On 6 July 2022, Almedalsveckan in Visby is buzzing with discourse, debate, and sunshine. Ing‑Marie Wieselgren, esteemed national psychiatric coordinator, stands on the stage at Hamnplan, speaking passionately about refugee children. Nearby, Theodor Engström—a loner with a shadowed past—waits. Branded online as the “Ghost Boy”, he’s armed, angry, and declaring vengeance against a system he believes failed him. He strikes in Donnersplats, plunging Sweden into grief.

As the country mourns, investigations reveal that he also planned an attack on Annie Lööf. Hospitalised and later declared dead, Ing‑Marie’s death exposes disturbing intersections of untreated illness, extremist ideology, and alarmingly public violence. His trial culminates in psychiatric detention, leaving Sweden to wonder: how can democracy better protect itself?

Chapter 1: Ghost Boy in the Roses

The mid‑July sun spilled gold across Visby’s medieval skyline, its stone walls humming with summer’s energy. At the city’s core, rose bushes bordered narrow lanes, their fragrance carried on a breeze tinged with sea salt. Folk drifted through Donnersplats, seeking shade under striped awnings, clutching iced drinks. Politicians mingled with pensioners, students debated policy, and children tugged brightly‑coloured balloons.

In the centre of this, at Hamnplan, stood Ing‑Marie Wieselgren—64‑years‑old, poised, eyes bright beneath her silver hair. Her calm voice addressed refugee trauma: “We must meet children where they are,” she said up there, her heart for mental health laid bare. Listeners scribbled notes, nodded, absorbed her conviction. She had weathered abuse crises, reform tensions, and war‑born trauma: she wasn’t just speaking—she was steering the moral compass of Swedish psychiatry.

Watching from near an adjacent tent was Theodor Engström, 33. He was gaunt, pale, lips cracked—his shadow drawn in contrast to Ing‑Marie’s warmth. He wore a hoodie, dark jeans, boots. His rucksack contained two serrated knives, a ceremonial dagger, a short sword, a compact bow with three arrows, and a bottle of LSD. In a canvas tent under a birch tree he’d spent two nights, writing. His pages were scrawled with phrases like psych wards betrayed me, revenge for the system, bring Almedalen to its knees. Above them he wrote one moniker: “Spökpojken”—Ghost Boy. He believed invisible forces guided him, and that the only answer was violence.

The seminar ended. Ing‑Marie packed her notes, stepping down toward Donnersplats where another panel awaited. Theodors’ breath caught. He slipped into a public loo, heart thundering. He counted passers‑by outside until the podium emptied. He emerged.

The plaza brimmed. Lunch chatter and plates clinked. The odour of grilled shrimp and buttery scones mixed overhead. He scanned the crowd for Ing‑Marie’s navy‑blue coat. When she passed, he slipped behind her like a shadow. They were two souls on a collision course shaped by fate or madness.

Chapter 2: Knife in the Heart of Almedalen

It was precisely 13.49. The clock on the Old Town Hotel tower ticked quiet in the July heat. Ing‑Marie, with notes under arm, walked past café tables. Tourists paused. A waiter balanced a tray of lemonades. The square hummed.

Theodor moved in. His eyes darkened, resolve solidified. He whispered her name ─ “Ing‑Marie?” ─ and she halted, looking over her shoulder. Behind her ran 100,000 dreams: wartime kids, broken minds, policy hearts. In that moment, she was everything he blamed for his fractured world.

He struck. A brutal stab into her chest. Shrieks, plates smashed, a rose bouquet twirled from a nearby table. The blade quivered then dropped. Ing‑Marie fell forward, her voice a gasp lost in the roar.

Time splintered. Photographers froze mid‑click. Children started crying. The sun continued, oblivious.

From a lunch table sprang Lasse Reuterberg, 69, a mechanical engineer turned Huddinge local councillor, who jumped over chairs. He tackled Theodor against a door‑frame. A friend called emergency services. Someone wrapped Ing‑Marie in a scarf as paramedics arrived.

Police swept in. Theodor lay prone in the cobbles. He refused to speak. His knife glinted under sunbeams. Within 10 minutes he was cuffed. Within 15, paramedics had loaded Ing‑Marie into an ambulance with sirens screaming.

At the hospital, her life ended at 14.20. By 17.00, Almedalen was under lockdown. Swedish media broke the news: Ing‑Marie Wieselgren is dead. A nation shuddered.

Chapter 3: Aftermath & Reckoning

By midnight, Visby’s streets had emptied. Candles flickered at Donnersplats railings; mourners left flowers. At the tent where Theodor stayed, police found a hit list naming Annie Lööf, the Centre Party leader, and Hanna Stjärne, then‑SVT CEO. There was a small logbook with extremist ideology, prayers to an unseen “guiding power”, sketches of bombs, and online manifestos praising mass killers Breivik and Tarrant. He had researched them months before his attack.

The trial began in November. Theodor confessed to stabbing and said it was a terror act, not personal. He claimed he saw himself as a revenant—Ghost Boy—destined for vengeance: “I would have done a suicide bombing,” he claimed. He said the targets represented psychiatric care and political leadership—"I was throwing fire at the state.” The court video showed him twitching, shifting—diagnosed later with serious mental disorders.

On 6 December 2022 he was convicted of murder and preparing terrorist acts. Because of his illness, he was sentenced to forensic psychiatric care with special release conditions, rather than prison execution. The court emphasised his distorted perception and suffering—but also warned he’d likely strike again if released too soon.

The nation grappled. In Parliament, colleagues shared memories of Ing‑Marie as a champion for reform. Annie Lööf said: “I avoid large crowds now. My child asked why someone wanted to kill me.” She wept.

Ing‑Marie Wieselgren • Theodor Engström • Ghost Boy • Almedalsveckan murder • Sweden true crime • Visby stabbing 2022 • Annie Lööf plot • political terrorism Sweden • psychiatric system • Scandinavian true crime • Donnersplats massacre • forensic psychiatric care