Private investigation

Meryl checked if her fever had spread to her son.

He shook his head, he knew his mother would never lie to him, but she often avoided replying with some of her concerns, or humour. "Mother, I want you to answer sincerely."

She put her elbow on the table and leant forward, to let her hand support her heavy upper body. With a frown, she said. "Oswald, you followed Stan outside when the sheep became agitated. You both came back a moment later. I was worried sick while waiting, I couldn't hear much between the snowstorm and the bleating, but when you came back, Stan told me you both chased the wolves from the land and there was nothing to worry about except for the loss of another sheep."

The kid was flabbergasted. He couldn't recall a thing properly. Each time he tried to think harder he was having a headache.

Hesitantly, he asked. "Didn't I look weird that night?"

Since they shared the same bed while the father, Victor, was away, Oswald's questioning left her more troubled.

"Are you kidding? I couldn't see a thing! You said nothing and succumbed to your exhaustion as soon as you hit the pillow."

'Fuck! What's happening?' Oswald thought. Stress crawled on his skin, making his hair dress along a shiver down his spine.

'I must be loosing my mind!' He thought, doing another round of reality check while his mother's did not diverge much from the topic.

'He totally lost his mind, my little one can't bear loneliness.' Meryl did not pay more attention and got up to start doing her house chores. 'I'm impatient to see Stan anew. I bet he'll make kids like no one does, and those gigantic hands he has... There's no telling how much they can grab!' The housewife had lonely days, she was as much able to sustain loneliness as she thought her son was.

"Mother, I've got to go finish work for today, I can't leave the herd without surveillance for too long."

"I can accompany you if it relieves you from your concerns. I don't like being locked up all day."

"Not today mother, the wolves may be closer than we think, you better stay here." He said, but his thoughts overlaid his saying. 'You can still play like you do as an evening hobby.' The boy had a persistent hate toward his mother. Oswald had not much consideration for her, she became less useful to him each time she had another child to take care of. And she became weaker both mentally and physically each time she lost a child.

On the contrary by the time she lost her fourth, Meryl's interest toward Oswald grew deeper.

Their feelings matched total opposite directions. One grew more distant while the other wanted to strengthen her bond with her first child.

The blurry atmosphere between them was nothing new. The exceptional visit did not change their thinking, but the guest modified slight details that would soon cause them troubles.

In the uncovered meadow, down the mountain, Oswald gathered his animals. A stench intensified with each passing minute, the boy wondered if the grass was its cause, or if there was something under the melting snow.

He investigated for an hour next to them but left without discovering its source.

Once the sun touching the horizon, he had to come back to his house. The day seemed longer than usual because of the lack of darkness. The usual reddening of the sky and the orange landscape lacked something.

Back to the barn, he did one more inspection, he scrutinised the hole in the roof, the snow which had accumulated under it, and the place where he was supposedly killed in his dream. 'The heck is this?' He thought.

His intelligence was limited, but when he noticed there was a missing straw bale to his stock, his heart rate accelerated.

He swept his foot around the place to move the straw away. He discovered with horror a half-dried pool of blood. The last hope he had was to find a new lamb he could've missed during the day. 'Maybe we had a newborn and we haven't noticed it. That's it. That's it.' He thought doing his best to reassure himself.

But he found none. No proof to back up a plausible story. Every abnormalities he thought of still made no sense. With his fingers, he touched the two holes that marked his face when he smiled, again while he tried to remember last night, a headache blocked his thoughts, the harder he tried to remember, the stronger it became.

He stopped after he passed out, he was leaning on the ground, between his dried blood and his herd. The traces of a nosebleed ran down his chin.

When he exited the barn, his doubts increased threefold, he had no idea how much time had passed, the sun had vanished, but it was still daytime. There was something totally off he had difficulties to figure out. The shadows behind each object around were still as neat as daytime.

Oswald looked up and to his surprise, the sun wasn't the source of light. Above his head, the moon shone, its shape was a perfect circle and its grace was hypnotic. The heavenly body seemed bigger than usual, each time he blinked, the illusion enlarged.

From his right side, the bleating became noisier. Their fuss intensified, Oswald's mind was blank, he wanted to admire the moon's shine for hours, but the commotion hindered his ability to focus.

Becoming agitated, he was sweating despite the night breeze. His pulse was rapid and his pupils dilated.

With veins about to explode on his forehead, he turned toward his herd to roar.

"Silence!"

The little light that entered his eyes reflected toward them, his eyes were two yellowish beams of light scanning the half-roofed shelter, terrorising the sheep and goats alike.

He pushed the broken door to close the barn as best as he could, he managed to seal it with its lock.

'I'm still sleeping. That's it, it is all a bad dream. Nothing in this is real. I'm not even cold! Hah! I can't be fooled that easily.' He shrugged, looking at the white misty cloud he created with each breathe.

He came back to his dizzy state where he could contemplate the moon. It took him sheer willpower to head back to his house because he had no real reason to do so. If he really was still dreaming, it implied he could just wander anywhere and end up back in his bed any time soon.

He needed about two hundred meters to reach his house, but he heard branches abnormally moving at the foot of the forest. His blood was boiling and he couldn't help but sprint toward the noise.