Amongst The Mists

by M. L. Rayner

  “Hey! Wait!” She cries in despair to the man upfront. “Don’t leave me!”

  But it is too late. His body fades from view, leaving only the sound of his sloshing steps that also soon fade into the night.

  Olivia loses her balance, falling to one knee and punching the water’s edge in frustration. She begins to sob and mutters the same words over and over, wishing that someone, anyone will hear.

  “Please… don’t leave me.”

  Amongst the Mists

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Regardless of where she looks, everything appears the same. Olivia regrets her decision to find her way back here to this watery and desolate wasteland. She now sees no point in continuing. In any of it.

  If only she could sleep. Sleep and be at peace.

  Now, that would truly be heaven.

  The idea swims around in her head like the water she pushes aside. To sleep and be free from nightmares: those hideous dreams that force her back to reality and cause her to cry out loud in terror to the crisp night air.

  She knows what she is experiencing is not living. She also understands much more. This is nothing more than a feeble existence that claws away at the youth she no longer owns. Olivia was a smart enough girl; that’s what she had always been told. She is smart enough to realise why she feels this way. Pain circulates through her body: a pain no child should have to bear. The regret is tough and debilitating, but nothing comes close to her crippling hunger. The hunger for it all to end.

  The swamp’s surface slides up to her waist, its bitter kiss stinging her flesh as she wades amongst the floating foliage. She thinks of stopping, to cry aloud one final time, but that ship has sailed. For now, all she longs for is relief.

  *

  A cascade of hanging moss drapes down from the arms of withered decaying trees. Disturbed, the insects fly buzzing about the air, then land on the intruder who wanders below them. Olivia clenches her eyes, waving away the vile pests that swarm and settle on her face. She coughs viciously in disgust, heaving on bugs that crawl past her blue tinged lips. She panics. Thrashing through the water, her senses become blind to this dank and secluded world.

  “Get away!” She attempts to scream, spitting the words through her teeth.

  An object impedes her path. Its form is tall and hard, causing Olivia to graze her brow and fall backwards. She looks up. A tall stone towers over her. Its shape is intimidating, peering down as though it were looking at a forgotten friend. Olivia stands and grasps the rocky surface. For the shortest time, imagination takes hold and she fondly wraps her arms around her mother’s waist. Olivia feels her presence, every bit of it. A love like no other. A love she desperately seeks. The smile on her face, the fragrance of her skin. All the little things she thought she’d lost. It was all still with her. She would never forget.

  “I love you.” Olivia whispers the words with an innocent sob. Loosening her hold, she gently touches the cold solid stone.

  If only I could hear her voice. Olivia thinks. Just one last time.

  Soon, walking becomes easier. The depth of the water sways to shallows and permits the glue-like muck to harden. Olivia’s knees lift high, her legs as light as feathers. Yet she feels no joy, no sense of relief. There is only one course, one choice. She must continue walking, never stopping until she treads her last.

  The desolation engulfs her presence. Olivia mumbles discreetly and hesitantly murmurs tunes of childhood to keep her mind distracted. Standing stones follow a snake-like curve, appearing to weave behind clouds of floating steam as they come into view. She brushes each one as she paces, never forgetful, recalling the ground she had walked. Olivia halts mid step. She listens hard, tilting her head to a sound trailing softly through the breeze. The hum of nature’s song. It calls to her. There is comfort in its tone, the settling riff plays kindly to her senses. Even so, she follows willingly, each step chasing the last. She is terrified that the sound will cease and the tune lost forever.

  The tune grows through the blackness, its sound now so loud it hurts her ears.

  Where is it!

  Olivia’s head twists frantically from side to side: her attention focuses on a wall of rocks lying huddled upon a mound. The circular wall is tightly knit, feeding together like a drystone jigsaw with only two colliding stones for its entrance. The tune turns discordant, violently vibrating the ground and the stones. She peers inside the gap, both hands firmly clamped on her ears.

