The Hut in the Fog

Ines and her brother Teo 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, 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 Teo, 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. Ines kept consulting the map, 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,” Teo 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.” Ines glanced at Teo. Who, she wondered, was ringing it?

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.” Ines pulled the rope twice. Far below, in the darkness, a light flashed twice in reply.