Amongst The Mists

by M. L. Rayner

  “Rising from the filth, I stumbled forward. Each step slow and weak, I blindly pushed my way through. ‘Who’s out there!’ I demanded. My courage was admittedly hanging by a thread. Footsteps pattered about the ground, weaving in and out of the swamp with quick splashes, sending my fears soaring. ‘God, where the hell are you?’ I yelled. Defeated, I could only weep.

  ‘I’m here.’ It hushed.

  “I looked up. And in the blink of an eye my heart lifted. There she was. My grandchild. My sweetheart, looking so precious, so vulnerable, as she stood knee deep in the pool encircled by giant stones. She silently gazed at me with those beautiful eyes that I had come to love so much. ‘There you are,’ I mumbled, trying for a calm face. ‘Come, hold my hand, and we’ll go home.’ I stepped into the freezing pool, holding my hand out to guide her. But she stood motionless, like she was paralysed. It was then my leg snagged against a hidden root, or so I thought. As I tugged to break free, I fell backward, flapping my arms like a mad man to stay afloat. The grasp around my leg loosened and bubbles rose to the surface. I cowered in terror at the horrifying sight of a small hand as it bobbed in the water before its body appeared. Struggling to stand, I tried to get away before an object blocked my path and sent me into another violent stumble. But this time, the waters did not catch me. I turned, afraid to see what lay slumped at the water’s edge. Another body. I heaved at the image, bringing up the remains of a festively cooked meal. Gathering myself for the sake of my grandchild, I pulled myself up tall and strong and watched as the mist thinned across the swamp.

  “Bodies lay scattered. Dumped disgustingly across the muddy swamp. Children from our village, their limbs plump and swollen from death. Oh, how I wished I’d have saved them. I looked at their twisted bodies. Frost had tinted their skin in the darkness, and their eyes were still open and wide with fear. The mist slid over them like in a dream. A life’s-worth of unshed tears rolled freely down my cheeks, the cold freezing them as they fell. The vision sickened me, knowing that this is what could have become of my granddaughter. My hand reached out once more, shaking as it stretched for her to take it. ‘Come!’ I demanded. The quiver in my voice was uncontrollable. But still, she would not budge. She held her ground, firmly gazing with untrusting eyes at the one who loved her most. She looked as though I was the beast that stole her. ‘Please, darling.’ I begged again, falling deeper into despair. ‘Take my hand… please.’ But I was too late.

  “She shuddered as the hum deepened. A quake shook the land beneath our feet, forcing the trees to sway and lean as the devil pulled relentlessly on their roots. The fog thickened around her, hugging her, demanding she stay. But I wouldn’t have it! I panicked, lunging forward through the greyness to reach her. And then it appeared. I had sensed it for a time, like eyes stalking us from the dark. Yet still I doubted my perception. It was a formless shadow. A shadow of no human that faded amongst the mist. It lingered in silence as it crept behind my dearest. The child sobbed aloud, feeling its presence, her tearful face buried deep into her tiny hands. I didn’t know it would be the last time I’d stare into her eyes. Such stunning blue eyes. ‘Get away from her!’ I cried as the shadow grew over her and shrouded her in darkness. I stopped in my tracks as two hollow eyes watched me. Like torches in the night, their stare was cold and deathly and followed my every move. ‘Leave her alone.’ I whimpered, daring not to move. A transparent arm manifested from a cloud of nothingness and rested weightlessly on her shoulder.

  “The creature let out a screeching shriek, its pitch high and distorted as its grasp held her firm. ‘Stop that!’ I screamed. The girl cried out in fear.

  “The trees crowded in around us, spinning grotesquely like a fairground ride. The crackle of static, the land’s constant hum, all filled my head with a pressure I couldn’t bear. I looked into those big vacant eyes that stared blankly in return. Its unearthly scream continued from a mouthless face. It was now or never. I lunged forward to reach her. My jump fell short, and I slipped into the Stygian pool. The sound of the girl’s scream was muffled through murky water. A small hand reached out to grasp my own and pulled on the ribbon, still wrapped around my wrist. Everything was quiet after that. And as my head emerged, the pull on my arm slackened and the ribbon was gone from my wrist.