  “Hello?” she yells, fighting through the noise. There is no reply.

  Of course, there isn’t.

  Olivia bends down making sure to protect her head, the silhouette of her body unites with the shadows.

  *

  Emptiness entombs her. Olivia’s nails scrape harshly against the rocks’ rough and slimy surfaces as she guides herself around the inner walls. The sound that lingers fades to soothing silence. Little light enters this space. A pool of water swamps the centre, black and eerie, reflecting a shimmering ray from a pearl lit moon. The drops of water from the weeping rocks echo on impact, falling flatly to the pool with a defining plink. A heavy breath exhales, looping around the room, its mood cold and cruel.

  Olivia freezes, scurrying to the ground for a weapon. Her hands find a long stick. She grips it stiffly and prepares to swing.

  “Come out then, freak! Come on! Where I can see you,” Olivia screams. She practices several heavy blows by sweeping cleanly through the air.

  “What’s the matter?” She gulps. “You a coward?”

  The breathing deepens, crawling across the walls and surrounding her every turn. Olivia swings again and again, the stick striking nothing but stone.

  “What are you waiting for?”

  A cloud lifts from above the roofless structure, shining an icy light softly on her skin and illuminating the ground where she stands.

  Olivia’s knuckles clench, wrapping tighter around her weapon as she brings it up to the light. It is a stick like none she has ever seen. It is strong, bowed. The colour reflects a chalky shade and its shape widens at the end.

  A bone!

  Olivia gasps as shock sends spasms to her hands, and the club spirals to the ground. A rattle spreads around her, the noise ending in an abrupt splash.

  Olivia’s head bows down, her eyes bulging as she stares at the ground.

  Bones. Thousands of them, an array of large and small, piled like garbage. There is no organisation to where they lay as she sees the toppling skulls with their empty eyes and slack jaws. She shrieks a sound unlike anything she has ever made before. Olivia jumps back, whacking her head against one of the stones.

  Following the room’s curve, she slides desperately to escape. Olivia steps lightly, though the sound of crunching bones beneath her feet cannot be helped. The sound penetrates the silence and makes her physically sick. Shapes merge into view, and before she realises what is happening, they sit on the floor beside her.

  Olivia studies what is in front of her, something no one should witness. Bodies of wanderers long since passed are heaped side by side. Their remains are only bones, but the skeletons are still draped in tattered clothes. They look so small, helpless. Olivia cannot resist the thought that, by their appearance, they are no older than she. Her eyes pan over them, trying to count the deceased. One body stands out amongst the rest. Its tiny shape layered in a muddied white gown and curled up into a ball where it rests. A tear falls down Olivia’s cheek, the overwhelming emotion too troubling for her to bear. She knows it’s impossible, yet still she feels its suffering, its pain. She kneels and strokes the smoothness of its skull in one swift movement. The body’s hand is tightly fisted, concealed by only the baggy gown. Around the wrist is a loosely wrapped blue ribbon, holding on tightly for possession.

  Olivia stands wiping the streams of tears from her face. She understands the irony of their suffering. Their torture in life has ended, but the torment of the soul continues. Another body catches her eye, somewhat different from the rest. Its form, larg
er. Its teeth jagged and chipped. The body rests painfully on its side; half submerged by the pool’s murky depths. A skeletal arm reaches out on the bank, straining for what is out of reach: the white gowned girl. Olivia looks deep into the skull’s cracked sockets, seeing the relief but also the desperation of its final living moments.

  What happened to you?

  A deep prolonged sigh envelops her and holds her where she stands. The smell was unpleasant as though left to fester for hundreds of years. She freezes, her head locking in place. Across the pool two eyes float, peering back at her. Their glow intensifies as her heart begins to skip. Olivia is trapped with nowhere to run. Her only exit is lying behind the creature that stands close by. She hears it move, though its eyes remain blankly fixed.

  “What are you?” Olivia whimpers. Her words tremble as she attempts to repeat them.

