Chapter 5
The street was lined with small, similar post-war houses, one-level, slanted roof, vinyl siding. They looked deceptively small. Gruff and Gretchen had managed to raise three children here, and it now seemed too big for just the elderly couple. Or too small.
The mists danced around some houses, as though hugging them. Nothing moved on the street, not even an animal darted across the pavement.
“Looks pretty clear,” Al whispered. She pulled into his driveway.
Their backyard was covered in fog.
“Best to stay clear of that,” Hector said.
“No shit,” Molly replied. Hector looked at her in shock.
“Let’s go,” Al grabbed Big Bertha and the first aid kit, opened the door and slipped out. Molly helped Gruff and Hector kept a close eye on the mists, which fluttered at the edge of the backyard. They quickly went to the back and found the dilapidated door unlocked.
The door creaked open and they all slipped inside. They closed the door and stood at the back of the kitchen. Black and no-longer-quite-white linoleum tiles covered the floor. The counters were white, as was the small oven. The olive-coloured fridge hummed loudly.
“Gretchen?” Gruff called out. The house would have been deathly quiet if not for the hum of the fridge and the ticking of the grandfather clock in the living room. Gruff waited for an answer, kicked off his work boots and went to remove his coat but grunted and stopped. Al took a step toward him, but he waved her off.
“I’m fine. Really. She’s probably asleep. I’ll go wake her.” He walked slowly down the hallway. Gruff was pushing seventy. It had never really struck Al before how that made him old. Right now, watching his slow, careful walk, it was all she could think of.
“This house is time trapped in the 70s,” Molly whispered in awe. “They’ve even got the rusty old can opener to prove it!”
Molly walked into the kitchen, opening drawers and giggling at the old utensils she found. Al shook her head and focused on Hector instead.
“All right, make this fast,” Al reached into her coat and felt the smooth cover of the watch. She handed it to him. His eyes filled with tears as he looked at the watch. He ran his fingers over it, as though feeling each tiny engraved line. As though the pine tree and the tiny house had been his, once. His hands shook slightly as he popped it open. The glass face was intact, the tiny gold and blue inlays of the timepiece glinting in the dull fluorescent light. The arrows pointed at 10:24. Always 10:24.
He stared at the time, running his fingers over the glass slowly.
“Family legend has it that’s the time she passed away. That the watch just stopped then, and wouldn’t restart,” Al said, not too sure why. Maybe to snap him out of it. His grief was almost palpable from where she stood. It was unnerving her as much as the fog.
She looked more closely at him. His coat was greenish brown, all wool. His hair was short but still longer than he seemed used to, flicking it back even though it barely reached his eyes.
“I have to get this moving again,” he whispered, to the watch or to her, Al wasn’t sure.
Al nodded nevertheless. “And that’ll… I can’t believe I’m saying this, but that’ll stop the mists?”
“I hope,” he gave her a weak grin.
“Al,” Molly said as she walked up beside her, breaking her out of her reverie. “I still can’t get a cell signal. Or a radio signal,” she pointed to an old transistor radio on the counter.
“The mists will block all of that,” Hector said. He looked up at them, apologetic. “I need to concentrate. Please.”
He spread out a leather case and unfurled it to reveal tiny silver tools. He set magnifying lenses on his nose. Al stared at him as he diverted all his attention to the watch. His clothing didn’t look old, but the style was old. And the spectacles were definitely not today’s standard. And, the tools, the ability to repair watches, his knowledge of her great-grandmother’s watch and name…
A shiver ran down her back. Hector leaned in close to the watch. The back was popped off, and he gently but expertly moved tiny gears around.
Al needed to clear her head.
Molly sat cross-legged on the couch and kept trying to get her smartphone to connect to something, looking intently at it.
The morning’s events still seemed like a dream. She expected to wake up any moment now and make a joke with Pete about the dream. Pete would love it, with her love of old stories and folklore.
Her heart skipped a beat. Pete was smart. She could take care of herself. She hoped that the bus had been late. Otherwise they would be nearing Lindsay now. Or maybe, like Hector suspected, this was everywhere and not just here and it didn’t matter where Pete was.
She shook her head, annoyed at herself. Pete was smart. Pete could take care of herself. She had made that clear to Alva on several occasions, in fact. Picturing her sister’s red, angry face made her smile. She was fine. Whatever this was, it was probably localized anyway. Some weird gas leak making them all hallucinate.
She forced the sight of the horses tearing apart the people on the bridge out of her mind and headed to the washroom. She splashed cold water on her face and felt better for it.
For a second, she thought she saw something flicker behind her in the mirror. She turned around, but nothing was there. She took a deep breath and exited the bathroom. Mists lined the floor. Alva took a deep breath and called out.
“Gruff?”
She took two steps to the master bedroom and peeked in, her breath collapsing back into her lungs and her hand going to her mouth.
In the middle of the room, over the large king size bed covered in bedding as dark as the wood posts of the old bed, Gretchen floated, her long nightgown turning slowly like a great ball gown, her arms gently held up by a young man. He was made of light, the mists feeding his appearance as he shifted in and out, wearing at times armour of a knight of old, at other times a fine tuxedo and top hat. He held Gretchen gently, twirling with her in the air, staring into her eyes as she stared back. Stray ringlets of gray hair escaped her nightcap, but she looked younger than her sixty-some years.
She smiled and her hand went up to man’s cheek, gently stroking it as her right foot lifted back a bit. Perfectly slow dance steps were performed on the ballroom floor of glittering mist.
Gruff stood not far from the door, his cheeks glinting with fresh tears and starry mists. He looked at her with such tenderness that it broke Al’s heart.
The dancers shifted a bit and Al could see that her feet and hands were slowly turning to mist, joining the man in whatever state he existed.
Gretchen looked at her hand, seemingly surprised for a few moments before placing it back on the shoulder of her companion. She leaned into him, closing her eyes and smiling as they held each other, her features, dress and nightcap all turning to light. The mists dissipated around them, the light shifting to rainbow and then vanishing completely.
Al could still see the light of the dancers as she blinked, in the dark curtained room.
“She’s finally found her knight in shining armour,” Gruff whispered, still looking at the spot where his wife had just vanished, blinking away the tears and streaks of light.
“Gruff…” Al didn’t know what to say.
“It’s okay, Al,” he said softly. “I just… need a moment.”
The mists had retreated, and the room seemed deathly quiet now. Al nodded and stepped out into the corridor. An old picture smiled at her from the wall, Gretchen and Gruff, young and full of hope on their wedding day. Her blond hair curled under her pulled back veil, his top hat slightly crooked on his head.
He’d been her knight in shining armour, once.
Al grabbed the picture, not sure why. She didn’t want Gruff to see it when he came out of the room. She didn’t want him to lose himself further in memories of what might have been.
She didn’t want to lose him to the mists, or the past.
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Nigh - Book 1 Page 8