“Not scared are you?”
“Course not. Why, are you?” He turned to look at Isabelle Adams who was sitting on the stile, swinging her legs and smoking a cigarette. Her shoulder length, blonde hair hid her features until she lifted her head, revealing her clear complexion and bright blue eyes. Her pert nose wrinkled as she shook her head, disagreeing with his accusation.
Tendrils of fog swirled around his feet, making them feel unnaturally cold in what was otherwise a bright summer day. Almost sixteen, Ratty was six months older than Izzy, but she had the annoying knack of making him feel like a baby. Although he really liked her, she was always teasing him, especially in front of the rest of the gang who now stood around watching and sniggering. And now here was his chance to prove he wasn’t a coward, but he couldn’t. The fog was too intimidating and he’d heard too many horror stories about it. Snapping the penknife shut, he dropped it in his pocket.
“Come on Ratty, we haven’t got all day. The school holidays will be over by the time you actually do it,” Spotty Smitty said, spitting out the blade of grass he had been chewing.
“Fuck you, Smitty.”
“Not scared of the bogey man are you?” Zak asked, breaking off from kissing Julie Rogers long enough to draw breath.
The sudden roar of a low flying helicopter made them all jump as it appeared to materialise out of nowhere, black and sleek. They all watched it disappear over the horizon.
“Ratty’s scared of the bogey man.” Izzy jumped down from the stile and flicked the butt of her cigarette into the fog.
“There ain’t no bogey man.” Why did she have to keep teasing him?“Then what about all them stories?” Smitty said. “You know, them people who disappeared after going into the fog. They say the whole village has disappeared. Everyone’s dead.”
“There ain’t no bogey man,” Ratty repeated. “Besides, they turned up. No one’s disappeared. My granddad lives in Paradise and the police say everyone’s fine.” He hoped he sounded more convincing than he felt.
“No. My old man says they’ve gone for good. ‘Won’t find ‘em now’ he says, ‘bogey man’s ‘ad ‘em’.”
“Then your old man’s as daft as you, Smitty.”
“Say that again and I’ll fuckin’ twat yer.”
“Daft as a brush.”
“That’s it, yer in fer a kickin’.”
Smitty advanced with his fists raised and a scowl on his face. Ratty took a step back, then another. The last thing he wanted to do was to start fighting. Running a hand through his crew cut, he shook his head. With his tall, skinny frame, he was made more for running than fighting.
“This is stupid.”
“So now you’re calling me stupid, are you?”
As Ratty stumbled back into the fog, Smitty became less distinct, his shape beginning to blur. Starting to panic, Ratty suddenly tripped over his own feet and slipped; although he tried to keep his balance, he fell into the cold, dewy grass, the breath momentarily knocked out of him. He regained his feet, alarmed to see that the fog was so dense he couldn’t even see his hands in front of his face.
“Hey, you lot, where are you?” Ratty’s voice wavered slightly. “Come on, where are you. I can’t see anything in here.” The fog seemed to muffle his cries. “Come on, don’t mess around. This isn’t funny.” He couldn’t believe the fog was so damn thick. He could have only stumbled a few feet into it.
No one replied, or if they did, he didn’t hear them.
He stumbled around, arms outstretched to feel his way through the white void like a blind man. He couldn’t believe that he was completely disorientated. Understandably, the fog had been a local talking point since it first appeared. What couldn’t be explained was why it hadn’t dissipated. It just hung around like a huge blanket and there had been no contact with anyone from the village since it descended. The fog was too thick to safely navigate on foot or by car, although some people had tried following the only road into the village, but they were turned back at a roadblock. A report came out saying everyone in the village was fine and they preferred to stay where they were as they were being looked after and supplies were being regularly flown in. When Ratty’s father had asked if he could go in on one of the helicopters to visit his own father, the request had been turned down ‘due to safety issues’, whatever they were.
Ratty remembered his father got very angry about being refused. He had never seen him so angry. Even Ratty’s mother hadn’t been able to calm him down, which was why they gave him a tranquilliser injection, ‘for his own good’. Ratty’s father had been docile ever since. No one had been able to offer any explanation about where the fog had come from, or when it would disappear. And for such an unusual occurrence, there had been little to no news coverage about it.
Shuffling forward, his foot snagged on something he couldn’t see and Ratty fell face first into the wet grass.
“Come on, a joke’s a joke. Where are you?” He regained his feet; tears stung his eyes and he wiped his face on his sleeve. His soaking wet jeans clung to his legs.
A faint sound caught his attention and he tensed, listening. Whatever it was made a wet, slithering sound, as though something was being dragged through the grass. He had a vision of a giant slug slithering toward him and he shivered. He could feel his heart beating fast. His blood froze and he could feel his temples pounding in time with his fear as the noise drew nearer.
They say the whole village has disappeared. Everyone’s dead ...
