October is the Coldest Month by Christoffer Carlsson

Author:Christoffer Carlsson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: YAF000000, YAF011000, YAF062000
Publisher: Scribe Publications Pty Ltd
Published: 2017-06-08T00:00:00+00:00

The truth was that Hellman had saved my life just three days before someone took his.

I’d had a long, lonely day at school and when I got back to Varvet by bus I didn’t know what to do, so I just kept walking. Eventually, I ended up at Beggars’ Bog, and I stood there in the silence as the white sky was reflected on the still, black water. The bog was large and protected by the ancient land around it. The ground closest to the edge was muddy and slippery, and when you leaned forwards you could see the depths staring back up at you, more like a well than anything else. I was wearing headphones and a dreamlike choir of voices was singing in my ears as I took a step forwards, feeling my boots sink down into the earth.

And then, I lost my footing. The ground gave way, unexpectedly and fast, as if it had shifted itself a little so I would tumble into its waiting jaws.

That was the dangerous thing about the bog — not its depth or the cold water, but how unreliable the ground was. I’d heard of people who’d fallen in and tried to fight their way up again by grabbing tufts of grass or reeds, but failed. The grass gave way. The reeds let go. Maybe some people had managed to surface again, but you never heard those stories. All you ever heard about was the cold water, the endless depths of the bog, how the earth and grass and trees helped it swallow you.

I tried to lean back, but it was like an invisible force was dragging me forwards, down towards the smooth surface, and I knew I was wearing way too many clothes to be able to come back up again. They would turn wet and heavy and impossible to get out of, and I wouldn’t have the strength to reach for something, not a branch, not a handful of reeds. I knew it was over, that I had made a terrible mistake by coming here.

As the panic took over, my eyes did something unexpected: they squeezed shut.

Then someone grabbed the collar of my jacket and pulled me backwards, so hard I couldn’t breathe. I fell to the ground. My headphones were ripped off. Above me stood a blurry figure, armed with a rifle.

‘Careful,’ said Lars Hellman. ‘What are you doing up here?’

‘Nothing,’ I managed.

‘Are you alone?’

‘Why?’ I hissed. ‘Do you see anyone else here?’

Hellman narrowed his cruel eyes.

‘You really are a nasty little fucker.’

He was a mean, creepy man, but as the first wave of shock passed, it dawned on me that he’d probably saved my life.

‘Sorry.’

He pursed his lips angrily and nodded at the ground. ‘A big bull moose came through here less than a few hours ago. Be careful.’

And then, without a word or anything else, he just turned around and walked off, kept moving. I stared after him in shock.

That was the first time I’d seen Hellman since that night the summer before, and the last time I saw him alive.

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