  “There was only silence after that. The events of the night drained away before me. The pool rippled with green foam, its thin layers of algae sticking to me as I pushed myself up from the bank. Spinning around on the spot, one thing was clear. She was gone. But not only my granddaughter, so was the shadow that bound her. The heavy mist began to clear, revealing the swamp as nothing more than the wasteland it truly was. The corpses of the missing lay still, the gentle nudge of the water rocking them slowly as though lulling them to sleep. Emotion overcame me as I let out a sound not even I could recognise. Orange rays of the morning sun shone in beams through the branches. The sensation of mild warmth washed across my face. Crawling to the standing stones, I wept. My broken heart was torn from my body while I bellowed in grief. ‘Where are you!’ I screamed, my inconsolable voice echoing through the empty land.

  “Lying on my back, the garish light above blinded me as my head became weak and weary. ‘Where are you?’ I whispered, as my vision darkened, the pounding in my chest slowed. I was on the brink of passing out, or death. I couldn’t be sure. But as my mind fell numb, and the familiarity of dreams overpowered me, a shallow voice pressed softly against my ear. ‘I’m here,’ it spoke. I… I don’t remember the rest.”

  Amongst the Mists

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  G regory’s tale halted as he drained his bottle. The boys felt so very sad for the elderly man who for years had drunk away his memories.

  “Sorry about your granddaughter,” said Marcus, sincerely.

  The old man nodded, acknowledging the sentiment as the bottle rolled across the floor.

  “So… did your men find you in the end?” asked Bran. His arrogant persistence to know more was exceedingly dismissive of the old man’s feelings.

  “On the contrary,” said Gregory with a roll of his eyes. “They most certainly did not. No one found me. I woke on the edge of the Brocton Swamp some days later with no memory of how I’d come to be there. In time, the trail brought me back to Thyme. Several villagers caught me wandering, their concerned expressions suggested I looked closer to being dead than alive. They guided me back to the Lodge house after covering my frostbitten skin with fleece. When I finally reached home, my wife rushed eagerly to the porch. I knew it wasn’t how I looked that broke her, but that I was alone.

  “I ate in silence that afternoon; my spoon rattled uncontrollably against the bowl of hot soup. I pushed it aside as my appetite had vanished, and demanded to see the men who travelled in my party. I had much to discuss, and I thought only they would truly understand my state of mind. It took some time, more than necessary, but eventually, a man came rapping at my door: one of the men who’d refused my need for help. He was a lanky chap, in his late thirties…. early forties maybe… Anyhow, he insisted I sit while he spoke. His nasal voice wound on like nails to a chalkboard. His deep set eyes looked at me with great intensity. Regardless, I listened to the weasel as he spoke with grunts and stutters.

  “See here, Mr Degg,” he said. “You see, well the thing is. I mean… what I want to say is…”

  “Spit it out, man,” I said impatiently, though it made no odds as the man continued to choke on his words. “Ah, be gone with you! And make yourself useful. Fetch the men that were brave enough to search by my side.”

  “The man straightened his back, brushing his sweaty palms up and down his thighs.

  “Well, that’s just it, Mr Degg, sir. The men… well, they never returned.

  “My grip tightened on the edge of my seat while my heart began to pound.

  “None of them?”

  “None of them, Mr Degg, sir.” the man said in certain agreement.

  “Then what are you doing here? You coward
ly runt. Go… go gather the villagers and search the woods.”

  “My wife entered the room with a tray to offer the man a hot drink. The tray shook noticeably when she rested it on his lap.

  “It will do you no good, Mr Degg,” said the man before taking a sip from the steaming mug.

  “Cowards! The lot of you. Nothing but a bunch of good for nothing –

  “Now, Gregory! That’ll do,” my wife said. The warmth of her hand stroking softly against my forearm calmed me.

  “We… we need to gather the town. There are good men out there, and God forbid anything should have happened to them. It was on my watch.”

  “The man said nothing. His eyes darted skittishly to my wife before returning to my own.

  “You deaf as well as sheepish? Go gather the villagers I say.”

  “The villagers have already gone, Mr Degg.”

