Alfrida

In a smoky tavern on the outskirts of early‑20th‑century Finland, a restless crowd gathers around a battered billiard table. A quick‑witted Petersburg trick‑player squares off against a gaunt, oddly composed stranger, their banter punctuated by clinking glasses and the steady toll of a clock. As the stakes rise and the night deepens, the atmosphere turns from light‑hearted gambling to something more unsettling, hinting at debts that extend beyond money.

A sudden, almost spectral interruption draws the players into a dimly lit room where a pale figure watches from behind a curtain. The stranger’s quiet insistence on a simple request—just a glass of beer—unravels into a tense exchange of names, glances, and unspoken longing. The encounter feels both ordinary and uncanny, setting the stage for a story that weaves together chance, desire, and the thin line between reality and the uncanny.

Through vivid dialogue and atmospheric detail, the novel invites listeners to follow Alfrida and the enigmatic men as they navigate a night where every roll of the cue ball may echo far beyond the tavern walls.