  The world vibrates above and beyond her as screams echo with the suffering of trapped desperate souls. Olivia cannot escape them, and each howl infests like a parasite into the deepest corners of her mind. She collapses to the floor; the sharp carpet of bones violently breaks her fall.

  “Lost…”

  The voice is faint, yet feels so near.

  The shadow floats forward, holding out a faded hand and beckoning her to take it. But she will not. Olivia scurries back, burying herself between rock and bones.

  “Lost.” The creature repeats the word, hovering at the edge of the pool. Its eyes glow white.

  Olivia looks around, unable to imagine the suffering that took place in this very spot. She thinks of the fear, the innocence, and the beauty. The thought in the back of her mind is suggesting maybe, just maybe, not all is lost. Olivia takes one last look at the adult skeleton reaching from the pool.

  Is this my story, just a different time?

  She surveys the pile of bones surrounding her.

  Is this what will become of me?

  She can’t help but think of the children in the forest, their souls never to be granted freedom.

  “No!” Olivia shouts, standing tall and strong.

  The creature watches on, its arm held out for hers. But for the first time Olivia feels no fear. No longer will she hide, run, or scream. No longer will she allow the beast to control her, to make her the victim of its wicked deeds. No longer will she be a part of its game.

  Olivia steps forward, closer and closer to those blinding eyes. Though now, she feels nothing. A numbness confines her, spreading throughout her limbs so that not even the pains in her body can overcome it. She stands at the edge of the pool, watching as the shadow grows in stature.

  She reaches out, straining to take the creature’s claw as her body leans forward and the water bites hard at her toes.

  They are close to touching. So close, she can feel the shadow’s icy breath of death smear across her face.

  “Come on! You want me, don’t you?” Olivia taunts, waving her palm up front. “This is what you’ve been waiting for!”

  The creature tries to grab her, but she is too far.

  “Almost there,” she strains.

  It leans further, ready to aggressively snatch her hand. Olivia knows it’s coming. Whatever sick twisted plan this thing holds is only a blink away. She takes back her hand with a swipe but does not run and instead stares blankly at the eyes that so want her.

  “You can’t have me.”

  Olivia puffs up her chest and draws in the deepest breath she can. She jumps, sinking into the lightless depths of the pool.

  *

  Water pushes in from all directions. The more she struggles, the more disorientated she becomes. Up down, left right, nothing makes any sense anymore as she kicks her legs. Olivia cannot see, for the world has gone black around her. She knows what she must do, though time is no longer on her side except for these precious seconds. She thinks of her greatest love as the cold tightens her chest. There is no need to search her mind. A particular memory is not what she seeks. All Olivia desires is a picture. A picture of her mother’s face.

  The image of the lady who stands before her warms Olivia's heart. Wearing an ordinary dress and with her curly brown hair pinned up, still allowing a strand or two to fall neatly to the sides, the woman smiles at her. Her polished white teeth match the glint in her bright blue eyes as she begins to speak softly.

  I’m so proud of you, sweetheart.

  Olivia yearns to talk back but knows it’s impossible. She wants to cry but understands there is no time.

  You are so brave my darling… Just one last thing.

  Her mother’s words are so very gentle and full of love as she reaches to touch her daughter.

  Oh, I love you, my darling.

  Olivia’s lungs lie heavy, burning with the need for air. Regardless, the time has come. She can no longer hold the pressure, as fluid fills her lungs. A muffled wail penetrates from above as she gives into the darkness and allows the water to take her.

  Olivia’s mind turns a blur. The sound of her own heartbeat drums loudly and wildly in her ears until it gradually beats its last. She can no longer tolerate it, nor does she have to. Words of prayer loop tediously around her brain, fading away to the sound of each thump.

  Lord God, I pray for Your protection as I begin this day. You are my hiding place, and under Your wings I can always find refuge. Protect me from trouble wherever I go, and keep evil far from me...

