Let the Right One In

by John Ajvide Lindqvist

You were beyond the grasp of the mysteries of the past; there wasn’t even a church. Nine thousand inhabitants and no church. That tells you something about the modernity of the place, its rationality. It tells you something of how free they were from the ghosts of history and of terror.

He had put his hand up in class, a declaration of existence, a claim that he knew something. And that was forbidden to him. They could give a number of reasons for why they had to torment him; he was too fat, too ugly, too disgusting. But the real problem was simply that he existed, and every reminder of his existence was a crime.

A lot of screams for so little wool, said the man who sheared the pig.

Real love is to offer your life at the feet of another, and that’s what people today are incapable of.

The Earth Shall Drink His Blood.

“Do they die fast, the pigs?” Tommy met his gaze with equal seriousness. “No, they don’t.”

“I love you.” “Yes.” “Do you love me, even one little bit?” “Would you do it again if I said I loved you?” “No.” “I should love you anyway, you mean.” “You only love me to the extent I help you stay alive.” “Yes. Isn’t that what love is?” “If only I thought you would love me even if I didn’t do it . . .” “Yes?” “. . . maybe I would do it again.” “I love you.” “I don’t believe you.”

The risk of infection. You could not allow it to reach the nervous system. The body had to be turned off. That was all he had been told. He had not understood it then, but he did now.

Eli was new to him and therefore he had the opportunity to be someone else, say something different from what he said to other people.

Jealousy was a fat, chalk-white snake in his chest. It writhed slowly, as pure as innocence and childishly plain.

“This is Sweden. Carry out a chair and put it on the sidewalk. Sit there in that chair and wait. If you wait long enough someone will come out and give you money. Or take care of you somehow.”

Dead is dead. Gone.

Let a person in and he hurts you.

The person his dad became when he drank had no connection to the person he was when he was sober. And so it was comforting to think about Dad being a werewolf.

Let the right one in Let the old dreams die Let the wrong ones go They cannot do What you want them to do —Morrissey, “Let the Right One Slip

For a few seconds Oskar saw through Eli’s eyes. And what he saw was . . . himself. Only much better, more handsome, stronger than what he thought of himself. Seen with love. For a few seconds.