“Eli, look.” Oskar held open Christensen’s wallet and showed it to Eli. “He was a Canadian from Vancouver, British Columbia. And I think he had a daughter.”
Eli looked at the picture, scuffed and worn from years spent pressed in a wallet, and saw a smiling, brown-haired girl of about fourteen with braces.
Oskar lowered the wallet into his lap and stared at the corpse. “We picked someone’s dad.”
24 JULY 1983
John Christensen stretched and began to put away his pastels. It was becoming too dark and windy to do any more work on his picture, and he was getting hungry, so it was time to call it quits.
19 JULY 1983
“Oww, Eli! It hurts! It hurts! It—it . . . oh—look at that.”
Eli and Oskar lay side by side on Oskar’s mattress. Oskar was holding his hand up in front of him, watching as it transformed itself before their eyes into a claw.
“I know it hurts! But don’t worry, Oskar—it won’t feel like that forever! The more you do it, the less pain you’ll feel.”
“It felt like I had my hand in a light socket or something,” Oskar replied as the tingling dissipated down his arm. His mouth gaped and he stared, wide-eyed, at his transformed hand.
5 JULY 1983
“Just try again.”
“It’s not working. This is stupid.”
“Just picture it in your mind, and it’ll happen.”
Oskar sighed. “Eli, we’ve been at this for half an hour. I’m no good at this. I can’t.”
“You don’t know what you can do and what you can’t.”
“Okay. I’ll try again.”
Oskar closed his eyes, leaned back on the couch, and tried to concentrate.
. . . My teeth are fangs. Sharp, pointy teeth. Fangs, fangs, fangs . . .
He groaned in frustration. “I don’t get it!”
A sharp pounding on the door interrupted them. They stopped and turned their heads toward the noise, both knowing who it was. There was momentary silence. Then another series of knocks, louder this time--insistent. They looked at each other, and Oskar, scared at the hint of anger returning to her eyes, whispered, “let me talk to him.”
His eyes flashed. “How dare you. That was supposed to be my choice. And I told you—remember? You asked me, and I said no—I didn’t want to be like you. With you, yes. But not the other.” He looked away from her, then rolled over to face the opposite wall. “Oh, I’m so angry right now. I trusted you, Eli! How could you?”
“I’m sorry. I said I’m sorry!”
Chapter 2
3 JULY 1983
Oskar woke up with a start from a bad dream.
In his dream, Eli had been smothering him with a pillow. He would kick and thrash desperately to get free, but she always came back and put the pillow back over his head, her eyes vacant, her face impassive. He struggled and struggled, unable to breathe, as she held its softness tightly over his face, sealing off his mouth and nose . . . .
Disclaimer:
The following is adapted from the novel Let the Right One In by John A. Linqvist and the film bearing the same name. The characters in this work are those of Mr. Linqvist and no copyright protection is asserted to this work.
Chapter 1
2 JULY 1983
“Want to play again?”
“Okay. One more. But it’s getting kinda late.”
Eli picked up the wooden sticks, then dumped them out to start a fresh game. She glanced at Oskar and smiled.
“Your hair is getting long. We really ought to cut it.”
CHAPTER 7
“Well, we knew it might rain, huh?” Oskar declared as he felt the first, light spatters strike his face.
Eli stopped walking, craned her head up, and looked at the dark, cloudy sky. She, too, felt the raindrops, and she paused to enjoy the sensation. A gust of wind blew the warm, June air across the trail.
She opened her mouth and extended her tongue, trying to catch some drops. Oskar looked at her, grinned, and did the same.
These character aren't mine, but I love them enough to keep drawing and writing about them.
Chapter one - Love on a train
The train rocking side to side helped sooth Oskar's irregular heartbeat, his breathing slowed as well. He melted back into the seat, relaxing now that a few stations were between them and Blackeberg. He thought he had seen a police car heading toward the station as trhe train had begun to pick up speed.
