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

‘And why did you fight with your brother?’

Sam doesn’t look away from the window. He sees his Adam’s apple going up and down. He wipes his nose.

‘Over the bear.’

Manel changes gears.

‘What?’

‘The bear doesn’t exist. I’ve been trying to convince him that this bear legend is absurd, ever since we were little. The adults in town would tell it to us. A mother bear that lived in the forests behind the town.’ He sighs loudly. ‘My brother has never been able to tell the difference between fantasy and reality. Never.’

Manel notices that Sam’s voice has started to crack, and it’s getting worse and worse. He shifts gears again and looks at him. Sam has put a hand on his forehead and is making a sound with his nose.

‘My brother is a loner, he hallucinates. But for years now he’s been doing fine . . . as a shepherd.’

‘And why are you gathering signatures?’

Sam shrugs.

‘I started the petition to show him that I believed him. When he suffered more intense paranoid episodes, that would calm him down.’ He takes in air in uneven gulps. ‘When the ski station and the hotel started to fail, he said it was the bear’s fault, that she was scaring off the skiers.’ He shakes his head and points to the black sky. ‘And it was the snow. It was the snow. It’s been snowing less and less. You know how many years it’s been since I’ve seen it snow here?’

The snow.

He wants to hug Òscar and tell him, you know what? The ski station closed because there wasn’t enough snow. That’s it, nothing more. Sometimes things are simple, Òscar. Try to capture that.

‘Yesterday he was hysterical over the disappearance of two of his sheep. Well they escaped and that’s all, Tom!’ Sam gives the car window a light punch. ‘That’s all!’

Sometimes things are simple, Òscar. I want us to be parents. What are you afraid of?

The engine coughs three times and the car stops.

One of the dogs keeps scratching at the glass and the sound of its nails hitting the window is making Òscar nervous, and he keeps turning around. The animal’s mouth is full of saliva as it reveals its sharp, dirty fangs. Between the two dogs he glimpses the shotgun.

‘He’s nervous, wants to get out.’

Tom’s voice is just as deep as Sam’s. Òscar nods and grips the door handle tightly.

‘Yeah.’

‘So what are you doing here, at the ski station?’

Òscar unzips his jacket and strokes the still damp camera case.

‘I have to take photos. I’m a photographer.’

Tom scratches his nose compulsively. Òscar takes a long hard look at him. Maybe he doesn’t look that much like his brother. Tom’s eyes are more almond-­shaped and his jaw more square.

‘Of a ski station that’s been shut down for years?’

Òscar looks straight ahead. He can already see the chairlift.

‘It’s for a photographic project on abandoned spaces.’

One of the dogs starts barking. Tom looks into the rearview mirror.

‘It used to be full of skiers. Full. My brother made a ton of money, with the ski station and the hotel. Look at it now. Empty.’

Caress the landscape. Merge with it. Understand its language.

‘What happened?’

Tom shifts gears, looks at him, looks back at the road. He lowers his chin and furrows his brow.

‘He never believed there was a bear.’

Òscar grabs his camera. Tom looks at him sidelong. His eyes are gleaming.

‘Skiers would disappear.’ He lifts his arm slowly and points to the road with his index finger. ‘They went up in the chairlift and never came back down. Sometimes, there was growling. He was totally money crazy and didn’t say a word. He kept quiet and didn’t do a thing.’ He falls silent. He swallows hard and drums his fingers on the steering wheel. ‘Towards the end he was halfway round the bend, and he started a petition, but of course,’ he shrugs, ‘by then, nobody was coming anymore.’

‘And that’s why it closed?’

Tom nods.

‘People were afraid.’

Òscar strokes his camera and realizes his heart is beating fast. His right leg starts moving and he gnaws on the cuticle of his index finger. The chairlift is getting closer and closer.

A bear.

They shut it down because of a bear. Nature versus culture. The perfect photo to conclude his series. The fear of death.

Recovering intensity.

‘I was never able to prove it to my brother. Never.’ He extends his right hand to Òscar and lifts two fingers. ‘But today two of my sheep disappeared. The bear took away my brother’s livelihood, and he didn’t know how to stop her.’ He bangs his fist against his chest. ‘I won’t let her do that to me!’

Òscar turns on the camera and looks at the last photograph he took. He zooms in and studies the shadow. He glances into the mirror on the passenger side. Where’s Manel? Isn’t he going to come looking for him? Suddenly, he feels a stab in his left nipple.

Manel and Sam are walking along the road. It’s been five minutes since they pushed the car to the shoulder. After studying the engine and trying to start it three times, they gave up and continued on foot. There aren’t many lights, but they have no problem following the road. Sam is not dressed very warmly, and keeps rubbing his arms. It’s not snowing anymore, but the temperature is dropping. Manel has the flashlight and keeps nervously pressing the on/off button, his eyes on Òscar’s footprints.

‘Why did your friend leave?’ Sam’s voice is getting hoarse.

‘He wanted to take photos. And he’s more than a friend.’

Manel looks at the sky. Yes. He’s sure. He checked and double checked, and then checked again. The moon should be full, starting today. He spins around. There are some clouds, but he can see plenty of stars. Where is the moon?

Sam approaches, hastening his step.

‘What are you doing?’

Manel lifts his chin skyward.

‘There should be a full moon. I checked before booking the trip. It’s . . . it’s as if it’s disappeared!’

Barking is heard. Sam looks at the road.

‘We have to keep going!’

Manel starts to walk, following Òscar’s enormous footprints. Size 12. A large foot. Size 12. Òscar’s big boots. The snow boots he bought two weeks ago downtown. Manel was antsy about how long they were in the store. Òscar couldn’t make up his mind. He didn’t like any of them.

‘These ones make me taller, right?’

Manel looked at the boots through the mirror that leaned against a column and then looked at his face. Tense.

‘Yes, they make you even taller. In the end I’ll have a stiff neck from looking up at you. Those ones seem good.’

‘They’re expensive . . .’

‘But the ones you have are destroyed.’

Did Òscar know Manel’s shoe size? And whether he needed new sneakers or not? Did he know? He pressed on Òscar’s toes to see if the boots fit.

‘Aren’t they a little small?’

‘Oh, man! Stop acting like my daddy!’

Manel quickly withdrew his hand.

‘Don’t call me daddy again, Òscar. This is important to me. Let’s not go there with this subject, OK? Please. You should get those ones, they’re nice. Let me get them for you.’

Òscar shrugged and sat down to untie them.

‘Yeah, they are nice.’

Manel stops. The footprints change direction, four more and the last few are in the middle of the road. As if he’d been abducted. As if he’d disappeared. Him and the moon.

‘We did fight, goddamnit! We did have a fight!’

Tom pulls the hand brake and looks at Òscar.

‘See you later.’

Òscar grips the door handle.

‘Where are you headed now?’

‘Up a path that leads to the woods above the station.’