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"Out Of The Mist" (the ninety-sixth ACWclub monthly writing contest) |
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Assignment: Write a story or poem using the following title: "Out Of The Mist" 2500 words or less. Deadline: Midnight (EDT), Aug 15, 2009 All entries are the property of the authors and cannot be copied or reprinted without their consent. |
| Out Of The Mist By Ken Staley kstaley@gmail.com (Entry #11) |
| ~Winning Entry~ |
| “G’day mate,” Archie
said, his voice as clear as anything Darrell had heard over the last two days,
which wasn’t saying a great deal. “How are things in the land of the
giant PX?” “About the same, Arch,” Darrell replied. “How’re things down under?” “No change here,” Archie replied, then put his glasses on as he picked up a piece of paper and examined it. Straight into the business at hand while they still could. “We want to know when you first started noticing this haze.” “Haze?” It took Darrell a moment. “Oh…we call it ‘the mist’ here. Dunno, we’re trying to track it down now using old television weather reports. First thing anyone noticed here was some rather spectacular sunsets. Sunsets worth the media commenting about started a week ago as near as we can determine.” “Yeah, right,” Arch nodded in agreement, looking off screen. “As near as we can tell, about two weeks ago someone hear asked if there was a late season fire. We get the same bloody sunsets when the fires in the south kick up every summer. At least we can measure that bloody smoke!” “Sounds about right,” Darrell nodded. “What else do you hear?” “Talked to Wu in Shanghai just yesterday,” Archie said. “Same story there, although he isn’t sure the mist is the problem.” “As much crap as they keep dumping into the air, it might be difficult to tell,” Darrell said. “Too bloody right. Can’t get any sort of reading on the composition, either,” Arch nodded, then his image started to shatter on the screen like a jig saw puzzle. “Looks like our five minutes are about up, mate.” His voice faded in and out like a old transistor radio too far away from the music source. “Try again later today. If not see ya tomorrow, with luck!” “G’day Arch,” Darrell felt his voice raise involuntarily as though yelling fourteen thousand miles could compensate for failing electronics. He disconnected from Skype and scanned the data coming in from the local weather source and NOAA. Like most, he tended to dismiss the gathering mist as nothing more than particulate tossed into the upper atmosphere by a forest fire or perhaps a large local fire. Only later, when news carried no such reports of large fires, Darrell started probing its origins. Several calls later, some with more success, a few completely crazy, offered no clearer picture. Whatever the mist was, it settled on land and sea, as far as he could tell, world wide. Everything had mass. Every substance he knew. Certainly fog – water vapor - had mass, and weight, and density. Freon, ozone, natural gas , smoke even light carried measurable particulate. But this – mist – defied everything. It simply was. He leaned back against his chair, closed his eyes and let his mind float. Such mental wanderings often provided clarity in amazing ways. Al Davis cleared his throat nosily as sauntered up to Darrell’s desk. “Well?” Darrell asked without opening his eyes. “Well, you can call Aunt Louise in Atlanta, but you’re just as likely to get Argentina,” Al said. “Cell phones are spotty at best. Text messages will end up in who knows where. Land lines are no better. Place a call to NOAA and you’re just as likely to get Nome, Alaska.” “I just talked to Archie in Sydney. We had a good five minutes before musical chairs begin. What else?” Darrell asked as he swiftly pulled himself back together. “Email and internet connections are as tricky as anything else. Your encrypted bank account is just as likely to end up in Aunt Edna’s recipe file as at the local branch. NOAA is clueless and wants answers from us. Not that we can supply them with much, given the connection problems. I saw one of their flyers and it looks like they’re trying every other lab and palm reader they can get in touch with.” “NASA?” “Another mystery,” Al said. “All the pictures from space so far are nil.” “What does that mean?” “It means that whatever this mist is cannot be seen from space on any spectrum you choose.” “That’s impossible.” “So we told them, but the images we they show otherwise,” Al sighed. “We had a live feed from the space station for almost 10 minutes. Given the strange things happening with communication, it’s remotely possible that those images changed.” “Let me see if I get this right,” Darrell said as he leaned forward. “That suggests that some sort of intelligence, working through a medium that so far does not exist, can actually manipulate any type of image taken for identification purposes so that the results are simply – what – nil?” “Homeland Security declared a high priority emergency ten minutes ago,” Al said. “All except military and emergency air flight is grounded.” Darrell swiveled in his chair and stared out the window. The mist seemed to thicken even as he watched. He’d lived in the city all his life. He knew – or thought he knew - the area between his apartment and the lab intimately. Each shop, each alley, each pot hole – where a friendly greeting waited – where a taciturn news stand vendor hunkered every morning. On fresh spring mornings, on crisp fall mornings, he enjoyed the 30 minute walk from his office home, often stopping to chat with this store owner, or purchase a cup of coffee on those cold mornings. His brisk walk today turned into a nightmarish slow motion crawl. Overnight, the gentle, sunset staining haze settled to ground level, thickening as it came. It wasn’t mist though, no dampness, no measurable water vapor – another complete anomaly. “Did you calibrate?” He asked as he scanned the results Al handed him, knowing the answer before Al spoke. “Each time,” Al said. “Even changed machines after the third test and calibrated that one, too. There just isn’t anything there to measure.” “Even the cleanest air in the world carries a modicum of measurable water vapor. Most carry measurable particulate,” he said aloud shaking his head, vocalizing the unnecessary. Al knew this stuff as well as he did as well as any chem student knew. These tests were really basic chemistry – freshman lab level stuff. “One hundred samples gathered from one hundred different sites around this globe will clearly show some water vapor. Where did you take these?” Nothing out of the ordinary appeared in the written results, nothing they wouldn’t have found on any other normal day. “We’re kind of limited here,” Al said. “On the roof, the first half dozen. Then out the lab window for the next six as we calibrated every machine. Those last six came from the parking lot. We got reports from Singapore, from London, from Madrid, from Sao Palo, Buenos Aires, Tel Aviv, Moscow – more than 100. As closely as we can tell from scanning just the preliminary data, those who measured found nothing. Not one damned thing. Looks like most of them are just like us though, caught off guard and taking samples nearby rather than further afield.” From his seventh floor window, he watched as the world disappeared. Once offering an acceptable view of the city, now his window resembled more of an impressionistic water color of his surrounding world. Looking up offered no sky, only light grey. “Growing denser,” Al noted. “Even ten minutes ago you could see at least half a mile. Now it’s down to less than a quarter mile.” “When did you take the last measurement?” Darrell asked. “Half an hour ago,” Al shrugged. “Maybe a bit more.” Carol Walker poked her head in and announced she was leaving. “I’m going home while I still can,” she said, “before the trains and cabs stop running altogether.” “A bit early in the day isn’t it?” Darrell asked. “We could use your help here.” “Oh, I can’t add anything to this,” she waved him away. “I suspect nothing you or anyone else in the world can do will identify this, much less change it.” She set down her things on an empty chair and walked closer to the window, reaching out as though she might touch the mist through the glass. As the mist thickened, fear of a more primal nature gripped seeped into the room – fear that no one was willing to vocalize or even admit. “You have an idea?” Darrell asked lightly as he raised an eyebrow to Al. Carol was the resident high priestess of nature, constantly armed with doom and gloom pamphlets from one crackpot environmental group or another. If she wasn’t one of the leading environmental chemists in the world, he’d have canned her long ago. Recently, she’d worked far too close to radical fringe elements for his comfort and he wondered if she hadn’t slipped her moorings a bit. “A theory you’d care to share?” “None,” she said. “None necessary. Mother is simply calling a halt.” “Come again? Calling a halt to what?” “Everything, of course,” she replied without turning from the window. “It really is quite lovely.” “Who is calling a halt to what?” “Mother nature,” she said without embarrassment. “C’mon, Darrell, you’ve been at this for what? Twenty years? More?” Somewhere down below sirens rose from the street, their harsh wails muffled by the mist. “You know the science better than almost anyone alive,” she continued. “You’ve tried to convince our government for the last decade that its environmental policies were nothing more than a really feeble joke. What drove you?” “You’re serious?” Darrell asked. “What drove me?” What drives us all?” “This really shouldn’t come as any surprise to you,” she sounded reproving, accusatory almost, as though he knew the answer but was afraid to vocalize it. “You told the United Nations conference not long ago that the planet wouldn’t sit still for our abuse much longer. They laughed at you. Do you remember the newspapers? The editorials? I think this mist is the planet answering,” she waved a sweeping arm at the window, as though to reach out and embrace all of the mist. “Think about it. I know you have to have considered the possibilities before this, but how many naturally occurring phenomena do you know that encompass the entire globe like this?” “Volcano,” he said without hesitation. “St. Helens.” “Northern hemisphere,” she dismissed his reply just as quickly. “And limited at that.” “Krakatoa – ash circled the entire globe. Dropped temperatures around the world by measurable amounts even for those times. The blast could be heard for thousands of miles,” Al said. “1816, Mt. Tambora eruption – year without a summer.” “Looks like mother is ringing down the final curtain,” Carol added. “You can’t be serious,” Darrell wanted to wave away such nonsense. Clearly a delusional theory of one of her out-there groups. But somehow, deep inside, he couldn’t dismiss Carol completely out of hand. She was too intelligent to fall for any real fable. “Explain it away then,” Carol said as she crossed to the chair and gathered her stuff. “You’ll try, I know you. Just don’t get trapped her. Within a few days, even walking outside is going to be very difficult.” She nodded toward the window as a fresh series of sirens broke the hushed quiet the mist imposed. “Light rail is suspended,” Al said as he hung up his cell phone. “Too many people using the tracks as a guide marker. Local police report over 200 collisions in the last hour. The mayor wants to shut down the city.” “He might just as well wait,” Carol said from the door. “Mother is taking care of that.” “How long you figure?” Al asked. “As long as it takes Mother to recover,” Carol said. “A year? Five? A decade?” “But…” “Everything will stop,” Carol predicted. “Transportation, shipping – all of it – just stop. Mother needs a rest, a break from the tortures of mankind.” “Necessity is the mother of invention,” Darrell said from his desk. “Where the need is greatest, mankind has always found a way. The indomitable spirit of mankind will not be denied.” “Until now,” Carol said as she turned to leave. “Just remember, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Darrell, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” They stared at the door when she left, the mist growing thicker behind them. “I’d get home as soon as I could,” she called. Even her voice seemed muffled. “You’re much more likely to survive there. Just don’t forget to say good night to your Mother tonight.” |
| Out Of The Mist By Linda Meier lins.writing@yahoo.com (Entry #12) |
| ~Runner Up~ |
| Thickening tendrils of Fog drifted
over the interstate as Cara drove down the causeway. Mist boiling across the
road became so dense she couldn’t see more than ten yards ahead. At the
center of the causeway was a rest stop with a lookout tower offering a view of
both sides of the lake weather permitting. She parked her car in the lot and
