The Shapeshifters by Stefan Spjut

digging out his mobile from the pocket of jeans that were too tight on him. He pressed the keypad a few times with his thumb and then sat with his eyes fixed on the dusty television screen. It was almost as if he had fallen sleep again, because his eyelids were closed.
    â€˜What do you mean?’
    Without opening his eyes Börje said slowly:
    â€˜We don’t know why they did it. Hopefully it was an accident, a game that went too far, and they put her there because they didn’t know what else to do with her.’
    Then he sat up and threw the mobile onto the smoke-coloured glass tabletop.
    â€˜But it could also mean they want to keep her.’
    â€˜Keep . . .’
    Börje nodded.
    â€˜And that would make it dangerous to move her.’
    Seved had to think for a while before he understood what Börje meant.
    Keep her. A corpse to eat as required.
    That made him feel intensely nauseous and he tried to push the idea to the back of his mind.
    â€˜What shall we do then?’ he said, sounding defeated.
    â€˜Nothing,’ answered Börje. ‘Lennart will be here in an hour or so. Before three, he said. And until then we won’t do a single damn thing. Have you got that?’
    Seved nodded and lowered his eyes.
    â€˜What about the little shapeshifters then? Won’t that help?’
    Börje shrugged.
    â€˜A little, maybe. But it’s not a long-term solution.’
    â€˜I don’t understand it. Why would they do such a thing? To her?’
    â€˜It’s what happens,’ said Börje. ‘When they don’t get their own way. When we don’t give them what they need.’
    And he looked at Seved with sleepy, red-rimmed eyes.
    â€˜It’s all our fault, this is.’
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    It had been dark for a long time when the dogs started barking. Seved stepped out onto the veranda and soon he could see the headlights down on the road, nosing their way through the darkness. He hadn’t thought he could be filled with anything other than apprehension at the sight of Lennart’s car, but now he was. If it wasn’t gratitude he felt, then it was not far from it. He pulled the door shut behind him and called out:
    â€˜He’s coming!’
    Börje sat in the kitchen eating spaghetti, a sticky, pale-yellow skein that he was jabbing with a fork. He hadn’t even put any sauce on it and he was drinking strong beer directly from the can.
    They heard the car pull up and the six-cylinder engine fall silent. After a couple of minutes had passed and no heavy footsteps had been heard on the veranda, Seved walked over to the window. The car, a large Mercedes with a snout of additional lights, was parked outside Hybblet. The rear section of the champagne-coloured roof shimmered in the glow from the barn’s lamp. He had gone straight in. Totally unafraid. But then there was no time to lose.
    â€˜Did you say where she was sitting?’
    Börje didn’t answer. Without looking up from his plate he said:
    â€˜Tell Signe to come down.’
    Seved went into the hall to shout, but Signe was already on herway down the stairs. She had taken a shower and her body exuded the sweet fragrance of aloe vera.
    He had made a clumsy attempt to talk to her during the day but had not got very far. He had only heard the sound of his own voice, the tremulous uncertainty of it, the empty words he had managed to stutter. Afterwards he wondered if she blamed him, if she thought he ought to have stopped Ejvor from going into Hybblet. That was probably what he was fishing for: confirmation that it was not his fault. It might be something of a consolation to hear those words. But she had said nothing. Now she was looking at Börje with a blank expression. The groove in her dry lower lip looked like a cut. She had been crying. Her eyes were swollen.
    â€˜We’ll be talking down here for a while,’ said Börje, ‘so stay up there. Do you hear?’
    She