  “Gone? What do you mean gone? You mean hiding?”

  “No, just what I said, sir,” said the man sheepishly. “They have all left, every one of them.”

  “Yet you’re still here?”

  “Only in passing. My family is waiting for me at your gate. See for yourself.”

  “I stood quickly, almost forgetting the tiredness that numbed my shaking legs. He was indeed truthful. Beyond the frosty window, stood his wife and child… his remaining child. Waiting with luggage scattered around their feet.

  “Why?” I asked, turning back to the man who looked ready to leave.

  “Need you ask, Mr Degg?”

  “No, I suppose not, but I would respect a truthful answer, nonetheless.”

  “The man didn’t return to his seat but began to button up his winter coat while he spoke, leaving the tea bag in his mug to brew.

  “We are only human, Mr Degg. We can’t take any more of this. None of us. When you and your party didn’t return, well… it made things so much worse. People were frightened, Mr Degg. They did what any family would do once their homes became unsafe. We are one of those families. And I, like you, have suffered greatly.”

  “So, when did they all leave?” I asked.

  “The day before last. Most walked. I expect they found rides at the main road.”

  “I still call it cowardice.”

  “I wouldn’t, far from it. I would call it bravery.”

  “Bah,” I said with a stubborn wave of the arm.

  “Then… call it fear, Mr Degg.’

  “Fear can be beaten.”

  “In this case, I dare say it has beaten us already. Including you, Mr Degg,” said the man with a questioning stare. “You are not the same man who caused havoc at my door some nights ago. I can see it in your eyes. Something happened to you out there?”

  “Preposterous!” I muttered, avoiding the man’s interrogation with a disinterested shrug.

  “The conversation fell somewhat flat after that, as a blast of wind hit heavily over the rooftop.

  “I must leave, Mr Degg,” said the man, now reaching out his hand.

  “I shook it. The firm grip of my shake caused him to stagger slightly.

  “All the best to you then.” I spoke with a disapproving tone as the man regained his balance.

  “And to you, Mr Degg. And to you.”

  “And with those words he went to the door, stopping before he opened it.

  “My son… Mr Degg. My boy. You remember him?”

  “I do.”

  “If you should ever find him, would you do right by him? See my boy gets a proper burial? I can’t bear the thought of him still lying out there in the mud.”

  “My mind shuddered at the vivid memory of the boy half submerged in the swamp. A nightmare possibly? I thought. However, I had neither the strength nor the desire to tell the man what I may or may not have seen.

  “I shall,” I responded, my head sinking low past my shoulders. The door closed gently in the hallway, and the sound of my wife’s footsteps were left again to echo as she roamed the house. I watched from the corner window. The man re-joined his family, embracing them for a brief moment before gathering their belongings and beginning their walk. And just like that, within those few seconds, we were left alone. A tight hold wrapped around my waist to the sound of gentle sobs. My eyes didn’t stray, though I cupped both hands over hers and squeezed her tightly.

  “What do we do?” she whimpered, her voice partially muffled as she buried her face deep in my back.

  “We stay, my dear.”

  “We don’t leave Thyme like the rest?”

  “No,” I said, watching as the departing shadows disappeared down the woodland road.”

  Amongst the Mists

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  A bird landed on the rooftop, scurrying and hopping to the chimney, and making an ugly screech.

  “If that thing falls down here, I’m eating it,” said Bran, holding both hands on his belly as it began to rumble violently. “You sure we ain’t got anything left?”

  Tired, Marcus shrugged and leant forward. “It’s worth a look, I guess.” And he began to empty the bags.

  An irritating noise accompanied the search. The sound rattled about the room like a fire alarm losing its juice. Old Gregory sat slumped with his chin pushed forward into his chest, crushing his windpipe as he let out the most disturbing snore.

  “Reckon he’s alright like that?” said Marcus with a nod of his head.

  “Yeah,” said Bran, whose eyes were getting heavy. “He’s just hammered.”

  “How can you tell?” asked Marcus. His attention was again distracted from the bags and over to the slouched, drooling figure.

  “Experience,” said Bran, with a playful wink.

  “Bull crap! You’ve never got wasted… have you?”