Bogey man’s ‘ad ‘em’.
What the hell was it?
Knowing that he was probably panicking over nothing didn’t help. The fog became a nether world where he had lost the sense of sight and where he had to rely on his other senses, straining his ears to detect where the noise originated.
A shape flashed before his eyes, lunging toward him in a swirl of mist before it grabbed his shoulders. Ratty screamed; almost wet himself.
“Ratty, is that you?”
“Izzy. Izzy. It’s you, I thought ...”
“Thought what? What are you screaming for?”
“I wasn’t screaming.” He hoped she couldn’t see him blush. “I’ve been shouting for ages. Why didn’t anyone answer?”
“We heard you shouting, but the rest of them thought that it would be funny not to answer. And as no one else would come in to find you, well, here I am. It was partly my fault you’re here anyway, I suppose.”
Ratty sighed with relief. “So come on then, lead the way.”
“Lead the way where?”
“Out of the fog.”
“I don’t know the way.”
“You mean you’re lost too.”
“Well, Sherlock, nothing gets past you does it.”
“So why did you come to find me?”
“Because I’m stupid like that.”
Ratty grabbed Izzy’s warm hand and squeezed it. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, whatever.” She took out a mobile phone. “Damn it, there’s no signal.”
“Then I guess we’d better start walking,” Ratty said, stumbling through the fog in what he hoped was the right direction.
***
“Here’s your house,” Drake said, dropping the suitcases and taking a key out of his pocket to unlock the door.
Chase looked at the house in wide-eyed wonder. “This ... this is mine!” She could hardly believe it. Situated near the top of the hill, and reached by a winding lane with the unsavoury name of Slaughter Hill, the house looked beautiful. It leaned slightly, walls bowed as though tired and sagging. If anything, this accentuated its beauty, giving it charm and character. Tiny windows like canvases displayed captured reflections of the trees and the blue sky like miniature oil paintings. One side of the house was covered by red and purple Clematis. Sat on the apex, the chimney smoked away like a contented old man, puffing on a pipe. Black wooden beams made up the framework of the house, the walls a faded white. The roof sagged slightly in the middle, as though a giant had sat down t
o rest, bowing the walls out beneath his weight and the front door was covered by a rickety old porch that had flowers winding up its frame.
The sloping garden was a wash of colour with Red Hot Pokers, blue Lobelia, yellow and pink Lupin, Daylilies of all colours, Viola, Buddleja, the list went on. A giant Scots Pine shaded some of the garden, the tiered branches reaching down to caress the eaves of the house. Beyond the garden, more trees stood proud and strong, lining the lane and hiding some of the houses below.
Tears welled in Chase’s eyes.
“Are you okay?” Jane asked.
“Look at it, Jane. Just look. Have you ever seen anywhere this beautiful?”
Jane shook her head. “It beats looking out on terraced houses, that’s for sure.”
Chase looked back down the hill, the fog visible on the horizon like a mantle, beautiful and surreal as it reflected the sun.
Shaking slightly, she brushed past Drake and entered the house, breathing in the aroma of wood smoke and fresh flowers. A small hallway stretched before her and she stepped through a door on her left into a lounge, tastefully decorated in blue pastel shades. The furniture was practical, but sparse, consisting of a settee, a chair, and a bureau. The main feature was the fireplace where a coal fire blazed away. She assumed that although it wasn’t cold, they had lit the fire to make it feel more homely. It worked. She imagined toasting bread or marshmallows over the coals. At the window, she looked out over the front garden and down the hill.
“Jane, can you believe this. Tell me I’m not dreaming.”
Shaking her head, Jane said, “You’re not dreaming sugar. Or if you are, then I am too.”
Still unable to believe that the house was hers, she walked back into the hall and continued down to the kitchen where there was an old fashioned range to cook on. The fridge freezer and washing machine were out of site in a small utility room. There was a dining room adjacent to the kitchen and this opened out onto the back garden which was even more colourful than the one out front. More trees led to the top of the hill, a couple of them looking as though they had been struck by lightning, their trunks split salaciously. Upstairs, there were two bedrooms and a bathroom. A double bed and a wardrobe occupied each room. The front bedroom also had a period dressing table, the mirror of which reflected the light from outside to brighten the room even more. All of the windows were open and a cool breeze aired the rooms, filling them with the smell of pine.
“Come on, the competition sponsors want to meet you,” Drake shouted from the hallway, bringing Chase out of her reverie. “So get a move on.”
She felt like squealing; couldn’t believe her good fortune as she rushed back downstairs. God help anyone who told her this was a mistake.
Drake lead them back down the lane, and they strolled toward a small church on the edge of the fog, the adjoining hall losing its solidity as the fog encroached leaving only half of it visible.