got out. “Cara, what are you doing? Why are you stopping? We’ll be late for work.” “We left early enough to give us a little extra time. I can’t see where I’m going anyway. Come on, Amanda, aren’t you in the least bit curious what’s out there?” “No. I already know it's a lake, a large deep lake with thick fog all around. And what makes you think you’ll be able to see anything from the shore if you can’t see it from the road?” “I think it’s thicker over the causeway, look towards the lake. Isn’t it beautiful? Watch the mist it seems like it’s rising and curling up in large strands.” “I... oh, all right, but not for long.” They walked about fifteen feet and the vapor silently lifted like a window shade in front of them. The sun peeking through the trees behind them made long slender shadows touch the water’s edge while the fog still billowed over the road. They stood quietly seeing almost halfway across the water, which appeared clear and smooth as glass without reflections. “Cara, I don’t like this, it’s creepy. Listen.” “I don’t hear anything.” “That’s it, nothing. No traffic, no birds, no bugs, nothing. Let’s go. We’ll be late for work,” she said turning back to the car. “Mandy don’t be silly. Just breathe. Smell the fresh scent of the early morning dew mingling with the firs. I know I’ve been here before, I know I have. In a minute, we’ll see a gray haired old man in a small boat fishing. See, I told you.” Cara pointed. Amanda turned and looked out over the water. “How did you know that? Who is he?” “I don’t know how I knew I just, I... felt it. I have no idea who he is but I knew he’d show up. He’s going to tell us we have to go with him. You must come too.” The man put down his pole and started to row towards them. The closer he came the more the fog closed in behind him as if he were dragging it. “Cara, the boat has no reflection,” she whispered. “Nonsense, it’s just an optical illusion caused by fog.. Where’s your adventuresome spirit?” She turned towards the man and waved. “Hi. We stopped to see the view from the lookout. Sometimes I see strange, beautiful creatures form and dance in the mist, well not real ones. Ones I only imagine,” Cara babbled on as Mandy started backing away from the edge. He pulled up to shore and without speaking, beckoned them to enter the boat. Amanda shook her head. “No, we can’t, we have to work. Come on Cara let’s go. It’s almost six... hey my watch stopped.” “Mine stopped too. It must be the damp air; mine has moisture in it. It’s okay. We won’t need time where we’re going. Don’t be a poop. You’re usually the one looking to take on a new quest. Come on. Just a short ride. You didn‘t really want to go to work did you?” “It would be nice to have a day off, but we can’t see anything. What do you mean we won’t need time where we’re going?" The man turned and looked behind him. Raising his right hand, he made a quick slicing motion and the mist parted forming a long clear corridor. “Let’s leave now,” murmured, Mandy. “This is weird and I don’t want to be part of it.” “Mandy. Yes, this is mysterious but I know we’re both supposed to go with him. Don’t ask how I know, please just come along. I promise nothing will happen that shouldn’t, trust me,” Cara whispered. “Why do I have to come? This is too eerie and you’re creeping me out. I’m thinking I see things floating out of the mist too.” “Please come,” the old man said. “Jolash sent for you, I will take you to him.” His voice was deep but gentle and his eyes were sparkling pools of blue edged with tiny sad lines at the corners. Reaching forward, he took Cara’s hand as she stepped into the boat. “He does remind me of grandpa, maybe just for a little while,” Mandy said and got in. Sitting in the bow of the boat, Cara saw a clear path ahead. She turned and looked behind them and the passageway seemed to close as it did when he made his way toward shore. The oars cut through the water without sound and still no reflections were evident. They continued silently across and Mandy squirmed. “Let’s go back…” Mandy started to whisper. but Cara silenced her with a finger to her lips. The clouds were low, skimming the tops of their heads, giving the illusion they were racing through a wind tunnel without any wind, or sound. “Go back to where? There is only here and forward, watch for the red Gipe,” said a very soft male voice. Mandy wasn’t sure if it was in her mind or if she actually heard it. Then something small and red darted in front of them and the fog disappeared. They could see a wharf teaming with activity. Behind them lay an open sea. The closer they came, the more they realized they weren’t going to make it to work. Instead of the highway or fields, it was a small town nestled in foothills. “Don’t worry, Mandy, I’ve been here before. I don’t know how, when or why, but I’ve been here. If I was here, I must know how to return. Right?” “I guess so but this sure is creepy. Did you hear that voice before the fog lifted?” “Yes, I think it was the guy you see standing on the dock,” said Cara. “This is Sahsie. He will take you to Jolash. Don’t worry, Jolash will explain everything,” said the old man as they stepped from the boat. Sahsie greeted them with a warm smile. His six-foot stature was all muscle and every inch of skin had a rich, dark tan. His disheveled, sandy blond hair, added to his rugged appearance. “This place can’t be all bad if their men look like that.” Mandy sniggered. “He’s a Freeun,” Cara paused a moment. “Now how did I know that, and what’s a Freeun?” “Cara, if you don’t know how should I know?” They were walking through what appeared to be a very old part of town. The streets were cobblestone and the houses were brick. It looked like something from the 1800’s. Gas lamps lined the streets with horse drawn wagons tied haphazardly. The men wore western clothes, including hats and boots and the women wore long dresses with bustles and carried parasols. “I don’t think we’re going to fit in very well here,” Mandy said barely above a whisper. “The Freeun… people, here can’t see you. You’re out of sync,” replied Sahsie as he stopped in front of a huge red brick house. “Go in and sit down. Jolash will be with you shortly.” He turned and proceeded down a stone walkway around the building. “Well, what do you think? Do we go in like he said, or try to find our own way back?” asked Mandy a bit sarcastically. “I’ve told you not to worry. I’ve been here before. Jolash is the one we came to see,” Cara said confidently walking up the stairs. The entry hall had a small platform with a row of assorted shoes on it.. A plaque above it simply stated SHOES. Cara slipped off her sandals. “Why do we have to take off our shoes?” Mandy asked with a pout. “It’s something we do, Mandy. Do you have to question everything?” “It doesn’t matter I’ll take them off it looks like everything is exceptionally cleaner than my shoes.” The hall opened into a large circular room with doors all around. In the center was a ring-shaped black marble bench, contrasting with the walls and floors of white. The ceiling had a strange window. It appeared to be a prism sending a rainbow of color shimmering throughout the room. Since no one came to greet them when they entered, they sat down to wait as instructed. “Cara, do you have any idea who this Jolash is?” “No, not exactly, but he’ll be here. I can hear him coming.” “I don’t hear any...” The door directly in front of them opened and in walked a tall, athletic man of about forty. He wore a wild colored beach shirt and swimming trunks. “Hello, sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m Jolash. Please follow me, we’ll start immediately.” His voice was deep, authoritarian, tinged with a kind-hearted tone. “Wait a minute. I want to know what this is all about. Where I am and what am I doing here, for starters,” Mandy snapped. “Amanda! Don’t talk to Jolash like that.” “It’s all right, Cara, she isn’t from here and doesn’t recognize our ways. Please be patient and come with me.” Cara followed him to the next room with Mandy close behind. The floor, carpeted with a very dense green rug, almost like artificial turf, felt good after the walk through town on cobblestones. On each wall were murals that stretched from ceiling to floor, ranging from desert scenes to seascapes.. Each one framed as a window, and appeared as such. There were chairs and a long table filled with a feast in the middle of the room. Jolash motioned for them to sit. “Sir, I’m sorry for being rude before and I don’t mean to sound stupid but where are we? Will we be here long?” Mandy ask. “You’re in Filanche and will stay as long as you want or are needed. Cara knows that. Don’t you?” “Yes... I know I’ve been here before and that I know you, but everything seems a bit unclear. Why did I come back?” “Everyone leaves when it’s their time. You have the ability to come and go as you please. It’s only when the red Gipe summons you that it takes a while to become, shall we say ‘acclimated’ again. Don’t worry; your memory will come back. The Freeun need you, the future is at risk if you don’t help.” “Please eat, both of you, then Sahsie will take you to your room to rest and give you a chance to complete your adjusting to Filanche,” Jolash said patting her shoulder. Cara nibbled at the food but wasn’t hungry. Mandy did the same.. Sahsie guided them to a large room containing a small table, a desk with chairs and two beds. They changed into the sarongs left on their beds and slid under the covers. Within a minute, Cara started dreaming. She was back on shore by the lake that led to Filanche. The fog, light at the shoreline, increased in density towards the middle. While watching the thickest fog, she witnessed graceful creatures with long necks and tails, take form, dance and stretch in the surrounding mist. Each took on color as they materialized, becoming sparkling azure, brilliant crimson and deep ebony shapes. As the azure reared, large wings sprouted from his back. The same happened to the crimson and black creatures. Gradually the beasts became elegant dragons of crimson, azure and ebony. The black had golden eyes that pierced the fog and as he rose, they seemed to draw darkness from the depths of the lake. The azure’s eyes were pools of blue intensifying in color as if pulling sapphires from the heavens; the crimson’s eyes were multifaceted rubies sparkling in the sun. The black one came closer to shore and a hissing sound could be heard. This seemed to infuriate the azure and crimson dragons and they reared up facing him. Out of the atmosphere, clouds grew, first, puffy popcorn white but increasing to boil into dark, ominous thunderheads forming a large maelstrom. The hissing increased to an earsplitting level. All three took to the sky with fluid motion, rising towards the whirlpool. Thunder crashed and lightning blasted between clouds as the dragons spewed fire into the churning mass.. The Freeun on shore ran haphazardly for cover. On the dock stood Jolash, his hair was silver; his face had the glow of omnipotence. Lifting his right arm, he drew a spell in the air, and the azure dragon flew to him. He perched himself on the blue beast and soared into the heavens. Cara woke with a start; the dream seemed etched on her mind, seared in her memory. Every detail replayed while she dressed and returned to the main mural room. She stood in the empty room in front of the Desert View feeling the heat permeate the area directly in front of it. The heat rose in radiating bands and in the distance, she saw graceful creatures dancing similar to the ones formed by the mist. She turned and walked to the Jungle View, concentrating on the waterfall off to the right. A mist rose assuming the shape of a fog creature. Above the rumble of water, a hissing grew and the beast began to solidify. “You have the power to transform creatures out of the mist.” “Jolash, you startled me! I dreamt of creatures of fog changing to dragons. Drawn here, I stared into each View and saw the creatures form. What changed them to dragons?” “The power to change them is within you. Don’t you feel a surge when the creatures form increasing the power within you?” “Yes, but I don’t know what to do with it. In my dream, you were there and mounted the azure dragon, and I woke. Help me remember what to do.” “Enter the Desert View, from there journey to the lair of the crimson dragon,” Jolash said. Cara stood in front of the Desert View. Stepping over the threshold she felt the hot, dry air sting her lungs. The sun, almost directly overhead beat mercilessly. Slowly she increased her gait and in the distance, a glimmer appeared which seemed to rise and fall with each labored breath she took. This became a hill rapidly growing into a scarlet mountain with a cave at its base. Mottled red sand as if stained with blood from a great battle swirled from the cavity appearing as a mist. “The cave of my crimson dragon,” Cara whispered. Then in a loud voice, she summoned him. “Sacred anointing needs God’s unmistaken inborn nexus to eternal life. Sanguine, out of the mist come forth!” |
| The
WCA's The Writers' Choice Awards |
| Here's how the members of the
ACWclub voted for their favorite entries: First place: #12 Second place: #9 Third place (tie): #4 & #8 Others receiving votes: #5, #7, #10, #11 |
Here are all the entries, posted in the order they were received.
| Out Of The Mist brigid@lorienwood.plus.com |
#1 of 12 |
| 95 words | |
| Out of the mist the riders came, galloping over the brow of the hill, holding tightly onto the manes with minds determined to maim and kill. Courageous clans in Scottish kilts were mercilessly scythed and hewn. And bonny thistle caused to wilt by blood and mud round bodies strewn. They gave their all. They stood and fought. As life ebbed out the sun shone down. Yet, all their efforts were not nought though scarlet blood dried into brown. It lies there still sunk in the heather, under the feet of grazing cattle. A stubborn stain, despite the weather, in Culloden's grass- the scene of battle. |
|
| Out Of The Mist Julie Goolsby jcg5050@psu.edu |
#2 of 12 |
| 1763 words | |
| “Mom, you really shouldn’t have done this. It
is gorgeous! Ava is just going to love it!” Becky said with delight.
