recording
Friday night. Two things.
One. I texted Torill, the landlady, who lives in Bodø, to ask whether previous tenants ever mentioned someone knocking. She replied within a minute: "Mostly Airbnb since 2014, tourists, no complaints! Before that a student, nice boy. Is everything OK with the flat?" Everything is fine with the flat.
Two. This morning I put the phone in a wool sock with the power bank, wedged it in the kitchen window, pointed at the top of the stairs, and pressed record at 11:20.
The video is twenty-six minutes of blue. The handrail, the snow on the steps, the door frame at the edge. At 11:39 there are three knocks on the sound. Loud and close, you can hear the door take them. Nothing moves on the screen. Not a shadow. The snow on the steps is smooth.
I've watched it maybe thirty times. Kjell says the house knocks. It sounds like knuckles to me.
There was a power cut on Thursday night, the whole street, about an hour. The oven clock has been blinking 00:00 since. I can't work out how to set it, so I've stopped looking at it.