Brutal Telling

Hearing this, the Mountain was puzzled. It wasn’t the shriek of terror he normally heard from creatures who came near him.

As he listened the Mountain King realized this was a happy sound. An infectious sound. He too started to rumble and only stopped when the people in the village grew frightened. And he didn’t want that. Never again did he want to scare anything away.

He slept well that night.

The boy, however, did not. He tossed and turned and finally left his cabin to stare up at the peak.

Every night from then on the boy was burdened by the Mountain’s secret. He grew weary and weak. His parents and friends commented on this. Even the Mountain noticed.

Finally, one night well before the sun rose the boy nudged his parents awake.

“We need to leave.”

“What?” his bleary mother asked.

“Why?” his father and sister asked.

“The Mountain King has told me of a wonderful land where people never die, never grow sick or old. It’s a place only he knows about. But he says we need to leave now. Tonight. While it’s still dark. And we need to go quickly.”

They woke up the rest of the village and well before dawn they’d packed up. The boy was the last to leave. He took a few steps into the forest and kneeling down he touched the surface of the sleeping Mountain King.

“Good-bye,” he whispered.

Then he tucked the package under his arm, and disappeared into the night.

Jean Guy Beauvoir stood outside the cabin. It was almost dark and he was starving. They’d finished their work and he was just waiting for Agent Lacoste to pack up.

“I have to pee,” she said, joining him on the porch. “Any ideas?”

“There’s an outhouse over there.” He pointed away from the cabin.

“Great,” she said and grabbed a flashlight. “Isn’t this how horror movies start?”

“Oh no, we’re well into the second reel by now,” said Beauvoir with a smirk. He watched Lacoste pick her way along the path to the outhouse.

His stomach growled. At least, he hoped it was his stomach. The sooner they got back to civilization, the better. How could anyone live out here? He didn’t envy Morin spending the night.

A bobbing flashlight told him Lacoste was returning.

“Have you been into the outhouse?” she asked.

“Are you kidding? The Chief looked in, but I didn’t.” Even thinking about it made him gag.

“So you didn’t see what was in there.”

“Don’t tell me, the toilet paper was money too.”

“Actually it was. One- and two-dollar bills.”

“You’re joking.”

“I’m not. And I found this.” She held a book in her hand. “A first edition. Signed by E. B. White. It’s Charlotte’s Web.”

Beauvoir stared at it. He had no idea what she was talking about.

“It was my favorite book as a child. Charlotte the spider?” she asked. “Wilbur the pig?”

“If they didn’t get blown up I didn’t read it.”

“Who leaves a signed first edition in an outhouse?”

“Who leaves money there?” Beauvoir suddenly felt an urge to go.

Salut, patron,” waved Gabri from the living room. He was folding tiny outfits and putting them into a box. “So, the cabin in the woods. Was it where the guy lived? The dead man?”

“We think so.” Gamache joined him. He watched Gabri fold the small sweaters.

“For Rosa. We’re collecting them from everyone to give to Ruth. Is this too big for Rosa?” He held up a boy’s blazer. “It’s Olivier’s. He says he made it himself but I can’t believe that, though he’s very good with his hands.” Gamache ignored that.

“It’s a little big. And masculine, for Rosa, don’t you think?” he said.

“True.” Gabri put it in the reject pile. “In a few years it might fit Ruth though.”

“Did no one ever mention a cabin before? Not old Mrs. Hadley?”