usual he embarked on his reply by repeating the question, just to show how completely stupid it was.
    â€˜Why? Do you think they actually need a reason ? Maybe they couldn’t get a mooring in the harbour, maybe they weren’t happy with the number of hours of sunshine last summer, or maybe they just think the most fun you can have is destroying something, and if you ask me I’d go for the last option. It makes me so bloody furious.’
    Holger turned on his heel and limped down to the steamboat jetty, where Simon could see Mats, the owner of the shop, waiting for the tender.
    Simon turned to Göran and asked, ‘Is that what you think?’
    Göran looked at the devastation around them and shook his head. ‘I think we have no idea who did this. Could be anybody.’
    â€˜Someone on the island?’
    â€˜No one I can think of. But you never know.’
    â€˜Did nobody hear anything?’
    Göran nodded in the direction of the jetty. ‘Mats heard something, and then he heard an engine start up. But he didn’t know if it was an outboard motor or a moped. The wind was in the wrong direction.’
    â€˜They must have made…a hell of a noise.’
    â€˜I don’t know,’ said Göran, scooping up some green and grey pieces and showing them to Simon. ‘Look at these. What do you think?’
    The pieces in Göran’s hand, shark fins and rhomboids, all had sharp edges where they had broken off. The pieces on the ground were quite big too. No little bits.
    â€˜It doesn’t look as if they were smashed.’
    â€˜No, it doesn’t, does it? More as if they’ve been cut . With a box cutter or something. And look at this.’
    Göran pointed at the metal box. It was dented and crooked, but the dents had sharp angles in the middle where the bare metal showed through. It was not blows that had created the dents, but a stabbing action. Someone had stood there stabbing at the mailbox with a big knife.
    Simons shook his head. ‘Why would someone do that?’
    Göran hesitated before replying, as if he wanted to be sure that he was choosing the right