For the short story reader. Updated every Monday.

The Short Form

“The Inn”

Guy de Maupassant


He was sure of it, the way you're sure that you're alive or eating bread. Old Gaspard Hari had agonized for two days and three nights, somewhere, in some hole, in one of those deep and immaculate ravines whose whiteness is more sinister than subterranean darkness. He had agonized for two days and three nights, and now he had just died while thinking about his companion. And his soul, barely liberated, had flown to the inn, where Ulrich had been sleeping, and it had called to him by that mysterious and horrible power with which the souls of the dead haunt the living. Hari's soul had cried out, that voiceless soul, cried out inside the sleeper's worn-out soul; it had cried out its final farewell -- its rebuke or its curse on the man who hadn't searched long enough.