Shadows of Helvete

Chapter 2

1988

The small town near Stockholm where Pelle and Emilie had grown up was quiet, the kind of place that suffocated dreams and crushed ambitions with its mundane predictability. The narrow streets were lined with rows of modest houses, the occasional small shop breaking up the monotony. There was nothing here for people like Pelle Ohlin and Emilie Ahlgren—nothing but an endless, gray horizon that stretched into oblivion.

They had been best friends for as long as either could remember. Two misfits, drawn together by their love of metal, the macabre, and a shared sense of not belonging in this sleepy little town. Pelle, with his pale skin, long blonde hair and intense, haunted blue eyes, already seemed more ghost than human. Emilie, with her long wavy red hair and piercing green eyes, had always been a little more grounded—though that wasn't saying much. They were both outsiders in their own way.

And then there was the occasional thing between them. It was something else—a connection that went beyond friendship but never quite crossed into romance. Sometimes, late at night, after long talks about death and music and the dark things that lived inside their minds, they would hook up. It was never complicated, never something they spoke about afterwards. It just was. They were teenagers, drifting through life without much to hold onto but each other.

One grey afternoon, Emilie was sprawled out on Pelle's bed, idly flipping through a magazine while the sound of metal music played in the background. Pelle was sitting cross-legged on the floor, scribbling in a notebook, his long blonde hair falling in front of his face. He was always writing—lyrics, thoughts, fragments of ideas that seemed to come from somewhere deep within him.

"I swear, you're going to run out of space in that thing," Emilie teased, glancing over at him. "How many pages can you possibly fill with lyrics about death?"

Pelle looked up, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "Death is endless. So are the lyrics."

Emilie rolled her eyes but couldn't help smiling. That was Pelle—always morbid, always serious. But that was part of why she liked him. He wasn't afraid to dive into the darkness that other people avoided. She closed the magazine and tossed it aside, sitting up.

"Got any big plans this weekend?" she asked. "Or are we just going to stay in and listen to more depressing records?"

Pelle hesitated, his fingers drumming on the notebook. Emilie noticed the slight shift in his expression, the way his eyes seemed to flicker with something... different.

"What?" she asked, her voice sharp with curiosity.

He cleared his throat, looking down at the notebook for a second before meeting her eyes. "I got a letter," he said slowly.

"A letter?" Emilie raised an eyebrow, leaning forward. "From who?"

Pelle hesitated again as if he wasn't sure how to tell her. "From a band," he finally said. "Mayhem."

Emilie's heart skipped a beat. She knew exactly who Mayhem was—everyone in their small circle of metalheads did. They were legendary in the underground scene, pushing the boundaries of extreme music and chaos. They weren't just any band. They were the real deal.

"Wait, Mayhem?" she repeated, sitting up straighter. "Like, the actual Mayhem?"

Pelle nodded, his eyes glowing with excitement. "Yeah. They're looking for a vocalist, and they've heard some of my stuff. They want me to join them. In Norway."

Emilie's mouth went dry. She stared at him, the weight of his words slowly sinking in. "Norway? Like... you'd move there? For good?"

Pelle's expression softened, and for the first time, she saw a flicker of guilt in his eyes. "Yeah, I'd have to. They're serious, Em. This could be huge. It's everything I've been working for. Everything we've talked about."