“Really it was no trouble at all. You know how much I love that little
girl. She is such a darling child. She reminds me so much of you when you were
little,” Mrs. Brown stated, as she kissed her daughter on the cheek. Mrs.
Brown loved doting on her daughter, and her beautiful little grandchild. She
was lonely, and really all she had were her two girls. That’s why she
bought the antique dresser and spent all the time restoring it, so that it
looked as good as new. It was a light purple, almost lilac really, and it had
light pink roses with fresh looking green vines that wrapped around the
drawers. She had painted it herself, and Mrs. Brown was quite proud of her
work. “Where do you think you are going to put it?” Mrs. Brown asked. “I think I am going to put it in the middle of her crib and changing table. That way when her clothes become dirtied, I can just reach over and grab them without a lot of hassle. Mom, it really is beautiful, it will look so nice in her room. Thank you so much,” Becky said as she spread her arms open to give her mother a hug. “There is just one thing about this whole dresser thing that you should know Becky,” Mrs. Brown whispered, and was giving a look of concern. Becky said, “What is it mom? Why do you look so worried? Did the dresser set you back a lot? I can pay for it if you need me to.” “No, no, no Becky. It is nothing like that. You know that I love to buy you and Ava things. It is just…never mind dear. I am just being silly. Just forget that I ever said anything about it,” Mrs. Brown said, and she began to roll her eyes to show her daughter that really there was nothing to worry about. However, Mrs. Brown did notice that something was weird with the dresser. She even wondered if she should be giving it to her granddaughter, but in the end she told herself just what she had told her daughter that it was nothing, and that she needed to stop being so ridiculous. It was just her imagination that was getting the best of her. Becky, even though against her mother’s warnings did become worried and said, “Mom, if there is something wrong with the dresser you need to tell me. I am sure whatever it is we can fix it.” “No dear, we cannot fix it. Plus, nothing is broken,” Mrs. Brown said while laughing. She was really hoping that Becky would just drop the whole thing. She was mad at herself for even bringing the matter up. If she told Becky what she really thought, Becky would definitely think that she was losing it, and she would probably ask her again if she was really ok living by herself. They had that conversation before, and it did not turn out well. Mrs. Brown knew that she was not crazy, and she was not losing her mind; she would do anything she could to avoid that conversation again. Becky still did not look convinced, but she said, “Ok, mom, if you say so. If you say there is nothing wrong with the dresser then there is nothing wrong with the dresser. I know that you would never put your granddaughter in any kind of danger, so I will just drop the whole thing.” “Thank you honey,” Mrs. Brown sighed with relief. “Well Becky I am going to go home now. Tell me how Ava likes it. I love you. Talk to you soon,” said Mrs. Brown to her daughter, and she left the house. The truth was when Mrs. Brown bought the dresser from the antique dealer, he had warned her about it. He said that strange things had happened with the dresser; like there were times when the first drawer would open and shut on its own. He swore that one time he looked at the dresser and saw blood pouring out of the first drawer, and it was running down the sides, but he blinked once and the blood was gone. The man told Mrs. Brown that along with the dresser he would have to give her a journal that was inside of it because every time he tried to remove it each night the next day it would be back in the first drawer. He also said that on many occasions he had seen the dresser have a strange mist that would pour out, and it happened many times when he had customers in the store. That is why it had taken him so long to sell it. Mrs. Brown had told the antique dealer that she did not believe in such nonsense, but that it was a good ghost story. It really had been one of the main reasons why she had bought the dresser; she thought that the story made the furniture sound interesting. Once Mrs. Brown had gotten the dresser home, she decided to take advantage of the journal to see if she could find out any of the history that went along with the antique. In the journal she found out that the dresser was from the middle of the 19th century, and that it had belonged to a young lady. She read further and found out that this girl had been taken advantage of by a young male and she became pregnant. Her family had found out about the pregnancy and they were ashamed of her. The girl had been locked up in her room by her father, so that she would not disgrace the family any further. In the journal it talked about how she was abused daily by her father, and that she was afraid that one day he was going to end up killing her. That was how the journal ended, and Mrs. Brown wondered if that was what had happened, and if it had how horrible that must have been. She decided to leave the dresser where it was for the day, and to start to work on it the next morning. Even though she had not really believed the antique dealer about the journal, Mrs. Brown still decided to test it out, and she took the journal out of the drawer, and put it next to her bed for the night. When Mrs. Brown woke up the next morning she looked at her nightstand, and saw that the journal was no longer there. Perplexed, Mrs. Brown went to the dresser, opened up the first drawer to find the journal sitting inside. A little spooked, she backed away from the dresser, and as she did she saw blood running down the sides as the man had said. Mrs. Brown ran out of the room at this point screaming. After, a few minutes of shaking, she decided to go and have another look at the dresser. When she walked back into the room there was no blood, but there was a heavy mist pouring out of the drawers. The room had gotten freezing cold. Then all of a sudden it stopped as suddenly as it had started. Mrs. Brown witnessing no more oddities thought that she had just been imaging things, and that the man’s story from the antique store had really gotten to her. Mrs. Brown decided to get to work. It took her a few days to complete the restoration, and she thought that everything was really ok with the dresser because nothing strange had happened since. As soon as she had finished her work she had taken it to her daughters. Later on that night after she had gone to bed, Mrs. Brown received a frantic call from her daughter. “MOM! MOM! MOM! When I went to check on Ava I found her barely breathing, and she was ice cold. Her room is covered in a heavy mist and the temperature feels like it is below freezing in there.” Becky screamed frantically on the phone to her mother. Mrs. Brown’s blood ran cold. Becky continued, “And the dresser’s first drawer was rumbling open and close. When I went to open the drawer I had found a journal inside, and the journal had flown open to a blank page. You are not going to believe what I am about to tell you,” Becky screamed. Mrs. Brown said with fear, “Try me.” “Well mom, as I was looking at the blank page writing began to appear, and it was red like blood. “It said, “She must die like I did,” Becky cried. Then Becky began to sob into the phone saying, “And mom when I ran back to get Ava, she wasn’t in her crib. I kept frantically looking for her, and out of the mist this pale girl who was no more than seventeen walked towards me, and she was holding Ava in her arms. I saw that Ava wasn’t breathing, and I told the girl that she needed help right away. I tried to take her out of her arms, but the girl would not let go. She told me that she had lost her life and her baby’s too when she was just a young girl, and that Ava would now serve as her baby’s replacement because she had never been born. I kept fighting her, but then the mist disappeared along with the young girl. Ava was lying there on ground, but when I went to check her pulse she had none. Oh, mom, Ava is dead!” Mrs. Brown was in complete shock, she could not even comprehend that Becky was on the line wailing. How would she ever explain to Becky that she had known that the dresser was haunted? Mrs. Brown knew that she could never forgive herself for what had happened. It was her fault entirely. Mrs. Brown told her daughter that she would be right over. However, Mrs. Brown never made it over to Becky’s house that night. When she got off the phone with her daughter she went straight outside, got into her car, and drove it right into the lake that was behind her house. That night when the police were looking for her body they could not find it because the fog outside was so strong, and Mrs. Brown was lost in the mist forever. |
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| Out Of The Mist Felicia R. Hinton © '09 http://biktmia.wordpress.com/ |
#3 of 12 |
| 2461 words | |
| Out of the mist, of my joy came my new outlook for
having the future husband I desire. I found the example I like to be a breath
of fresh air. When I met him, I knew that he was the type for me. That someone
you can really trust, share, and depend on. The life that I desire to have as
family. He was tall, very handsome, polite, and articulate, with a persona that
was very gentleman like. With a casual touch that sent chills through my spine.
