while leaning over the side to piss into the edge of the forest as they went past.
He ransacked the cupboards. The pole should be easy enough to find, about a metre long, made of metal and shaped like a crowbar with a pointed end so that it could stick into packed snow and ice. Stian pushed aside forgotten mittens, hats and goggles. Next cupboard, firefighting equipment. A bucket and cloths. First-aid kit. A torch. But no pole.
Of course they might have forgotten it when they locked up for the night.
He grabbed the torch and went outside, did a circuit round the cabin.
No pole there, either. Christ, had they stolen it or what? And left the lift passes? Stian thought he heard something and turned to the forest. Shone the torch on the trees.
A bird? A squirrel? Elk did sometimes come down here, but they didn’t make much of an effort to hide. If he could only switch off the bloody lift, he would be able to hear better.
Stian went back into the cabin and noticed that he felt more at ease inside. Picked up the two pieces of the plastic knob from the floor, tried placing them around the spindle and turning, but it was no use.
He looked at his watch. Soon be midnight. He wanted to finish the round of golf in Augusta before going to bed. Wondered whether to phone the chairman. All he had to do was give this spindle a half-turn!
His head shot up instinctively and his heart stopped beating.
It had happened so quickly he was unsure whether he had seen it or not. Whatever it was, it was not an elk. Stian keyed in the name of the chairman, but his fingers were trembling so much he made several mistakes before getting it right.
‘Yes?’
‘The emergency pole’s gone. I can’t turn the lift off.’
‘The fuse cupboard . . .’
‘Locked and the key’s gone.’
He heard the chairman cursing under his breath. Then a sigh of resignation. ‘Stay there. I’m on my way.’
‘Bring a wrench or something.’
‘Wrench or something,’ the chairman repeated, making no attempt to conceal his contempt.
Stian had long known the chairman’s respect was measured in terms of your ranking in skiing championships. He put his mobile in his pocket. Stared out into the darkness. And it struck him that everyone could see him with the light on and he couldn’t see anyone. He got up, closed what was left of the door and switched off the light. Waited. The empty T-bars coming down from the slopes above his head seemed to accelerate as they swung round the end of the lift before starting the ascent again.
Stian blinked.
Why hadn’t he thought of that before?
He turned all the knobs on the console. And as the floodlights came on over the slope Jay-Z’s ‘Empire State of Mind’ rang out from the loudspeakers and filled the valley. That’s the way, now it was a bit more homely.
He drummed his fingers and looked at the spindle again. There was a hole at the top. He got up, grabbed the string from beside the fuse cupboard, doubled it and threaded it through the hole. Wrapped it round the spindle once and pulled carefully. This could actually work. He pulled a little harder. The string was holding. Even harder. The spindle moved. He yanked it.
The sound of the lift machinery died with a long-drawn-out groan culminating in a squeal.
‘Take that, you motherfucker!’ Stian shouted.
He leaned over the phone to ring the chairman and inform him the job was done. Remembered the chairman would hardly approve of rap being played at full blast over the speakers at night and switched it off.
Listened to the phone ringing. That was all he could hear now; suddenly it was very quiet. Come on, answer! And then there it was again. The feeling. The feeling that someone was there. Someone was watching him.
Stian Barelli slowly raised his head.
And felt the chill spread from an area at the back of his head, as though he were turning to stone, as though it were Medusa’s face he was staring at. But it wasn’t hers. It was a man dressed in a
He ransacked the cupboards. The pole should be easy enough to find, about a metre long, made of metal and shaped like a crowbar with a pointed end so that it could stick into packed snow and ice. Stian pushed aside forgotten mittens, hats and goggles. Next cupboard, firefighting equipment. A bucket and cloths. First-aid kit. A torch. But no pole.
Of course they might have forgotten it when they locked up for the night.
He grabbed the torch and went outside, did a circuit round the cabin.
No pole there, either. Christ, had they stolen it or what? And left the lift passes? Stian thought he heard something and turned to the forest. Shone the torch on the trees.
A bird? A squirrel? Elk did sometimes come down here, but they didn’t make much of an effort to hide. If he could only switch off the bloody lift, he would be able to hear better.
Stian went back into the cabin and noticed that he felt more at ease inside. Picked up the two pieces of the plastic knob from the floor, tried placing them around the spindle and turning, but it was no use.
He looked at his watch. Soon be midnight. He wanted to finish the round of golf in Augusta before going to bed. Wondered whether to phone the chairman. All he had to do was give this spindle a half-turn!
His head shot up instinctively and his heart stopped beating.
It had happened so quickly he was unsure whether he had seen it or not. Whatever it was, it was not an elk. Stian keyed in the name of the chairman, but his fingers were trembling so much he made several mistakes before getting it right.
‘Yes?’
‘The emergency pole’s gone. I can’t turn the lift off.’
‘The fuse cupboard . . .’
‘Locked and the key’s gone.’
He heard the chairman cursing under his breath. Then a sigh of resignation. ‘Stay there. I’m on my way.’
‘Bring a wrench or something.’
‘Wrench or something,’ the chairman repeated, making no attempt to conceal his contempt.
Stian had long known the chairman’s respect was measured in terms of your ranking in skiing championships. He put his mobile in his pocket. Stared out into the darkness. And it struck him that everyone could see him with the light on and he couldn’t see anyone. He got up, closed what was left of the door and switched off the light. Waited. The empty T-bars coming down from the slopes above his head seemed to accelerate as they swung round the end of the lift before starting the ascent again.
Stian blinked.
Why hadn’t he thought of that before?
He turned all the knobs on the console. And as the floodlights came on over the slope Jay-Z’s ‘Empire State of Mind’ rang out from the loudspeakers and filled the valley. That’s the way, now it was a bit more homely.
He drummed his fingers and looked at the spindle again. There was a hole at the top. He got up, grabbed the string from beside the fuse cupboard, doubled it and threaded it through the hole. Wrapped it round the spindle once and pulled carefully. This could actually work. He pulled a little harder. The string was holding. Even harder. The spindle moved. He yanked it.
The sound of the lift machinery died with a long-drawn-out groan culminating in a squeal.
‘Take that, you motherfucker!’ Stian shouted.
He leaned over the phone to ring the chairman and inform him the job was done. Remembered the chairman would hardly approve of rap being played at full blast over the speakers at night and switched it off.
Listened to the phone ringing. That was all he could hear now; suddenly it was very quiet. Come on, answer! And then there it was again. The feeling. The feeling that someone was there. Someone was watching him.
Stian Barelli slowly raised his head.
And felt the chill spread from an area at the back of his head, as though he were turning to stone, as though it were Medusa’s face he was staring at. But it wasn’t hers. It was a man dressed in a
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