James Jenkins - The Valancourt Book of World Horror Stories. Volume 1

The men heard the wood cracking and, a second later, the dry sound of Stere’s body hitting the ground.

‘Hey!’ yelled Nicu. ‘Where are you? What’d you do, eh?’

They both ran towards the spot from which the sound had come and cast their light over the pit.

Stere was curled up at the bottom of the well with his eyes closed and his legs in an unnatural position, like branches broken after a storm.

‘Hey!’ yelled Nicu. ‘Hey, do you hear me?’

‘Oh no!’ Vasile wrung his hands. ‘Oh no!’

‘Stere! Hey, Stere!’ Nicu continued to yell, but Stere didn’t say anything.

‘Is he still breathing?’ asked Vasile.

‘I don’t know. Keep quiet now!’

And there was silence. Nicu directed his lantern towards Stere’s face and tried to listen carefully. From the darkness behind them came the weak echo of dripping water rhythmically hitting a plank. The wind whistled distantly through the galleries, and, below, from the well, Stere gasped softly.

‘Yes, he’s alive,’ said Nicu. ‘He’s breathing.’

‘Oh, God help him!’ said Vasile and made the sign of the cross in the air in front of him.

‘Vasile, we have no way of getting him out. Go to Stelică and tell him to run to the village and bring a long rope.’

‘Fine, Nicu, but keep him talking and let him know we’ll be getting him out, because if he dies here, we’re in for it.’

He sighed and left quickly through the tunnel towards the light.

Auntie Valeria was standing in the middle of the courtyard with her hands on her hips, looking towards the mountains. Ana was sweeping around her as though she were a statue, gathering up the rocks that had collected under the snow, which she had just pushed up along the fence.

‘Watch out, you’re in my way!’

But Valeria was looking into the void and said nothing.

‘My gosh, only the – I won’t even mention his name – can get through to you, God forgive me!’ Ana got angry and made the sign of the cross.

‘Ana,’ said Valeria.

‘What is it, auntie?’

‘Ana, this is not good.’

‘What’s not good, auntie? Are you starting up with that again?’

‘Ana, this is not good, I can feel it.’

Ana let the broom fall and asked:

‘What do you feel?’

‘Where are our husbands, Ana?’

‘In town.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘They’re in town. Selling iron to somebody.’

‘I don’t believe it, Ana.’

‘What do you mean, you don’t believe it? Didn’t they tell you so last night?’

‘Ana, the iron is still in the barn, in its usual place.’

‘What are you saying?’

But a shiver had already gone down Ana’s spine. She remembered how he had whispered to her last night that she was his ‘sweetheart’. It had been a long time since he had said anything like that. A shudder passed through her whole body and she turned her back on Valeria and headed towards the barn. She entered and went to the back, where the stolen iron from the Dominiţa mine was piled up.

She turned and looked into Valeria’s eyes, still lost among the mountains.

‘Where are our husbands, Valeria?’

‘I fear they’ve gone to the Turk’s Mouth, Ana.’

‘But they’re not crazy!’

‘Yes . . . Crazy from hunger, Ana. Crazy from hunger.’

Vasile was still several steps away from the mine’s exit when he heard a muffled giggle echoing from behind him. He turned and saw a woman – a girl, rather – with long hair that was red like fire, dressed in long, white robes. She was barefoot and her grin was covered by the palms of her hands. Vasile looked straight into her large eyes and made the sign of the cross. He couldn’t move, he was fixed to the spot, looking at the girl and whispering the Lord’s Prayer endlessly, until the first tear flowed unexpectedly down his left cheek. Then the girl turned and started towards the central gallery. Vasile wiped his tears and took flight away from the mine as fast as his aged bones could carry him.

Stelică was in the cart, smoking. When he heard the footsteps, he raised himself up to his full height and saw Vasile, pale and weak, coming down from the mine, saying something, gesturing.

‘What is it? What happened to you?’

‘It’s Stere.’

‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘Stere fell in a well. Go and fetch a strong rope. A long one.’

‘But how did he fall? What did you do in there?’

‘Shut up and run, didn’t you hear me?’

‘I’m going now.’

‘And be sure not to come back alone, but don’t bring the whole village with you either.’

‘OK, who then?’

‘I don’t know.’

‘Ion?’

‘Ion’s good. But tell him to keep quiet.’

‘OK, I’ll keep him quiet.’

‘Hurry.’

‘I’ll hurry.’

The two of them untied the horse and Stelică mounted it and, without looking back, he urged the horse on and set off towards the village.

‘Stere! Hey, Stere, do you hear me?’ yelled Nicu.

Stere murmured something from the bottom of the well.

‘Stay just like that, okay, they’re coming right away with the rope to get you out of there. Don’t be scared, you’re all right.’

But he knew that wasn’t the case, however much he might try to reassure him: fear had crept in under Nicu’s skin. His brother was dying at the bottom of a well in a decommissioned mine, he was alone, pouring his lantern’s light into the well and all around, old Vasile had left and was never coming back. It was silent and only Stere’s voice could be heard from the depths of the earth, groaning slowly and melodically as he came back to his senses and felt the pain coursing through the veins in every corner of his broken body.

It was a repulsive sight, but he had to keep his light trained on Stere, had to talk to him, to try to keep him awake, not to let him slip into the soft sleep of . . . He knew it was his only chance of escape. He and Vasile and Stelică and, if Vasile had thought of it, maybe even Ion. A good man. Only them. He couldn’t trust anyone else, and the police . . . well, they couldn’t call the police. They would all be arrested and even more misfortune would fall on their houses than . . . But he must stop thinking like that. It was neither the time nor the place for dark thoughts.

‘Stere, hey, look up here, Stere! You hear me?’

He would have liked to cry. Why not? To run to his wife now and throw himself at her knees, to tell her he had lied to her, that his work wasn’t in the city but at that damned Turk’s Mouth, the scourge of the earth, the hole to hell. To be a young man once more, to love each other, to hold hands and roll in the hay, to take her palms in his, listening to her with blushing cheeks: ‘Listen to what Mama says, Nicu, she knows what she’s talking about. She’s lived three times longer than you and her eyes have seen many things, and her ears have heard many things. The Turk’s Mouth is cursed.’ But how to tell her the truth . . . They were flat broke, there was no money to send the child to school in the fall, the furnace was growing colder. Yes, he would have really liked to let it all out and cry.

‘Stere, just a bit longer, okay.’

He decided to go to the tunnel, to leave that narrow room and watch for Vasile. In fact, he hated it there, in the darkness of the earth. So he left. He stopped at the entrance to the main gallery and looked towards the exit. At the end of the tunnel the white light was totally undisturbed. Not a silhouette, not a sound, nothing.

‘Where are you, Vasile? God damn you!’ he sighed and remembered Stere.

He cast his lantern’s light towards the well.

‘Look, Stere, I’m here, stay calm, I’m not leaving.’