  “Me? Nah… but my dad’s not one to shy away from a bottle. I know that snore all too well. I practically grew up with it.”

  “Well, I can’t stand it.”

  “You’ll get used to it. I personally find it rather soothing,” Bran said sarcastically.

  Gregory snorted aggressively, disturbing his rest and causing the boys to jump. He uttered nothing but gibberish as he moved his head to rest back on the wall.

  “See, told you. He’s absolutely bladdered.” said Bran waving away the stench of alcoholic fumes.

  “Forget about it!” said Marcus as his arm plunged down to the bottom of the bag, quickly pulling out wrappers that rustled in his fist.

  “Marathon bars! You bloody legend!” said Bran in excitement as he snatched the bar and ate it in under a minute.

  God that tastes good!

  It wasn’t much, but it was certainly better than nothing and much better than the bird that continued to squawk overhead. There was nothing left to do now. Nothing but sleep. That and eagerly wait for daylight to arrive. The rain had found a way to calm the atmosphere. The outside world no longer provoked their fear and worries, and the aftermath of the showers landed as droplets falling from the tallest trees.

  *

  “Psst, you awake?”

  “Wah?”

  “I said, you awake?”

  “Well, I am now, aren’t I?” Bran manoeuvred his weight in hope of finding a more comfortable spot. “What is it?”

  “I can’t sleep, that’s all.”

  “So, you’ve woken me up to tell me you can’t sleep? Jesus, Marcus. Count sheep or something.”

  “I’ve tried the whole counting thing, not sheep mind you. Though it never seems to help.”

  “Oh, really?” said Bran sarcastically. “Here try this,”

  “What is it?” asked Marcus, watching Bran’s hand move towards him.

  “It’s my bag of fucks, Marcus.”

  “Bag of wah?”

  “My bag of fucks. Here. Take it and count how many I have to give.”

  A childish snigger crept out from the corner of the room as both sat upright.

  “It’s too dark in here,” said Marcus panning around the place.

  “It usually is at night.”


  “You reckon we can get that fire alight? There’s plenty of junk about this place to burn.”

  “Matches?” prompted Bran, just as a small box rattled closely beside his ear.

  It didn’t take long to get the fire going, the fallen birds’ nests turned out to be the perfect kindling for the boys to light it. They grabbed what they could, anything really. It was all disposable, nothing but discarded objects belonging to people that were long since forgotten. Before long, they had gathered enough to keep the fire going until dawn. A deep orange radiated outward, painting the room from floor to ceiling in a heart-warming glow. There was something pleasing about it as they sat there watching the glimmer of light flash against the cobwebbed walls. The gloominess of the room was dispelled, and it now appeared completely harmless; and dare they say it, even comforting, as Gregory continued to ramble in his sleep. The old man certainly wasn’t all that bad. They would’ve been completely screwed without him, that’s for sure.

  A stack of dusty papers stood piled at Bran’s side as a handful at a time were thrown randomly onto the grate. They were old and dated, now serving more of a purpose to the flames. He held no interest in their content, only in crushing them into round paper balls. The light dimmed and a brisk wind spiralled down the chimney, sending the pile to scatter.

  “Christ’s sake!” whispered Bran while he clambered across the floor to collect them.

  It was then a particular image caught his attention when the dull light spread weakly across the page’s crinkled surface. Bran carried it by the corner’s edge, trying not to tear it, and lowered its words carefully to the chimney arch.

  Child Missing

  8-year-old girl. Last seen in Thyme village.

  A portrait was printed below, though time had certainly taken its toll; the black ink on cheaply processed paper had gradually turned to a smudge-like blur. Regardless, Bran could make it out. The black and white poster displayed the likeness of a small girl. Bran didn’t recognise her, nor did he need to. Within this one dusty print he bore witness to a face that showed a childlike innocence. It was a happy, yet innocent emotion he felt. Something he’d lost some years ago. The girl cast a smile back at him, as Bran’s stare wandered curiously to Marcus, who had continued to repack both rucksacks. Her hair was fair; A ribbon fell innocently from her head, camouflaging itself in her shoulder length curls. And beneath her straight cut fringe, wide, adventurous eyes.