On the year's last evening I walked past fifty doors that had opened for me, though no one had asked me to count. There were candles in windows, repaired fences, and tracks crossing tracks until the snow made one story of them all.
Marta, who once left a red scarf on my gate, sent a small brass bell. Her family had been caught again near the meadow, but this time she rang it to lead her younger brother out of the herd's path.
The snow returned to Särna, along with news of a family whose porch was ringed by reindeer driven down from the hills. I remembered Astrid Lind's yard from January and found a new family in the same fear.
A mother and two sons waited behind the crossroads shelter after a running herd divided the road. Their father was on the other side, close enough to call and too far to help.
A barn full of quiet was worse than a barn full of noise. I found the Marklunds holding still behind the feed bins while a reindeer stood at the open door, blocking their exit.
The post carrier brought me a note written on the back of an envelope. The Ruotsalainens were stuck in their sauna after a herd settled near the path to their house.
The Iversens lit a fire on the headland after reindeer cut off the path to their boat. From across the inlet, the flame looked too steady to be an accident.
A herd pushed past the market and trapped the Pettersens below their shop. Their cellar door opened onto the street, and their little boy was beginning to panic in the dark.
The sky was green above the Johansens' cabin when their daughter spotted reindeer gathering at the only bridge. Her parents were across the river fetching firewood.
The seamstress tied red thread along the path after a herd drove her family into the woods. She hoped someone would follow it before her husband's injured ankle gave out.
A first frost kept the Vik family inside until a reindeer struck their front window. The glass cracked; their youngest son was asleep in the room beyond it.
The Eide brothers were loading the final bale when a reindeer broke from the trees. Their parents took cover in the barn, but the youngest brother was still on the wagon.
From the ridge I saw the Nygårds on their slate roof, three people and a dog above a reindeer pacing the yard. Rain had made the tiles too slick to cross to the chimney ladder.
The baker drew the route to the Olsen farm in flour on his counter. A herd blocked their lower lane, and the family needed to bring their grandmother down for medicine.
A reindeer startled by traffic sent an apple cart rolling toward a family's doorway. The father reached for the cart as the animal turned, leaving his daughter exposed behind him.
A dried flower wreath caught on the antlers of a reindeer nosing through the Nilssons' garden. The children ran, the animal ran after them, and their grandmother shut the greenhouse door just in time.
The Falk family climbed to the loft when a reindeer forced its way into their stable. The younger child was coughing from dust; they could not stay there long.
The river dropped enough to expose a gravel bar, and two children wandered out to it. A herd crossed upstream and scattered them toward the deeper channel.
The Sjöbergs hid in their orchard after a reindeer burst through the beekeeper's gate. Their son had a bee sting and the gate hung crooked against the hedge.
A station clerk had seven minutes before the evening train. A reindeer had strayed onto the platform and driven a family into the luggage room, where the doors opened outward into its path.
White sheets on the Anderssons' line snapped in the wind and frightened a passing herd into their yard. The family sheltered behind the cellar door while antlers tangled in the cloth.
The Järvinens reached the old stone steps above the lake just as a reindeer began rushing anyone who moved. Their grandfather could not descend quickly with his bad knee.
Rain took the shape out of the trail, and the Niemi family walked into the path of a herd descending the fell. They hid behind a boulder too small for all four of them.
The lantern maker's family had shut themselves in the workshop after a reindeer overturned the market stall. Glass lay across the only exit, and his youngest son was barefoot.
The wedding feast spilled into the courtyard just as a lone reindeer, startled by music, charged through the gate. Chairs flew. The bride's little niece stood frozen beneath the tablecloth.
Jari had set fence posts all morning and left the final stretch open for one afternoon. That was enough for a herd to enter the yard while his wife and infant were in the garden.
At midnight the light was still on the fields, and I saw the Lehto children running long before I heard them. A reindeer had followed them from the hay meadow to their porch.
The small river ferry had stalled with the Koskinen family aboard. A reindeer on the landing rushed whenever the boat drifted close, and the current kept pulling them back toward it.
Runa's letter reached me with salt on the paper. Her parents had been cornered on the shore by two panicked reindeer and could not cross the narrow path back to town.
A storm tore loose the roof of the Pedersens' shed. Every slap of tin sent nearby reindeer rushing at the house, where the family had gathered behind thin glass.
Grass appeared by the Haug family's well just as a hungry reindeer began defending it. The children needed water, and their grandfather had already tried twice to reach the pump.
The Kristensens followed fresh tracks toward their summer hut, thinking they belonged to a neighbor. The tracks belonged to a reindeer separated from its herd, and it rushed their packed sled.
The harbor watchman's wife waved from a storage loft while a reindeer struck the doors below. Their little boy was there too, hiding behind sacks of flour.
Two sisters and their father were caught between a steep drop and an agitated herd on the pass. They had tried to stay still, but the youngest was losing her footing in the slush.
The Olofssons woke to antlers filling their kitchen doorway. A reindeer had slipped into the narrow entry after fleeing dogs, and every frightened movement shattered another dish.
Inga had lent her best boots to a neighbor who returned them with news of a herd trapped beside his house. His family could not get past the animals to reach the road.
A father and son took refuge in the shuttered mill after a reindeer drove them off the road. The lower door jammed behind them, and the millstream was rising with meltwater.
When I reached the Larssons' farm, a broken porch rail made it look as though the cradle had gone with the charging herd. No one had heard the baby cry. I followed the smell of warm wool into the barn.
The first thaw made the creek louder than the herd approaching the cabin. The Åström twins played on the bank and only saw the reindeer when the animals were almost upon them.
The Halonen family's goat bell rang all night after a herd broke their fence. By morning the youngest girl was missing. I followed the bell, then a line of small footprints barely deeper than my thumb.
The teacher counted nine pupils indoors and one set of boot prints heading toward the trees. A reindeer had chased young Per from the playground. His tracks ended at a hollow beneath a boulder.
Elias and his daughter were halfway across the footbridge when reindeer came running from the eastern bank. There was no room to turn a cart around. I climbed down onto the frozen supports and called to them from below.
Smoke from the Bergs' little outbuilding should have meant supper. Instead it meant they had hidden inside while a reindeer battered the latch. A fallen spruce had trapped the animal in their yard.
The Nilsen family took the lake shortcut before they saw the herd crossing ahead. Their sledge stopped on thin ice, and the reindeer surged around it. I heard the crack from the shore.
Little Marta's red scarf was all her grandfather could see across the white field. She had climbed a haystack to escape a charging bull reindeer and could not climb down. The hay had gone slick with frost.
A family knocked three times because the first two were lost in the wind. Their sleigh had overturned near the old logging track, and a reindeer herd had circled the younger boy. I took a lantern and followed their broken runners into the dark.
The first call came before sunrise. Astrid Lind's two children were stranded in the milk shed, and a reindeer stood between them and the house, striking the door with its antlers. I crossed the frozen yard low to the ground, listening for the moment its hooves shifted.