Attractive not only in features, but most importantly inwardly he was the type,
with a voice that reflected what was in my view. I was very impressed by his demeanor and manners. He displayed a very cordial attitude. Very take charge, as if don't have a care in the world I will provide. He was the type that I viewed as romantic in stance. Out of the mist, his presence I found the continued desire to enhance, and make over my self. With him, came the desire to adorn myself with rose petal scents and move to a higher plain in mind to obtain what he in body project's. The desire to be anywhere with him became my thoughts. A whole new identity just with that moment in time of his impact. Like a roaring lion strong in stance on a white horse, he gives me the feeling of elegance. When I first saw him, my focus channeled on his presence and what words will he speak. I found him to be respectful, non-complaining in his conversation with a persona that draws you like a magnet. His appearance, he has the ability to make you cling to his every word. Constantly is the desire to want to look at him to get a glance of his countenance, breath taking. The moment of the encounter was priceless. He has the ability to walk into a room and make you as a woman want to change your whole appearance, which is a rare quality to have, I liked the impression left. Out of the mist, in mind I developed the belief that it is important to have a goal toward romance and marriage. One that leads you to inwardly desire the way that is most suitable for your character that everlasting love. To have a trustworthy friend, a mate that you can depend on to be there and know that with you, each life encounter will be okay. Because you are loyal to the journey of what it means to be married. I don't have to worry with you love, you being two-faced, backstabbing, and a phony, for your love is straight forward. You express your concerns and you lighten me with your love when needed. Daily I feel the realness that you reflect. If I didn't want you my choice would not have been you to continuously be with and cherish. To wake up beside you every day and know how you really feel about me, what I mean to you truly at heart. The trust, love, and the passion I feel of you is like the wind beneath my feet. Enough so to give you all of what it means to be wife. My love, out of the mist of reality I found that you, my joy of tomorrow have awaken me to the new dawn of passion for this love and our marriage. I view by your actions that you have shown me how much I mean to you in all that you do visibility. That is why I lean toward doing as much as I can for our love. For it is true what motivates my love is the emotions you display. I give with the passion that I feel from the true display of your love. I daily know that it is truly a blessing to see and know the truth. This journey of moving to the dedication of wife has truly taught me that your love is un-duplicable. You are direct with me in regards to our affairs. For I don't have to be concerned with you will you turn tomorrow because of selfish gain. The missing inner fulfillment to my being came when I united as one with you. Life, it's purpose, my direction of the heart's love came full circle when I found in you the meaning of trust, and real love. You have shown me that our love united as one means, we act together in all that we do. I don't have to be concerned with you, if I need to make sure that out of my presence you aren't the same in how you feel about me. For our love is unchanging in how we speak with one another. In my face we talk with joy about one another and we express the love for each moment missed as a complete joy to be as one. I know that with you our marriage is solid. No matter of opinion, anywhere you go I will be right there with my love that transcends the soul. Now, wiping the tears from my eyes, for the love that we share is priceless and rare. I treasure the blessing of having found real love the embodiment you. Out of the mist, I found that with you all is complete. Daily you know that with each other our love can only continue to grow. It is with you that I give dedication. Gratitude to what it means to be the true love of my hear. My everything that is emotionally grounded in strength and goodness inwardly of what constitutes our love. I feel it is important that love is not like the laundry clean today and dirty tomorrow. Valuing what we have and knowing that, don’t think that, our love oh well always will stays the same. It doesn’t, its a daily journey and knowing this is the battle to keeping the structure of what we have strong and unbreakable. I want the husband I envision to know that, with this love of the lady I am. I am and will be the strength when you get weak. The educational enlightener, for your need of elevation, the balance of I need diversity, the wind of emotion to touch you at heart with the passion of strength when needed. The surprise in view when desired, and the parent that you need for it is with your heart's desire we both will work together to be the model family. I feel learning together and listening with compassion is important. Understanding when needed, and always valuing what it means to be my one and only love everlasting. Out of the mist came the never ending treasuring of our love and developed family for it will be you and only you that I will say I do to. With our preparation and discussions about our desires and expectations of the heart, your strengths you teach me in the areas that I lack. You leave me with adventure to desire to see what new in challenges together we will master and achieve. With you I find that when your not there I long to know what you are doing and where you are. How long will it be, before I once again have the pleasure daily of enjoying the moments with you. Never tiring of each, for we balance each other with inward real love. We treasure the moments of each other and what we give to one another. Daily I find myself, you my husband, out of the mist wanting to lavish you with the emotional uplift that if needed daily you know that the listening ear is there for your needs. I found it important to really hear what you have to say. To make that eye contact and you feel that passion of what my heart feels for you. For it is so easy to take for granted each day the value that I see in you, is not just from these eyes I am sure. I want you to know I continue to strive daily to be all that inwardly suits your needs that is in line with our family views of future healthy family. I plan daily with learning in many aspects to meet the challenges that entail the embodiment of you, and maintaining the environment for what speaks and reflects our love. Knowing that I envision for us the best always, and I strive to be the love and partner of guidance for what it entails to keep us daily seeking to reach faucets and love untouched. I knew that when I made the decision to want you my only choice for a husband, that at heart I would be dedicated and truly desire to fight for the value of what it means to be your wife. Within you, I saw the seed of growth that sprouted the foundations for many changes. Most importantly the change I found within me. You need to comprehend the preciousness of who you are, and what you mean at heart and your love. The importance of you being whole in all aspects to be what I envision for our future family. I believe my role is to be part the planner and always stable about my love for you and what I feel. What’s real about you and what you impart that only uniquely you give. Out of the mist, came marriage ideals that take my breath away for what you mean and constitute to me. When I committed to the mindset of being your wife. For you see inwardly it's a profound journey to come to the understanding, passionate desire, and knowledge, not a maybe, but to know that you are the love of my life, and to want to be the epitome of what it means to be that lady of character that you at heart desire. From the words that you speak with passion that feel my heart with the continued desire to want you and all that you encompass. On the journey to being a wife, I took a long search of myself, and the stance my choice to wait and prepare in mind and heart to becoming a patient receiver of you and only your love and what it entails. Just that important, I felt to give and be in all aspects what I feel you are in value to me. What you are in quality is worth daily what I feel is my motivation to continue to strive to fulfill and be your expectations. I found profoundness in the essence of what you mean to me at heart and the depth of what I desire to continuously be to you daily. I cannot tell you enough the inner joy I feel to be the lady of your choice to take the historical steps to continuing the legacy of what it means to the tradition of being a loving wife. Wearing the purity of white inwardly and outwardly for our bond, I find that you complete me. It’s not about the sole factor of wanting the financial aspects that entail our marriage I envision. It’s about the foundation that we have as one. When I wake up and I am the same in my mental drive and passion for what I feel for you. It takes me to a higher level in thought, wanting the strength of our marriage to thrive daily. Balancing daily I am at heart with continued peace in regards to my choice. I don't believe that anyone can love me, you my husband of my future to the degree that I inwardly proclaim other than you. For I know that what is between us can't be duplicated. It is a matter of the heart, unchanging through the test of time. I knew that if I waited I would surely know in mind my love for you is real really. I never have felt this way, strongly before in regards to being totally committed. The future expectation of our marriage to be, it has taken on a whole new meaning in my actions and preparation. This journey too you has exonerated and lead me to understand that you give me symbolic strength. You feel me with desire that makes a wonderful balance of what will be unveiled. With much love on the path to the altar of a marriage built of real love. Daily, I feel the need to inform you that the difference was and always will be you. You are a sweet joy to my inner needs and a comfort to the emotional side of my being. The impact of you and all you give has left me daily with the dedication in the desire to want to love you more than I can give in thought. Comfort you with the tenderness of a heart that truly cares and be the cushion as your wife for all that you may encounter. You husband to be, have assisted me inwardly to know the significance in defining our love. Without the thought of the road map of the beautiful oasis of what we desire as our bond. I would not have envisioned your important so much so. I have grown to realize and feel deeper inwardly your importantance. Remembering to value and cheerish what has lead us to this point in our life that it is precious to hold at heart from year to year all that constitutes its meaning. I feel an overwhelming joy in knowing the you that you are, and the difference you the man of compassion have brought to my life. My goal was to surpass in mind the expectations of what you want at heart. I want our love to have the depth of the ocean and the strength of iron glass. In my heart when I told you I loved you. I meant that with the depth of love that is passion from my heart. I wanted you to know the emotional joy within me to be able to give of myself to our marriage daily. You as a husband bring to our love in marriage all that we need. Like the flower that blossoms in the spring, you continue to be my returning love, fragrance scented with passion only specially given designed this love from up above for me. I found with you the balance that I needed. With your love, the foundation is the fortitude for our bond. The model for my compassion is to continue to be daily your love. With you I have a heightened sense of my belief in what it means to be a wife. You are my strength for our tomorrow, my heart's passion, my constant everyday friend, my trust and inspiration, my now and forever more when our life as husband and wife begin. |
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| Out Of The Mist Phil Peterson |
#4 of 12 |
| 488 words | |
| Pull the trigger and get splashed with scalding water.
The type of water that almost feels cold for a split second before you recoil
in pain. That water, coming from your spray gun, gets nearly every bit of the
half-eaten roast beef sandwich and cold fries still clinging to the plate. You
shoot them into your sink. A dirty-brown sea of lukewarm water filled with
soggy carrots and spoiled ham. Water flavored with chicken blood and ketchup,
coleslaw and blue cheese. You spray your steaming gun again at another plate,
instantly getting a tangy mist of tartar sauce to coat your entire
face—plastering it’s smell to your sweating brow and bloodshot eyes.
You are a dishwasher and this happens all the time. Cooks are yelling at each other behind you, complaining about their orders and recipes. Waitresses are scurrying around with their massive trays, trying to bump into you each time they pass by. Bartenders are pushing their way through the kitchen like they own the place. All the while, you try and keep up with the continuously mounting pile o filthy plates and dishes, the nasty saucers and bowls. The grimy silverware, and cups, the crusted pots, and pans. Each one you spray with that horrible water gun. Each one, you get splashed back with flying chunks of nibbled-on pork or unfinished chowder. You are a dishwasher and this happens all the time. Now you try and step outside, try to get away from it all. Where you are no longer bent down, elbow-deep in greasy water. Where you can straighten your back and cool down. Where the pile of used plates, the ones with streaks of mustard and ranch, the ones with other people’s used gum globules and oily fingerprints, doesn’t seem as high. But when you open door, the familiar smell of pine trees in autumn is interrupted by a haze of smoke. All of your fellow employees are trying to forget their worries too. The chefs are no longer screaming. The waitresses are still. The bartender is humbled. And out of this mist of nicotine halos and menthol angels, everyone has become a different person, if only for a few moments. No time to relax, not in this fog of reeking ashes. So it is back to work. You are a dishwasher and this happens all the time. Maybe that’s what it takes to see someone for who they really are. Perhaps instead of always looking at someone straight on and forward, you need to take another angle. Look at them through a different light, a different perspective. For some, it takes wading through a stream of Marblo and Camel to see who they really are. And for some, the dishwashers of the world, the people who literally take shit day in and day out but never complain, it takes a spray gun and steaming water. |
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| Out Of The Mist Pete Garland azuremage@hotmail.com |
#5 of 12 |
| 792 words | |
| It was cool and peaceful in the forest this evening.
The nocturnal sounds of the creatures that reside in the wooded hills were just
beginning and the young man smiles slightly. He had missed this, coming out to
the old camp site and listening as the chorus of nature soothes his mind.
