MOUSSE'S DISAPPEARANCE 

“Alright, Mosquitoes, this is our last night. And I’ve got a terrific story to tell you.”

     “What’s your story?” asks one of the children sitting in a semicircle around the campfire.

     “I’m warning you, it’s scary, and it’s a true story.”

     The glow of the fire casts threatening shadows on the counsellor’s face.

     “Do you really want to hear it? Are you absolutely sure?”

     “Yessssss!”

     The Mosquitoes’ eyes are wide, filled with both excitement and suspicion.

     “It’s the story of Mousse’s disappearance.”

     The Mosquitoes giggle together.

     “That’s a dumb name!” challenges the cheekiest among them.

     “Careful! You need to respect the dead, Xavier…”

     The cherub-looking blond boy struggles to swallow before absentmindedly scratching his right cheek.

     “Sorry, Pizza.”

     Pizza presses his hands together in prayer, with the tips of his two index fingers under his nose, right in the middle of his straw-like mustache.

     “Mousse was one of our best counsellors. THE best. Well, after me of course.”

     They all burst out with a sarcastic laugh in unison. Pizza responds with a cocky wink.

     “He went swimming once in the Lacs aux Menés, the one where we spent the afternoon swimming. Except he never came back.”

     The Mosquitoes are motionless, suddenly terrified. Only the crackling of the fire pierces the heavy silence.

     “But… maybe he just went home?” Denise mutters, adjusting her glasses.

     “Nope, Denise, his stuff was still in his dorm! We never solved the mystery, actually, but it’s certain—Mousse disappeared. Maybe he drowned… but you know, the police searched for days and days, and they never found a body in the lake.”

     The Mosquitoes suddenly become alert to every sound around them. Even the faintest rustling of leaves in the wind seems like a major threat.

     With a trembling voice, Nadine, the smallest of them all, softly asks:

     “What did Mousse… uh… look like?”

     Pizza takes a deep breath, his gaze fixed on his New Balance shoes, which are browned by summer.

     “Pretty generic, I’d say. Not very tall, not very stocky. Brown hair, brown eyes… but what made him stand out was that he was missing his right index finger. An accident with a power saw when he was little.”

     His face darkens, then the left corner of his mouth lifts, slyly. His eyes carefully assess every look from his audience.

     “They say that at night, you can hear scratching all around the camp. And in the morning, if you look closely at the ground in front of the dorms, you’ll see finger marks, long lines leading to the lake. Nine lines, for nine fingers. BOO!”

     The mosquitoes scream together, a shriek that cuts through the forest air.

     Pizza then starts laughing, as if it were a prank. Sputnik, dressed as a big bear, then bursts out of the woods to join his colleague.

     “Alright, it’s too hot in the mascot costume. Let’s go back to the dorm, Mosquitoes! Hop, hop!”

     Still jittery with terror, but mostly relieved that the story isn’t real, everyone follows the two counsellors.

     “Good night, Mosquitoes!” Pizza calls out before closing the dorm door. Never forget: mosquitoes are small, but they’re really tough! Look at my legs if you need a reminder.”

     The kids, snuggled in their beds, damp from the heatwave but still comforting, thank Pizza for the amazing evening.

     “See you tomorrow, Pizza!”

     But Marcus, unlike his friends, can’t fall asleep. He can’t get Pizza’s story out of his mind. Chills still run down his back as he listens to ensure everyone is asleep, with their breathing almost in sync.

     Poor Marcus also really needs to pee. He forces himself to get out of bed. But are those scratching sounds outside?

     Nervous but determined to relieve himself, he runs down the hallway. Because it’s brightly lit, he finally slows down. Phew. You’re always safer when there’s light, he tells himself.

     Except, on the bulletin board in the centre of the wall, he clearly sees Mousse’s photo. It’s a missing person notice, printed in black and white. In the photo used to report his sudden disappearance, his right thumb is raised near his face, next to his big smile. The empty space where the index finger should be gives Marcus chills. His bladder releases right there, on the hallway floor, in front of the bulletin board and the darkened smile of the missing counsellor.