The sound of voices drifted from inside the hall and as Drake opened one of the double doors, the voices went quiet. Chase felt a little apprehensive as she stepped through. Although there were only seven people gathered, she didn’t like being the object of such close scrutiny and she crossed her arms in front of her chest, as though to establish a barrier. Jane’s manner of dress didn’t help as people couldn’t help but stare.
A couple of tables decorated with food and drinks stood in the middle of the room. It wasn’t much of a spread, a few sandwiches, pork pie, sausage rolls and a quiche was all she could see. Chase turned away, noticed a stocky man with unkempt hair and close-set eyes stood in the corner of the room. But it was the knife in his hand that alarmed her. He dragged the point of the knife across the wall, gouging out thick veins of plaster. Why didn’t someone stop him? Couldn’t they see what he was doing?
“Ah, Miss Black, it’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”
Chase turned to see a smartly dressed, middle-aged man walking toward her with his hand outstretched. He had a neatly clipped greying beard that softened the shape of his face and was only a bit shorter than the hair on his head. His blue eyes were cold, in sharp contrast with the warm smile he wore.
Shaking his hand, Chase was surprised by how cold his skin was. A chill ran through her.
“My name is Nigel Moon,” he said. “And this must be your companion.” He brusquely shook Jane’s hand without enquiring her name and turned back to Chase.
“How did you know I was Miss Black?” Chase asked, realising Moon had greeted her by name before being formally introduced.
“I just presumed as you had entered the hall first that you must be our esteemed and, might I say, extremely attractive winner.”
Rather than being flattered by Moon’s comment, Chase found herself feeling angry he could be so personal, especially as the assembled crowd were listening so intently. She felt in some imperceptive way that the comment was meant to make her feel uneasy; off guard.
“I am the managing director of Storm, the competition organisers. I believe you have already viewed your prize? I hope it’s to your liking?”
“Liking. Yes, it’s fantastic,” Chase gushed.
“Well I hope you will be very happy living here.”
“Hold on a minute,” Jane said, placing a protective hand on Chase’s shoulder. “What do you mean, living here?”
“Pardon?”
“You know, who said she’s going to live in the house?”
Moon’s smile dropped imperceptibly. “Who wouldn’t want to live here?”
“Chase.” Jane placed her hands on her hips, assuming her verbal fighting stance.
“Jane, I’m sure Mr Moon didn’t mean it quite so literally.” Chase was eager to defuse the situation, but also embarrassed that Jane talked about her as though she wasn’t there; as though she couldn’t speak for herself.
“On the contrary, Miss Black. It was in the competition rules that the winner undertakes to move into the house. Immediately, for at least twelve months. Otherwise they would forfeit the prize.”
“Bullshit,” Jane said.
Moon reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a sheet of paper. “Of course you can re-read the rules if you like. It was a condition of entry that the winner had to be ready to move. Didn’t you read the rules, Miss Black?” He frowned.
Chase felt like Moon was trying to belittle her with his patronising tone, and that he was boxing her into a corner. She suddenly felt hot and claustrophobic. “Yes, I read the rules.” But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t even remember entering the competition, never mind reading the rules. “If you could just let Jane see them?” What she really wanted was to read them herself without appearing too foolish. Hopefully they would spark a memory.
“Of course. I know you may be a bit overwhelmed by it all. We will understand if you don’t wish to accept the prize. Take your time.” Moon handed Jane the sheet of paper, which she snatched out of his hand.
“I think we’ll just go outside to discuss the matter.” Chase headed for the door, dragging Jane after her. She felt too embarrassed to ask Moon for more details about the competition, afraid if she did, they might realise she wasn’t the winner after all.
She felt the small group watch her walk out; when the door shut, the voices started up again.
“What’s the story?” Jane asked. “You can’t seriously want to live here?”
“Let me see that sheet of paper.” Begrudgingly, Jane handed it over and they both read it together.
“Well, it seems Moon’s right. It does say I have to move into the house, or forfeit it. Well, twelve months isn’t that long. It’ll just be like a long holiday.”
“Well that’s it then, sugar, we’ll get our bags and quit the sticks. You aren’t staying here on your own for twelve months.”
“Hold on a minute. Perhaps I don’t want to leave.”
Jane frowned. “You can’t be serious.”
“Think about it Jane. What have I got to go back for? No job, no man, and yo
u know where I live. This could be just what I’m after, a fresh start.”
“I think this fresh air’s fuzzed your brain. This is no place for you.”
“No, I think this is just the place for me. I need something like this to sort myself out.”
“What you need are your friends. No, I can’t let you do it.”
“You can’t let me do it!” Chase felt her anger rising. “Just who do you think you are?”
“I’m your friend.”
“If that’s true, then you’ll see it’s what I want. Didn’t you see that house? It’s lovely. More than lovely, it’s beautiful. I could never afford something like that, not in a place like this, but now it’s mine.”
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