  Lifeless, she drifts downward, accompanied by the final sound of her mother’s voice permeating through the blackness.

  I love you, darling.

  Amongst the Mists

  Chapter Forty-Seven

  T he boys’ panting resounded through the forest. The mist was at its densest. They felt it climbing over their faces, its thickness seeping down their throats.

  Bran leaned forward, peering over Marcus's shoulders. He anticipated that Gregory would be walking behind them.

  “Where’s the old man?”

  Marcus didn’t reply. He didn’t have the words. Not at the moment anyway.

  “Marcus! Where is he? Where’s Gregory?”

  “Gone.”

  “Gone? What the hell do you mean, gone?”

  Marcus placed his hands to his face, desperately trying to overcome the fears that have overtaken him.

  “Well?”

  “Don’t start, Bran, – just don’t.”

  Bran lunged forward and grabbed Marcus’s collar with his trembling fist.

  “Where is he?” Bran yelled.

  “Gone.” Marcus grit his teeth, smacking the hand that held him. “He’s gone, alright? He told us not to run, but we did it anyway!”

  An undeniable sense of guilt nestled on Bran’s shoulders, forcing him to dismiss the possibility that the old man was alone and wounded.

  “He could be OK. You don’t know.”

  “No, didn’t you hear him? He yelled out for us, but we just kept running… we didn’t stop!”

  “I didn’t realise, alright. I was too busy –”

  “Trying to save your own skin? Yeah, I got that. You were jumping over branches like Seabiscuit back there!”

  “Well –

  “Face it, Bran. We screwed him.”

  Bran said nothing. He could no longer think of what to say or how to justify his cowardice.

  “I turned back,” Marcus continued. “The man yelled out again and again. That was before going utterly gun crazy. He didn’t make a peep afterwards. Whatever we fled from, it must’ve found him.”

  “That Sprit thing?”

  Marcus nodded his weary head. Bending over and cowering into a ball, he began to weep quietly.

  Bran huffed, and slowly knelt, resting his hand on his friend's shoulder.

  “Come on, pal. We don’t have time for this.”

  But his gesture didn’t help. His friend's arched back jumped with each of his sobs.

  “We’ll get through this, I promise. Don’t break on me now.”

  “Sure,” stuttered Marcus. “Until you bail on me, too
! Leaving me out in this shit hole to rot.”

  Compassion showed on Bran’s face for the first time in years. He reassuringly patted his buddy firmly on the neck.

  “That’ll never happen, you hear me?”

  “You swear?” bawled Marcus, slowly raising his head and sniffing loudly.

  “Look at me, buddy.”

  Marcus looked up, glassy eyed. It was evident they shared the very same terror.

  “I swear it.”

  They remained crouched side by side, quietly watching as the fog mimicked shapes out of the corners of their eyes. None stayed too long, each time dwindling back to a cloud-like form and soon drifted from sight.

  “I can’t wait to get home,” Marcus muttered, his tears finally ending.

  “Won’t be long now,” replied Bran poking at the small air bubbles that floated along the surface of the swamp.

  “We’ll both be back home before you know it.”

  “And Jack?”

  “Yeah… that’s what I meant. The both of us… and Jack.”

  “Oh. Okay.”

  Phew.

  The light faded, the temperature dropping to a frosty chill. Still, they did not budge. They waited, holding the same positions, until the pain shooting up their thighs from their knees forced them to stand. The prolonged dampness had soaked their clothes, the fabric becoming soggy to the touch.

  “We can’t just stay here,” said Bran trying to stand. His legs buckled beneath him.

  “You’re suggesting what exactly?”

  “Well, to be truthful… I was kinda waiting on the old man to show up. At least he’d know the way out of here.”

  “I already told you, he’s gone,” hissed Marcus as he assisted Bran to his feet.

  “I know, I know, calm down! But… there was always that chance,” said Bran. “Now quiet! I’m going to take a peek.”