Whenever life became overwhelming, this was his refuge, his place of
consolation and renewal. He sits down on the weathered log that has been his bench in these woods for many years. The flames of his campfire reflect in his eyes, dancing and weaving, and he glances to the other log bench, equally aged by time but unoccupied. He smiles again, sadly, and then takes a sip from his mug of coffee. As he relaxes by the fire the sounds of the forest change subtly, becoming muted and distant. With the fading of the last light of evening into the darkness of night a mist begins to roll in from the top of the hill. Slowly it glides over brush and ferns, covering the ground in a sea of obscurity. It moves almost as with a purpose, divides around the pine and oak that pepper the side of the hill, approaches the campsite and eventually surrounds it. There it stops as if coming up against a wall and the mist continues to flow in behind, forming a miniature coliseum encircling the man and his refuge. The man never looks up from his coffee but he smiles again, waiting. The sounds of the forest are now all but gone and the only movement is the flames of the campfire. Time passes… Suddenly a figure of another man, older but with a robust physique, steps into the campsite from out of the mist. He looks at the young man, glances at his surroundings and then chuckles softly. “So, I suppose it’s me now.” The young man, without looking nods slowly. “It appears so. Not that I am completely surprised. As a matter of fact, I was rather hoping it would be you.” The older gentleman nods and walks over and sits down on the log previously unoccupied. He sighs and asks, “How long has it been?” “A couple of months. I would have come out sooner but there were things to take care of before I could get away.” The young man smiles again, “You know how that can be.” “Yes, yes I do. So, Jake, how have you been?” Jake thinks a moment, takes a sip of his coffee and looks at his companion a moment. “It was hard for awhile but I knew I could come out here eventually. I admit that I wasn’t sure if…well…you know, whether or not you would be here.” The man looks around, picks up a branch and pokes at the fire shifting a few coals around. “To be honest, it never occurred to me. I’m glad I could come though, I missed this place. It’s been a little while since you and I could find our way up here. How’s Vedette?” “She’s fine. She’s taking care of the kids. Stephanie is still crawling around and keeping her busy but she should be walking soon. James pretends he isn’t thrilled to have a little sister but when he thinks you aren’t looking you can tell he is going to be a good big brother.” Jake shakes his head ruefully. “He wanted to come up with me but I wasn’t certain if this was a good time. Next time maybe...” “Perhaps you’re right.” the man smiles. As the night passes the two men reminisce about old times, past trips to the woods, fishing trips they had made. They talk about Jake’s family and what his hopes and dreams are for their future. The old man offers advice when it seems appropriate and Jake smiles, nodding even when he doesn’t completely agree. He finishes his coffee and pours himself another cup but the old man never asks for some and Jake never offers. As morning approaches the old man finally stands. “It’s that time is it?” Jake asks. “I’m afraid so. I am glad this turned out the way it has but I have to go before the morning. You know how it works.” “I do. Can’t blame me for hoping it might be different this time though.” The old man smiles, “No, I suppose I can’t. I’ll miss you though and I look forward to our next night in these woods.” The mist is beginning to disappear and the old man walks into it. Before he is lost to view he says softly, “Anything I should pass on?” Jake looks at him, a tear in his eye and nods. “Tell Grandpa I miss him…and Dad, I love you.” As the mist fades, the old man begins to fade with it. “I will…and I love you too Son.” |
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| Out Of The Mist Colin W. Campbell www.colincampbell.org |
#6 of 12 |
| 110 words | |
| I dreamt that I might find my way on a mountain path from long ago. High on the slopes of Mount Wudang where endless clouds, flow soft below and carry me back to the time of the Tang. I dreamt I heard the masters pray on a mountain top with Kublai Khan. When out of the mist came old Xuanwu, to guard the land in the days of the Yuan, with mysteries the ancients knew. I dreamt I saw our path today is little changed from long ago. So when my final day has dawned, it's up I'll go and follow the flow to the highest crag, and even beyond. |
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| Out Of The Mist cathyvester@ymail.com |
#7 of 12 |
| 836 words | |
| This morning was a wet, but beautiful, summer morning
in the Missouri Ozarks. I praised the day I bought this five-acre homestead.
Looking around, a cloud of mist from the previous night's rain still haloed my
home, and as far as I could see. The gray, wet shroud presented an eerie,
surreal scene in the dappled sunlight. As a city girl, I had much to learn
about rural life, but this was my dream. The expansive mountain tops peeking
from the dampness in the distance, reminded me some things were not meant to be
possessed. From my back porch, I slowly tiptoed across the well-watered grass. I stopped to watch a blue jay flutter its wings while it perched on the edge of a concrete bird bath. After admiring nature, I moved on towards an old wooden bench where I spent most mornings since moving here a few short months ago. It is where I usually sat and wondered how something so right could be wrong. Allen had said he loved me, but he would not leave Kansas City. He had made it clear, if I bought this small homestead I would be on my own – and now I was. Like the nearby mountains, I would stand alone to achieve my dream of simple country living. I was determined! Then, from the corner of my eye, only a few feet away, I saw something that made my hair stand on end. Worse yet, it made me doubt the future I had planned. Partly hidden by the lush green vegetation, it crept through the warm morning mist that seemed like steam rising from the earth. Its uncaring eyes stared straight ahead, but far from unaware. Somehow it seemed to sense my presence and quickly turned its hairless head in my direction. I ceased all movement, including, for an instant, even those necessary to sustain life. Then, when I finally found my breath, I was afraid to breathe, as I was sure the beast would find the sound offensive. My thoughts raced as quickly as my heart beat. Should I run? No, I thought. The intruder would surely chase me to the ends of the earth. Besides, the heavy moisture floating in the air made it difficult to see much farther than a few feet in front of me. My fear continued to empower my imagination. I envisioned the demon's sharp fangs dripping with my bright red blood, striking my unprotected flesh over and over again until my pale weak body fell to the ground. Perhaps I should try to ignore its presence. I pondered what to do, trying to be strong but feeling faint. Maybe if I pretended I did not notice it would wander away. Could I possibly fight and win? I thought not. My only option was to wait and see what its next move would be. I looked down towards the ground still able to see the creature. I did not want to appear aggressive. I ached from standing so still. An unexpected breeze whipped through my long blond hair causing it to tickle my nose. I did not dare reach up to wipe the loose strands from my face. I did not know how much longer I could remain in one spot without moving. I wondered how long I had stood frozen while IT stared at me with marble-glazed eyes, daring me to come forward. It felt like hours but had probably been only minutes. Now, on top of everything else, I had to pee. Just when I thought I could stand it no longer, the fearsome creature became bored and slowly slithered back into the foggy mist from which it came. As its long black body disappeared into the many rows of ripe tomatoes, I stood still a moment longer in case it changed its mind. Only when its pointed black tail flickered mockingly out of sight, I ran. "Maybe I was not cut out for gardening after all", I breathlessly screamed, forgetting for only a moment that no one would hear my words. Then, from out of nowhere, standing in the fog, I suddenly recognized his six-foot lanky frame and silver tousled hair. I ran straight into his arms. As the fear I felt faded, joy took its place. I grinned from ear to ear as I looked up into Allen's warm brown eyes. "Carolyn, I saw you running towards me. You looked frightened". This 48-year-old independent woman did not want to admit that just seconds ago she had been terrorized by a common black snake exploring her backyard garden. "Its okay now, I laughed. I just realized, not everything that appears from out of the mist is bad"! Without further explanation, hand in hand we slowly walked toward the house. |
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| Out Of The Mist Tom Campbell thomassbcampbelll@hotmail.com |
#8 of 12 |
| 1602 words | |
| The grimy taxi trundled through the slick New York
streets carrying a set of mismatched passengers. A skinny, homely man behind a
pair of horn rimmed glasses sat scrunched by the window, mostly because the
greater portion of the backseat was taken up by a very large young woman in
black spandex that nearly matched her skin tone. She wore a low cut top that
suggested she was smuggling basketballs. The only reason they were here was
because they had been thrown together for this mission. She had introduced herself in the few minutes before they flagged the cab. “My name is Chaminiqua, NYPD Special Unit.” “Shamma knee what? May I just call you Nick?” “Not if you want to live.” He recoiled a bit and stuttered out his moniker. “Horace Feldman, IRS.” “Horace? What the hell kind of name is that?” What kind of name is Shammaneek…, he thought but wisely said nothing. “You know what we’re after tonight?” “Yes, of course. I’ve been thoroughly briefed on this…er, action.” “Hey! My eyes are up here.” Once in the cab she continued. “We’re going down to the Village, the outskirts of it. Our ‘friend’ doesn’t like to mingle.” “So I heard. The people he works with…” “Put a sock in it, stringbean,” she said nodding at the driver. He was wearing a turban and probably didn’t speak much English but Chaminiqua was taking no chances. “What brings you out here?” Horace asked. “They usually picks me for this work. I used to be a bounty hunter, before that a ho, and before that a bunch of crappy jobs. I’m legit now. Gittin’ too old for all that other shit. Question is, what are you doin’ out on the mean streets. Looks like you and sunshine ain’t on speaking terms.” “I’ve been on the ‘mean streets too’. I walk to work every day.” “What, about 12 blocks through midtown?” “Nine, actually. I was sort of volunteered for this but they said there might be a promotion in it. I figured, what the heck.” “Hell, boy. What the hell, or what the fuck. You gotta get some street cred.” A few blocks from their destination they decanted themselves from the hack. Chaminiqua led them around a corner to a side street and lit a long slender cigarette which in her meaty paws looked like harpooning a whale with a toothpick. “You really shouldn’t smoke,” said Horace. “It’s bad for you, and they say kissing a smoker is like licking an ashtray.” “Yeah? Well they say that kissing a pompous dipshit is like licking a rat’s ass. Besides, you ain’t never gonna get anywhere near these lips.” He might have had a retort in mind but as a stick figure standing next to a rhinoceros he kept it to himself. The light drizzle had ended, turning gradually into the type of fog that London is more known for, further shrouding their secrecy. “As I understand it,” Horace began, “we zip in and out again, collecting whatever evidence we can find on these guys’ finances.” “That’s the plan, little man. And don’t be leaving no prints. Your job’s the computer so wipe anything you have to touch.” “You mean those guys can get through an FBI firewall?” “Like a hot knife through soft butter. They probably even got plants in your place. It’s time to go. Walk this way.” An impish though came to him to imitate her waddle when she said walk this way but he knew better and hurriedly caught up, peering nervously around in the gloom. Soon they reached a first floor rental in an old brownstone that had somehow escaped the wrecker’s ball. Chaminiqua glanced around to see the street was empty and strode up to the door. “This is B&E, a felony.” Horace stammered. “No it ain’t. ‘Course we’ll be entering but not breaking. I got me a key. So saying she fished one out and in no time they were inside. A flashlight with black tape around the end to narrow the beam of light was dug out of her purse. The furnishings were surprisingly plain but not the computer in the next room. “Turn it on, taxman. This is your part of the job.” He booted up and was soon ticking away at the keyboard, sounding like a conclave of crickets. Chaminiqua gave him a look of perplexed admiration and wandered off in search of other evidence. “How about keeping that flashlight over here?” “I got my job to do. You’re stuck with the light from the monitor, babe. We don’t want it to look like there’s a party in here.” Horace was wryly amused at his promotion from stringbean to taxman to babe as he kept hacking deeper into the hard drive, finding most of the dummy corporations and tax dodges that he had expected to unearth. Chaminiqua moved around collecting manila folders and various papers she thought would be of use, looking for false bottoms and stuff taped under drawers. Finally she prowled around the desk where Horace was hurriedly copying data onto some blank discs he had brought with him. There was a copy machine there so she xeroxed everything and put the papers back exactly as she found them. Horace heard the snick of a key in the lock. “There’s someone at the front door. We have to get out of here,” He croaked in a panicked whisper. “How long you got.” He looked at the screen at the disc progress. “About 30 seconds.” “We’ll wait. I’ll slow him down, you finish your job.” With that, she moved into the hallway pulling an ugly looking Glock from her bag. As the door was opening she let off a shot about ankle high splintering the wood of the door. Horace jumped as if he’d sat on a griddle and yelped, “You didn’t kill anyone, did you?” “Naw. Just getting their attention. You ‘bout ready?” “I’m done,” came the quavering squawk, as he shut down the computer. “Let’s go – back door.” A gun poked out from the front door and Chaminiqua shot at it drawing only splinters again. She beetled for the back door to find Horace still fiddling with the locks. All at once the door gave way and he tumbled out like a hastily hidden corpse. Right away they emerged into a foggy dank alleyway. “Take a left,” she shouted at the fleeing Horace, “and wait for me.” When she’d caught up she filled him in. “We be going right at the next block and down into the subway across the street.” Horace Feldman scampered off just before a couple of muffled shots came out of the mist. Chaminiqua sprayed off a few of her own and hurried after Horace. She could see him leaping down the stairs as she waddled behind like an enormous 8 ball heading for the side pocket. "There’s no one on duty here,” he cried as Chaminiqua clumped down the stairs. “Only machines.” “Don’t worry. I got tokens, always be prepared, Mr. F and look, our luck’s holding.” He turned to see a train pulling in. They ducked into the doors and plopped on a seat in the corner facing each other, still gasping for breath like gaffed fish. “Don’t look around,” Chaminiqua said. “The guy that was chasing us got on at the last second and he’s looking around. Matter-o fact, looking at me right now.” “What are we going to do?” Horace moaned, slumping further down into his seat. “Whatever we gonna do, we gonna have to do it fast. He’s on his cell phone.” “Probably calling up some of the gang,” Horace muttered in a hangdog way. A minute later as the train was slowing to a stop he said, “I have an idea. Tell me when he’s not looking at us.” “He ain’t looking jest now.” “I’ll try to take care of him. He hasn’t seen my face.” Horace jostled his way to the doors just as they were opening and babbled at the man. “You know Buddy, they got some great gyros at a stand over there. It’s a three minute stop here. You can pop out, buy one, and still have time to get back on. I’m going to get one. You should try them. The stand’s right over there,” he said pointing. The man looked out over the platform though whether looking for gyros or his pals was hard to say. Horace took that opportunity to plant his foot on the man’s caboose and kicked with all the adrenaline fueled strength he possessed. The man stumbled out several steps right before the doors mercifully closed again. Horace couldn’t resist mouthing the word “Sucker” at him as the train chuntered off. Back in his seat, Chaminiqua looked at him without even trying to suppress some awe and admiration. “I didn’t think you had that kind of nasty in you. Good going Mr. Feldman.” Mr. Feldman. The ultimate promotion. “Thanks,” he said and reddened slightly. “We’d better get off at the next stop and cab it. Who knows how quickly some other goons might show up down the line.” “Good thinking.” Back out of the serpentine labyrinth they paused and scouted around for taxis. The foggy mist was only wispy now in this part of Manhattan. “I’m uptown,” she said. “You?” “Downtown. I need to drop off these discs right away. I really don’t want to carry them around any longer than I have to.” “Here, take these papers too. There’s gotta be some juicy stuff in what I found. Hey! My eyes are up here.” “I was looking at your shoes. Manolo Blahnik?” “Yeah. You’re not a fairy, are you?” “Not me.” “Well you tell those bitches you meet, you’re a tough guy now. And if you need some corroboration on that promotion, tell the suits to give me a call.” “Thank you, Shamonika,” Horace spoke clearly to her retreating form. Alas, he couldn’t hear her little chuckle. |
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| Out Of The Mist glenlee10@sky.com |
#9 of 12 |
| 1490 words | |
| The old house stood near the cliff top. It was let
during the summer months for a holiday home. A long, graveled drive swept from
the main road to a large porch and a solid oak door with chunky iron fittings.
