The Hut in the Fog

Beth and her brother Ted had planned a short hike in the mountains. The morning was so bright that they took only a small bag, a map and a bottle of water. By two o’clock, however, when they had been walking for three hours, a thick fog had swallowed the path and every landmark along with it, until the whole mountainside was a blank grey wall.

“I can’t make out a single sign,” said Ted, whose voice had been cheerful at lunchtime and had now gone small and careful. They crept forward for an hour, growing colder and wearier with every step. Beth had been consulting the map for an hour, but it was useless in the grey. Then, faint and far away, they heard the sound of a bell.

They followed it until a small wooden hut loomed out of the mist. The door was unlocked. Inside, a faint smell of woodsmoke and old wool hung in the air, and they found two beds, a stove, a stack of logs and a warm blanket folded on each bed. On the table lay a notebook, open at a page covered in handwriting.

“A visitors’ book,” Ted read aloud. Hundreds of walkers had written in it: thanks, dates, sketches of summits. One entry said, “The fog came without warning. Light the stove and wait. The bell rings every hour for lost walkers.” Beth glanced at Ted. Who, she wondered, had been ringing it all afternoon?

They lit the stove, drank tea from an old tin and waited, and for a while neither of them spoke. At six o’clock the fog tore open and the stars appeared. Beside the door a sign read, “Ring twice when you are safe.” Beth pulled the rope twice. Far below, in the darkness, a light flashed twice in reply.