The figure lurched towards the bed. As he swung his arms, I caught the glint of metal. I felt myself grow cold as though the blood had drained from me

Ilet the curtain drop and shuffled into the room like a blind man. My foot struck something hard. I patted the reindeer hides and sat on the bed. What would Denny have found in Wilson’s room? Only skins. The sleeping bag would have been removed for forensic tests, along with Wilson’s clothes. Maybe he wanted a picture of where the millionaire had died. He must have gone into Harry’s room, too. The double bill would earn him a nice, tidy sum. Mr Paparazzo. I had to hand it to him, he had balls. If Hallengren ever found the images on his camera, it would be Denny seeing the inside of a Swedish jail.

I’d give him another minute before leaving, to be sure he was out of the building. I lay back on the skins and spread my arms out, counting silently.

That was when I heard the sound.

There was no mistaking it. Someone else was in the Icehotel.

Blackness

I held my breath, straining to listen, and I heard it again, muffled but louder. A spasm of fear ran through my body. The sound came from within the room.

Had Denny returned? But why? And why to my room? No, this wasn’t Denny, Denny was long gone. I leapt off the bed and thrust my arms out, wheeling in a circle, ready to scream if I touched anything.

To my horror, something brushed against my face. I jumped back and dropped to my knees, my heart racing.

I had one thought – find the curtain or I would die here, in the blackness of the Icehotel.

I felt around frantically until I found the bed. I paused to listen but heard nothing over the pounding of my heart, only my ragged breathing.

I crawled round the block of ice, my shoulder rubbing against the skins, and stopped when I thought I’d be in front of the curtain.

Silently, I shifted into a crouching position and held my arms out like a sleepwalker. Praying I wasn’t in front of a wall, I sprang forward and ran. My hands hit the curtain. I beat it out of the way and rushed out of the room.

The corridor stretched endlessly in either direction. I’d never make it. I’d have to hide. I ran into Harry’s room, holding the curtain down behind me to stop it swinging.

The ceiling window cast a strange light, silvering the objects in the room. I looked around swiftly. The only hiding place was behind the bed, but I had no intention of lying on the floor. As I backed away, my stomach cramping with fear, I collided with something hard.

It was the statue of Pan, his manic leer faintly visible in the dim light. I squeezed into the niche behind him and flattened myself against the wall.

Fear

From the back of the alcove, the curtain wasn’t visible but its weak reflection smeared the wall opposite like a bloodstain.

I waited, my body tense, and was starting to think it was safe to leave when I heard the slow swishing of footsteps in snow. He was in the corridor outside. Numb with fear, I pressed my body deeper into the alcove.

I listened, holding my breath. The footsteps were dying away. Relief flooded through me. He’d gone. He’d have left the Icehotel by now, even reached the Excelsior. But to be on the safe side, I would leave by the back and join the aurora watchers.

I slid out from the alcove and was squeezing past the statue when, in the half-light from the ceiling window, I saw the bloodstain ripple and gently dissolve.

The curtain was drawn back and a black-suited figure lumbered into the room.

He was huge, much bigger than Denny. His hood was drawn over his head and his face was hidden beneath a ski mask. He paused, moving his head purposefully left and right.

I slipped back behind the statue, my heart hammering against my ribs.

The figure lurched towards the bed. As he swung his arms, I caught the glint of metal. I felt myself grow cold as though the blood had drained from me.

He was holding an ice axe, not by the handle but near the top where the shaft meets the blade. He pawed at the jumbled heap of skins, sifting through them and hurling them on to the ground.

If I didn’t think quickly, I wouldn’t leave the Icehotel alive. I had one chance. Dressed in a white suit and hood, I was camouflaged against the snow. He just might not see me. And his movements were sluggish. With luck, I might outrun him.

As he leant forward to look behind the bed, I crept out of the alcove. Then, with my back against the wall, I sidled towards the curtain. But as I reached it, I overbalanced and fell, jarring my knee so badly that I cried out. The figure straightened.

God knows how – I was exhausted by fear – I struggled to my feet and, ignoring the pain in my knee, ran thrashing through the curtain. I bolted down the corridor.

If I could find one of the doors, I didn’t care which, I would be safe. I would scream my lungs out the moment I was outside.

Pain

But he’d been quick. I heard him pounding behind me. I tore through the maze of corridors, searching desperately until I found the double doors.

Without pausing to fumble for the handles, I rammed my body into them. They swung open, banging off the walls and slamming back against my shoulders.

Panting heavily, the blood thundering in my ears, I ran out into the night.

To the left was the great curve of the Ice Theatre. I rushed on to the frozen river, my knee in agony, and my breathing coming in huge gulps.

As I sped past the wall of ice blocks, I heard a deep bellow behind me. A metallic taste filled my mouth. The dark figure was close. In a second, he’d reach me. I was sobbing now, my throat and lungs on fire, my breath streaming in a white vapour. I summoned all my strength and ran on, no longer caring where I was going.

Suddenly, the ground gave way and I stumbled, still running, into water.

I flailed my arms, thrashing blindly at the ice, feeling a sharp stab of pain as my face scraped against something hard.

The sky disappeared and silence closed round me. My descent slowed, leaving me suspended in a murky alien world.

A second later, the icy water seeped through my suit. I gasped, drawing water into my lungs, feeling the cold ripping through my chest.

I tried to swim to the surface, kicking, beating my arms, willing myself to move upwards, but my legs seemed held in a vice. Exhausted, I let my body go limp.

More tomorrow.

Icehotel, available on Amazon Kindle, is Hania Allen’s debut novel. Her second book, The Polish Detective (Constable, £8.99), is the first in her new series featuring DS Dania Gorska and is set in Dundee.