The garage was at the end of the back garden which was surrounded by a dense
fringe of trees and rhododendron bushes. This early in the morning the house
was not visible from the road because of the mist. There was no breeze yet the mist that swirled over the lawn was stirred as though by an unseen hand; its dance so strange, it could have been choreographed by something beyond the forces of nature. There were all shades of grey, from intense, eye-watering white to the blackness of the pall that hangs over bombed cities and they danced, without mixing, like oil and water coursing across a road in a storm. The only colour was the grass, a grey-green layer hugged by the mist, which began to circle, slowly, and then , picking up pace, to stream towards the lawn’s centre, the grey strands plaiting themselves into a thick cable that rose like an Indian rope trick of light and shade. It was 7 o’clock, breakfast time. Inside the house, a child stood by his bedroom window. His hands, with thumbs interlinked, waved above his head in harmony with the dance of the mist. The bedroom door behind him opened, breaking his concentration. “Come on,” the child’s father called. “Breakfast’s ready.” The child dropped his hands and ran from the room. The mist lost its shape and drifted downwards, lazily, forgetting its previous activity. As the boy ran into the kitchen he caught the tail end of a conversation between his parents. “Amazing, isn’t it”, his father was saying, “how this place is so misty early on but how quickly the sun burns it off?” His wife was standing near the sink, making up the day’s picnic. She glanced out the window. “It’s ha.” she said. “Sea mist.” She shuddered. “Thank goodness it doesn’t last too long. It gives me the creeps.” “So? Where to today, kids?” the man asked. The boy was pouring cereal into a bowl. His movements were careful as though he’d only just been allowed to do the job himself. “Dunno,” he answered, not looking up from the chore. “The beach, Dad. The beach!” His slightly older sister squealed, bouncing up and down on her chair. “The beach!” “Well,” her father drawled. “I don’t know about that. Have you got your bucket and spade packed? And what about your swimming costume? Do you think Mummy has managed to get it dry after yesterday?” The woman turned round and smiled. “Don’t be such a torment, Donald. You’ve already agreed we’re going to the beach today. And of course, your costume is ready, Jessica”. She tutted at her husband’s nonsense. “Three children. That’s what I’ve brought on holiday with me. When all I really needed was a good book!” She finished putting the sandwiches and drinks into a rucksack. “Get a move on, Stevie,” she told the boy, “or the day’ll be gone before you’ve even finished breakfast.” The boy looked at the mist. It still waited outside the window. When no one was looking, he waved his spoon. The mist stirred in response. He smiled. It was just as he thought. The following day the boy was awake early. Quietly, he slipped from bed and went to stand near the window. The mist was back. It was strange he thought, his parents could only see the mist, they couldn’t see its separate strands. To them it was a grey nothing; to him, there was shape, texture and a willingness to be crafted. He jabbed towards the mass with all ten fingers. The mist broke up. He drew his hands down to his side. The pieces fluttered to the ground like falling cherry blossom. He did this twice more until the grass was covered and the outlines of the trees at the garden’s edge were becoming distinct as their cover was shredded. He pretended to dip his hands into the fallen drifts, then threw his imagined handfuls skywards. The mist burst from the lawn like a flock of startled birds. The boy laughed and manipulated the grey stuff, as though making snowballs. He cast each cluster skywards where it hung awhile before drifting back down. The boy finished creating his birds and noticing their fall, waved his hands back and forth, making them swoop across the lawn and back; a flock of mist swallows doing his bidding. This was too easy. He became bored and crushed three of the shapes together. A small bird of prey hovered above the rest. Unsatisfied, the boy added three more shapes. He nodded at the result, a huge hawk, black with silver underwings. The rest of the shapes settled on the lawn, waiting, while he worked. He pulled two thin legs from the shape. He carved enormous talons. He took white streaks and splashed them on the tail feathers. He saw, in his mind’s eye, a vicious, hooked beak. The image was quickly transferred to his creation. He circled his right hand over his head. His hawk spiraled upwards. He slashed his hand downwards in a sharp movement and the hawk dived, scattering the smaller shapes on the lawn. The boy smiled at the carnage then allowed the mists to settle back to their natural state as he heard his father getting up. Enough for today, he thought. I’ll try something else tomorrow. In the following days the boy was awake before dawn and lay in bed until it was light enough to get up, planning what to make next. As the two weeks of the family holiday passed, he became proficient in creating birds, cats and rats, dogs and frogs. On the last day the mists were blacker than usual, matching the boy’s dark mood. Even the grass was a dirty, dark-green. The boy didn’t want to go home. He drew down a handful of blacker than black which was clumped at tree height. He made a small, skinny dog. Then he growled at the dog and thrust it away. It rolled into a corner of the garden. He began to snatch at the darker mists, squeezing them together frantically. When he had a big enough mass of material with which to work, he pulled out four legs, a stumpy tail, two ears and a long snout. He plucked morsels of white mist for teeth. He wagged the hound’s tail, decided it looked too friendly and stopped. With one finger, he drew back its teeth into a snarl. Better, much better. Something was missing though. He frowned. He concentrated. He bit his lip and drew blood. He licked the salt taste. He touched his lip with a fingertip. The drop of crimson shone, despite the muted light in the bedroom. The boy flicked his hand towards his hound. The hound shook its head, spattering thin threads of silver drool, then on the boy’s command it quested across the lawn until it found the small dog. The small mass was encouraged to run. The hound was made to chase it. The boy held up a hand. The small dog stopped running. The boy kept his other hand moving until the hound was almost on top of the small dog. The boy dropped his hand. The hound attacked and ripped the small mass to bits. The mist that drifted on the light breeze of dawn was coloured pink in parts and red gleamed on the jowls of the hound. Downstairs the boy’s mother was gathering together their luggage for the journey home and stacking the cases and bags and bits and bobs by the front door. Her husband picked up a case. “I’ll take this out and bring the car round to the front,” he said. He unlocked the kitchen door. The lock was old and the key was large. It was a noisy business. The boy heard the door being opened. The man had to cross the lawn to reach the garage. He shivered. The mist was cooler than usual. He stepped onto the lawn and stopped. A huge black hound was between him and the garage. It snarled. Blood dripped from the creature’s teeth. For seconds the two looked at each other. The hound crouched as though getting ready to spring. The man howled and threw the case at it. Had he not been dashing back through the door into the kitchen, he might have noticed that the case had decapitated the creature. He didn’t look back and the boy had repaired the damage before the door was slammed and locked. Upstairs, the boy was concentrating hard, despite the hullaballoo his father was making. He really didn’t want to go home today. He was having far too much fun. |
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| Out Of The Mist Clytan Fernando clytan2005@yahoo.com |
#10 of 12 |
| 1207 words | |
| He could never forget the first time he met her. Or so
he thought. The morning mist formed an uneven envelope around the park bench. He sat at the right end of the bench. She came running along the jogging trail, emerging majestically out of the mist and sat alongside him. They looked at each other at the same instant. She managed to look beautiful even in her tracksuit. Their eyes met and he felt a wave of excitement flow through him. “Hello.” “Hello.” And that is how it all began. *** SIX MONTHS LATER The waves lashed hard. Some of them subsided while others ricocheted off rocks, creating curtains of water and foam. They sat in the spray on one of the larger rocks; their legs stretched out in front of them. Her hand was in his. “Isn’t it beautiful?” she said. “What?” he said suddenly snapping out of his thoughts. “The water, this place… Just wonderful isn’t it?” “It is,” He paused for a heartbeat or two, contemplating and then spoke softly. “Do you love me?” “Of course, hon. I love you.” She smiled and leaned on him, closer. His pulse quickened. His fingers danced in his pocket, retrieving the tiny velvet box. He opened it. She jerked in excitement and sat upright, staring at the diamond. “Is this..?” she started. “Oh yes it is.” He knelt on one knee and took her hand. “Will you be my bride?” “Yes!” He held her for a long time and then they stood. The ring made kaleidoscopic reflections across her lovely face. Somehow at that moment, she made him feel whole. She gazed into his eyes. He brought her closer and then they kissed. *** ONE YEAR LATER “I just want to end it here.” she said coldly staring through the condensation on the window. “She’s just an acquaintance, nothing more.” He raised both hands in surrender. “I have pictures of you and her.” She threw a couple of photographs on the couch. Both showed him and a friend dining at a Chinese restaurant. “I said I know her, it’s not the way you think it is!” “It’s not just this; you know it wont work out, you and me… It’s not meant to be.” “But I still love you. We’re engaged dammit! She is just a friend.” She stared incredulously at him and shook her head. Struggling with her ring, she pulled it free and thrust it in his hand. “Moving in with you… it was a mistake! I’m leaving and for chrissakes, don’t call me.” She picked up her suitcase, walked to the door and banged it shut. She was gone for two weeks now. He tried calling her, ignoring her last words to him but she never answered. He felt like a hole had been drilled through his heart, a vital piece missing. The phone rang. It must be her, he thought. He ran and picked it up. “Hello?” “Hello sir, I’m calling from Dr. Beck’s clinic. This call is to inform you that your partner has erased you from her memory.” The female voice was calm and lacked emotion, almost robotic. “What? Is this some kind of joke?” he said, confused. “You have been erased from your partner’s memory under our program. If you wish to erase your partner from your memory or want to know more about the program you can do so by making an appointment.” “I don’t unders—” She continued, ignoring him and gave him an address. He noted it down quickly when she repeated it. “If you wish to set an appointment, press one on your keypad, else ignore this message.” His world was spinning. Was it possible to erase people from memories? The phone voice was serious, business like. If he could forget her, he could start fresh. But could he let go? She was just so perfect. He thought of her hazel eyes, her face, her sweet voice, the intense lovemaking, just the way she made him feel. He pulled himself out of those thoughts. He had nothing to loose. He didn’t have her now anyway. If she could forget, ah, erase him so could he. He paused a moment and then pressed one on the keypad. “Your appointment with Dr. Beck is set for Saturday, 1st of June 10.30 a.m. Thank you!” The line went dead. Dr. Beck sat across him and smiled his fake smile, as if he really cared. He just stared at the table and said nothing. “Falling