Page 60 of Snowman

Lena reached over, gently tugging the paper from my fingers. She folded it back into itself, then set it down where it had been.

"No," she said quietly, shaking her head. "He wasn't sleepwalking."

"Why is Joe's name on there?" My knees felt weak as I lowered myself onto the first step of the staircase, the wood creaking under me.

She hesitated, her lips pressed tight before the words slipped out. "When Thor turned seven, the blackouts got worse. And his behavior... shifted. One night, I asked him who he was."Her voice broke, and her eyes were distant as if she was reliving it. "And he told me,'Mommy, I'm1Snjókarl.'"

The name hit me. "Snjókarl?" I repeated, testing the word.

Snowman.

Lena nodded, her gaze lowering to her hands. "I had him write a list of everything in the house. Everything! So that when he becameSnjókarl,he'd know where to put things back. I knew something was wrong, but his father..." She clenched her jaw, her tone hardening. "He didn't believe in doctors. He believed inThe Family."

I felt my stomach twist. "Are you saying Thor doesn't know?" My voice cracked. "That he's... Snowman?"

Lena looked at me sharply, her expression solemn. "Oh, Thor knows. He had always known. ButSnjókarldoesn't. He believes he's here to fix the world."

Her words sent a chill through me. "But why is Joe on the list, Lena?" My voice dropped, trembling.

She let out a shaky breath, like the words were clawing their way out. "Joe is Thor's stepbrother," she said softly. "My husband's first child."

She rose from the chair, moving to a drawer where she pulled out another piece of paper. This one was older, worn at the edges, with two names crossed out—Joe and Dad.

She turned to face me, her face still cold, without any emotion. "Thor was abused," she said in a low voice. "His father... he did things to him. And Joe? Joe helped."

A tear slipped down my cheek, unbidden, and everything he had been through pressed on my chest until I couldn't breathe. All I wanted was to wrap my arms around him, to tell him he wasn't broken, that maybe, we could figure this out together.

"Snjókarlprotected Thor," Lena continued, her voice trembling now. "But as he grew, as life kept throwing darkness at him,Snjókarlchanged too. He became... darker."

I swallowed hard, forcing out the question. "What isThe Family, Lena?"

She drew in a deep breath, staring at the floor. "My husband started it in 1986," she said. "Back then, it was just seven of us. But people kept joining. The worst kinds of people. They would come, and then... they would disappear. The whole town suspected us. But no one said anything. Thenthe faminehit, and people were starving. Yet somehow, my husband always had meat."

She fell silent for a moment. "That's when I figured it out. We weren't eating animals, we were eating them. The missing members."

I felt bile rise in my throat. Her words were so plain, so cold, almost unreal.

"A few of us survived on plants, berries... scraps," she went on. "But most left. I stayed. I gave birth to Erik. Then Thor. And in the end, it was just the four of us. And Joe."

I stared at her, my stomach churning. "You're saying Joe was part of the cult? All of you?"

Her eyes flicked to me, and for a second, I thought I saw regret there, but she was still cold. "When my husband died, Joe left," she said. "But I think he took you and your sister because he wanted to start over. To finish what my husband started."

"I'm going to puke," I said, my hands pressing against my lips. My stomach churned, my chest tight. "I feel sick."

"We never thought Joe would come back," she said, standing slowly, like the words themselves were pulling her up.

"Why did you tell me all this?" I shouted, my voice cracking as I stood. "Why?"

She raised her arms, her scars etched deep against her skin. "These," she said quietly, "Snjókarldid this."

"He won't hurt me," I said, my body sinking, almost folding in on itself. "He wouldn't."

"You're his type," her voice cut through me, the same words she told me when we first met. Her gaze was heavy, unwavering. "Broken. Beautiful. Easy to manipulate."

"No," I said, shaking my head. "He..."

"He would," she snapped, her eyebrows shooting up, her tone rising sharp. "And he will. You have to run. This time, you can't hesitate. Run fast. Change your name, your address, your hair—everything."

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