in love,” the doctor said. “It’s like being surrounded by mist. You are lost, you can’t see beyond her but mind you, it is bee-u-ti-ful. But sometimes it fogs the mind. It traps you when you need to move on. That’s where I come in.” He was beginning to wonder if this was all a mistake. This Beck guy was creepy and even worse, philosophical. “I know you have read the documentation on the procedure and are aware of the consequences but I will repeat them anyway.” He noticed his patient’s expression and added, “I’ll try to be concise.” “As instructed you have brought all photographs, gifts and other items that have anything to do with your relationship. Sure you haven’t missed anything?” He shook his head. “All these items will be destroyed before we begin with the procedure. Are you comfortable with that?” He hesitated, and then nodded. “Now that that’s out of the way you will be anaesthetized and this helmet will be strapped onto your head. We will then be able to monitor your memories using our machine, which is operated by my assistants next door. The machine stimulates the hippocampus in your brain using small electrical pulses. The brain reacts by emitting certain signals which we capture using the helmet sensors and interpret it letting us access and decipher your episodic memory, part of long term memory. We can then—” “Doc, could you talk in English?” Dr. Beck laughed. “Alright, alright! To put it simply, the most recent long term memories will be accessed, sorted and the ones to do with your girlfriend will be erased. We will also erase the memory of this procedure so you do not recall the fact that you have erased someone. You will be directly shifted to your house, the address you provided on the form. You will wake up there. And of course, you will remember everything except her and this session.” He paused for effect and then said, “Any queries?” “All my friends and hers know about our relationship. What if they talk to me about her?” “No, you won’t recall her, but you will recall you were in a failed relationship. You will tell them you broke up, because that’s all you know. No big deal. You won’t remember the details… it’s the details that cause pain and heartbreak.” “Why did I get the call?” “Standard procedure; if one partner erases the other, the other partner is informed and offered to do the same.” There was a beat of silence. “Let us begin then. You will have to sign these papers now.” He sat on the chair and the helmet was strapped to his head. Dr. Beck injected a fluid through a vein in his left arm and the room slowly darkened until there was only one color. Black. *** SIX MONTHS LATER The park bench along the jogging trail was surrounded by morning mist. He sat on the right end of the bench and she on the left. There was something familiar about her, he thought—Déjà vu. Their eyes met. He somehow knew those hazel eyes. “Hello.” “Hello.” |
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| Out Of The Mist Ken Staley kstaley@gmail.com |
#11 of
12 Winner |
| 2193 words | |
| “G’day mate,” Archie said, his voice as
clear as anything Darrell had heard over the last two days, which wasn’t
saying a great deal. “How are things in the land of the giant PX?”
“About the same, Arch,” Darrell replied. “How’re things down under?” “No change here,” Archie replied, then put his glasses on as he picked up a piece of paper and examined it. Straight into the business at hand while they still could. “We want to know when you first started noticing this haze.” “Haze?” It took Darrell a moment. “Oh…we call it ‘the mist’ here. Dunno, we’re trying to track it down now using old television weather reports. First thing anyone noticed here was some rather spectacular sunsets. Sunsets worth the media commenting about started a week ago as near as we can determine.” “Yeah, right,” Arch nodded in agreement, looking off screen. “As near as we can tell, about two weeks ago someone hear asked if there was a late season fire. We get the same bloody sunsets when the fires in the south kick up every summer. At least we can measure that bloody smoke!” “Sounds about right,” Darrell nodded. “What else do you hear?” “Talked to Wu in Shanghai just yesterday,” Archie said. “Same story there, although he isn’t sure the mist is the problem.” “As much crap as they keep dumping into the air, it might be difficult to tell,” Darrell said. “Too bloody right. Can’t get any sort of reading on the composition, either,” Arch nodded, then his image started to shatter on the screen like a jig saw puzzle. “Looks like our five minutes are about up, mate.” His voice faded in and out like a old transistor radio too far away from the music source. “Try again later today. If not see ya tomorrow, with luck!” “G’day Arch,” Darrell felt his voice raise involuntarily as though yelling fourteen thousand miles could compensate for failing electronics. He disconnected from Skype and scanned the data coming in from the local weather source and NOAA. Like most, he tended to dismiss the gathering mist as nothing more than particulate tossed into the upper atmosphere by a forest fire or perhaps a large local fire. Only later, when news carried no such reports of large fires, Darrell started probing its origins. Several calls later, some with more success, a few completely crazy, offered no clearer picture. Whatever the mist was, it settled on land and sea, as far as he could tell, world wide. Everything had mass. Every substance he knew. Certainly fog – water vapor - had mass, and weight, and density. Freon, ozone, natural gas , smoke even light carried measurable particulate. But this – mist – defied everything. It simply was. He leaned back against his chair, closed his eyes and let his mind float. Such mental wanderings often provided clarity in amazing ways. Al Davis cleared his throat nosily as sauntered up to Darrell’s desk. “Well?” Darrell asked without opening his eyes. “Well, you can call Aunt Louise in Atlanta, but you’re just as likely to get Argentina,” Al said. “Cell phones are spotty at best. Text messages will end up in who knows where. Land lines are no better. Place a call to NOAA and you’re just as likely to get Nome, Alaska.” “I just talked to Archie in Sydney. We had a good five minutes before musical chairs begin. What else?” Darrell asked as he swiftly pulled himself back together. “Email and internet connections are as tricky as anything else. Your encrypted bank account is just as likely to end up in Aunt Edna’s recipe file as at the local branch. NOAA is clueless and wants answers from us. Not that we can supply them with much, given the connection problems. I saw one of their flyers and it looks like they’re trying every other lab and palm reader they can get in touch with.” “NASA?” “Another mystery,” Al said. “All the pictures from space so far are nil.” “What does that mean?” “It means that whatever this mist is cannot be seen from space on any spectrum you choose.” “That’s impossible.” “So we told them, but the images we they show otherwise,” Al sighed. “We had a live feed from the space station for almost 10 minutes. Given the strange things happening with communication, it’s remotely possible that those images changed.” “Let me see if I get this right,” Darrell said as he leaned forward. “That suggests that some sort of intelligence, working through a medium that so far does not exist, can actually manipulate any type of image taken for identification purposes so that the results are simply – what – nil?” “Homeland Security declared a high priority emergency ten minutes ago,” Al said. “All except military and emergency air flight is grounded.” Darrell swiveled in his chair and stared out the window. The mist seemed to thicken even as he watched. He’d lived in the city all his life. He knew – or thought he knew - the area between his apartment and the lab intimately. Each shop, each alley, each pot hole – where a friendly greeting waited – where a taciturn news stand vendor hunkered every morning. On fresh spring mornings, on crisp fall mornings, he enjoyed the 30 minute walk from his office home, often stopping to chat with this store owner, or purchase a cup of coffee on those cold mornings. His brisk walk today turned into a nightmarish slow motion crawl. Overnight, the gentle, sunset staining haze settled to ground level, thickening as it came. It wasn’t mist though, no dampness, no measurable water vapor – another complete anomaly. “Did you calibrate?” He asked as he scanned the results Al handed him, knowing the answer before Al spoke. “Each time,” Al said. “Even changed machines after the third test and calibrated that one, too. There just isn’t anything there to measure.” “Even the cleanest air in the world carries a modicum of measurable water vapor. Most carry measurable particulate,” he said aloud shaking his head, vocalizing the unnecessary. Al knew this stuff as well as he did as well as any chem student knew. These tests were really basic chemistry – freshman lab level stuff. “One hundred samples gathered from one hundred different sites around this globe will clearly show some water vapor. Where did you take these?” Nothing out of the ordinary appeared in the written results, nothing they wouldn’t have found on any other normal day. “We’re kind of limited here,” Al said. “On the roof, the first half dozen. Then out the lab window for the next six as we calibrated every machine. Those last six came from the parking lot. We got reports from Singapore, from London, from Madrid, from Sao Palo, Buenos Aires, Tel Aviv, Moscow – more than 100. As closely as we can tell from scanning just the preliminary data, those who measured found nothing. Not one damned thing. Looks like most of them are just like us though, caught off guard and taking samples nearby rather than further afield.” From his seventh floor window, he watched as the world disappeared. Once offering an acceptable view of the city, now his window resembled more of an impressionistic water color of his surrounding world. Looking up offered no sky, only light grey. “Growing denser,” Al noted. “Even ten minutes ago you could see at least half a mile. Now it’s down to less than a quarter mile.” “When did you take the last measurement?” Darrell asked. “Half an hour ago,” Al shrugged. “Maybe a bit more.” Carol Walker poked her head in and announced she was leaving. “I’m going home while I still can,” she said, “before the trains and cabs stop running altogether.” “A bit early in the day isn’t it?” Darrell asked. “We could use your help here.” “Oh, I can’t add anything to this,” she waved him away. “I suspect nothing you or anyone else in the world can do will identify this, much less change it.” She set down her things on an empty chair and walked closer to the window, reaching out as though she might touch the mist through the glass. As the mist thickened, fear of a more primal nature gripped seeped into the room – fear that no one was willing to vocalize or even admit. “You have an idea?” Darrell asked lightly as he raised an eyebrow to Al. Carol was the resident high priestess of nature, constantly armed with doom and gloom pamphlets from one crackpot environmental group or another. If she wasn’t one of the leading environmental chemists in the world, he’d have canned her long ago. Recently, she’d worked far too close to radical fringe elements for his comfort and he wondered if she hadn’t slipped her moorings a bit. “A theory you’d care to share?” “None,” she said. “None necessary. Mother is simply calling a halt.” “Come again? Calling a halt to what?” “Everything, of course,” she replied without turning from the window. “It really is quite lovely.” “Who is calling a halt to what?” “Mother nature,” she said without embarrassment. “C’mon, Darrell, you’ve been at this for what? Twenty years? More?” Somewhere down below sirens rose from the street, their harsh wails muffled by the mist. “You know the science better than almost anyone alive,” she continued. “You’ve tried to convince our government for the last decade that its environmental policies were nothing more than a really feeble joke. What drove you?” “You’re serious?” Darrell asked. “What drove me?” What drives us all?” “This really shouldn’t come as any surprise to you,” she sounded reproving, accusatory almost, as though he knew the answer but was afraid to vocalize it. “You told the United Nations conference not long ago that the planet wouldn’t sit still for our abuse much longer. They laughed at you. Do you remember the newspapers? The editorials? I think this mist is the planet answering,” she waved a sweeping arm at the window, as though to reach out and embrace all of the mist. “Think about it. I know you have to have considered the possibilities before this, but how many naturally occurring phenomena do you know that encompass the entire globe like this?” “Volcano,” he said without hesitation. “St. Helens.” “Northern hemisphere,” she dismissed his reply just as quickly. “And limited at that.” “Krakatoa – ash circled the entire globe. Dropped temperatures around the world by measurable amounts even for those times. The blast could be heard for thousands of miles,” Al said. “1816, Mt. Tambora eruption – year without a summer.” “Looks like mother is ringing down the final curtain,” Carol added. “You can’t be serious,” Darrell wanted to wave away such nonsense. Clearly a delusional theory of one of her out-there groups. But somehow, deep inside, he couldn’t dismiss Carol completely out of hand. She was too intelligent to fall for any real fable. “Explain it away then,” Carol said as she crossed to the chair and gathered her stuff. “You’ll try, I know you. Just don’t get trapped her. Within a few days, even walking outside is going to be very difficult.” She nodded toward the window as a fresh series of sirens broke the hushed quiet the mist imposed. “Light rail is suspended,” Al said as he hung up his cell phone. “Too many people using the tracks as a guide marker. Local police report over 200 collisions in the last hour. The mayor wants to shut down the city.” “He might just as well wait,” Carol said from the door. “Mother is taking care of that.” “How long you figure?” Al asked. “As long as it takes Mother to recover,” Carol said. “A year? Five? A decade?” “But…” “Everything will stop,” Carol predicted. “Transportation, shipping – all of it – just stop. Mother needs a rest, a break from the tortures of mankind.” “Necessity is the mother of invention,” Darrell said from his desk. “Where the need is greatest, mankind has always found a way. The indomitable spirit of mankind will not be denied.” “Until now,” Carol said as she turned to leave. “Just remember, ‘There are more things in heaven and earth, Darrell, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.” They stared at the door when she left, the mist growing thicker behind them. “I’d get home as soon as I could,” she called. Even her voice seemed muffled. “You’re much more likely to survive there. Just don’t forget to say good night to your Mother tonight.” |
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| Out Of The Mist Linda Meier lins.writing@yahoo.com |
#12 of
12 Runner-up |
| 2417 words | |
| Thickening tendrils of Fog drifted over the interstate
as Cara drove down the causeway. Mist boiling across the road became so dense
she couldn’t see more than ten yards ahead. At the center of the causeway
was a rest stop with a lookout tower offering a view of both sides of the lake
weather permitting. She parked her car in the lot and got out. “Cara, what are you doing? Why are you stopping? We’ll be late for work.” “We left early enough to give us a little extra time. I can’t see where I’m going anyway. Come on, Amanda, aren’t you in the least bit curious what’s out there?” “No. I already know it's a lake, a large deep lake with thick fog all around. And what makes you think you’ll be able to see anything from the shore if you can’t see it from the road?” “I think it’s thicker over the causeway, look towards the lake. Isn’t it beautiful? Watch the mist it seems like it’s rising and curling up in large strands.” “I... oh, all right, but not for long.” They walked about fifteen feet and the vapor silently lifted like a window shade in front of them. The sun peeking through the trees behind them made long slender shadows touch the water’s edge while the fog still billowed over the road. They stood quietly seeing almost halfway across the water, which appeared clear and smooth as glass without reflections. “Cara, I don’t like this, it’s creepy. Listen.” “I don’t hear anything.” “That’s it, nothing. No traffic, no birds, no bugs, nothing. Let’s go. We’ll be late for work,” she said turning back to the car. “Mandy don’t be silly. Just breathe. Smell the fresh scent of the early morning dew mingling with the firs. I know I’ve been here before, I know I have. In a minute, we’ll see a gray haired old man in a small boat fishing. See, I told you.” Cara pointed. Amanda turned and looked out over the water. “How did you know that? Who is he?” “I don’t know how I knew I just, I... felt it. I have no idea who he is but I knew he’d show up. He’s going to tell us we have to go with him. You must come too.” The man put down his pole and started to row towards them. The closer he came the more the fog closed in behind him as if he were dragging it. “Cara, the boat has no reflection,” she whispered. “Nonsense, it’s just an optical illusion caused by fog.. Where’s your adventuresome spirit?” She turned towards the man and waved. “Hi. We stopped to see the view from the lookout. Sometimes I see strange, beautiful creatures form and dance in the mist, well not real ones. Ones I only imagine,” Cara babbled on as Mandy started backing away from the edge. He pulled up to shore and without speaking, beckoned them to enter the boat. Amanda shook her head. “No, we can’t, we have to work. Come on Cara let’s go. It’s almost six... hey my watch stopped.” “Mine stopped too. It must be the damp air; mine has moisture in it. It’s okay. We won’t need time where we’re going. Don’t be a poop. You’re usually the one looking to take on a new quest. Come on. Just a short ride. You didn‘t really want to go to work did you?” “It would be nice to have a day off, but we can’t see anything. What do you mean we won’t need time where we’re going?" The man turned and looked behind him. Raising his right hand, he made a quick slicing motion and the mist parted forming a long clear corridor. “Let’s leave now,” murmured, Mandy. “This is weird and I don’t want to be part of it.” “Mandy. Yes, this is mysterious but I know we’re both supposed to go with him. Don’t ask how I know, please just come along. I promise nothing will happen that shouldn’t, trust me,” Cara whispered. “Why do I have to come? This is too eerie and you’re creeping me out. I’m thinking I see things floating out of the mist too.” “Please come,” the old man said. “Jolash sent for you, I will take you to him.” His voice was deep but gentle and his eyes were sparkling pools of blue edged with tiny sad lines at the corners. Reaching forward, he took Cara’s hand as she stepped into the boat. “He does remind me of grandpa, maybe just for a little while,” Mandy said and got in. Sitting in the bow of the boat, Cara saw a clear path ahead. She turned and looked behind them and the passageway seemed to close as it did when he made his way toward shore. The oars cut through the water without sound and still no reflections were evident. They continued silently across and Mandy squirmed. “Let’s go back…” Mandy started to whisper. but Cara silenced her with a finger to her lips. The clouds were low, skimming the tops of their heads, giving the illusion they were racing through a wind tunnel without any wind, or sound. “Go back to where? There is only here and forward, watch for the red Gipe,” said a very soft male voice. Mandy wasn’t sure if it was in her mind or if she actually heard it. Then something small and red darted in front of them and the fog disappeared. They could see a wharf teaming with activity. Behind them lay an open sea. The closer they came, the more they realized they weren’t going to make it to work. Instead of the highway or fields, it was a small town nestled in foothills. “Don’t worry, Mandy, I’ve been here before. I don’t know how, when or why, but I’ve been here. If I was here, I must know how to return. Right?” “I guess so but this sure is creepy. Did you hear that voice before the fog lifted?” “Yes, I think it was the guy you see standing on the dock,” said Cara. “This is Sahsie. He will take you to Jolash. Don’t worry, Jolash will explain everything,” said the old man as they stepped from the boat. Sahsie greeted them with a warm smile. His six-foot stature was all muscle and every inch of skin had a rich, dark tan. His disheveled, sandy blond hair, added to his rugged appearance. “This place can’t be all bad if their men look like that.” Mandy sniggered. “He’s a Freeun,” Cara paused a moment. “Now how did I know that, and what’s a Freeun?” “Cara, if you don’t know how should I know?” They were walking through what appeared to be a very old part of town. The streets were cobblestone and the houses were brick. It looked like something from the 1800’s. Gas lamps lined the streets with horse drawn wagons tied haphazardly. The men wore western clothes, including hats and boots and the women wore long dresses with bustles and carried parasols. “I don’t think we’re going to fit in very well here,” Mandy said barely above a whisper. “The Freeun… people, here can’t see you. You’re out of sync,” replied Sahsie as he stopped in front of a huge red brick house. “Go in and sit down. Jolash will be with you shortly.” He turned and proceeded down a stone walkway around the building. “Well, what do you think? Do we go in like he said, or try to find our own way back?” asked Mandy a bit sarcastically. “I’ve told you not to worry. I’ve been here before. Jolash is the one we came to see,” Cara said confidently walking up the stairs. The entry hall had a small platform with a row of assorted shoes on it.. A plaque above it simply stated SHOES. Cara slipped off her sandals. “Why do we have to take off our shoes?” Mandy asked with a pout. “It’s something we do, Mandy. Do you have to question everything?” “It doesn’t matter I’ll take them off it looks like everything is exceptionally cleaner than my shoes.” The hall opened into a large circular room with doors all around. In the center was a ring-shaped black marble bench, contrasting with the walls and floors of white. The ceiling had a strange window. It appeared to be a prism sending a rainbow of color shimmering throughout the room. Since no one came to greet them when they entered, they sat down to wait as instructed. “Cara, do you have any idea who this Jolash is?” “No, not exactly, but he’ll be here. I can hear him coming.” “I don’t hear any...” The door directly in front of them opened and in walked a tall, athletic man of about forty. He wore a wild colored beach shirt and swimming trunks. “Hello, sorry to have kept you waiting. I’m Jolash. Please follow me, we’ll start immediately.” His voice was deep, authoritarian, tinged with a kind-hearted tone. “Wait a minute. I want to know what this is all about. Where I am and what am I doing here, for starters,” Mandy snapped. “Amanda! Don’t talk to Jolash like that.” “It’s all right, Cara, she isn’t from here and doesn’t recognize our ways. Please be patient and come with me.” Cara followed him to the next room with Mandy close behind. The floor, carpeted with a very dense green rug, almost like artificial turf, felt good after the walk through town on cobblestones. On each wall were murals that stretched from ceiling to floor, ranging from desert scenes to seascapes.. Each one framed as a window, and appeared as such. There were chairs and a long table filled with a feast in the middle of the room. Jolash motioned for them to sit. “Sir, I’m sorry for being rude before and I don’t mean to sound stupid but where are we? Will we be here long?” Mandy ask. “You’re in Filanche and will stay as long as you want or are needed. Cara knows that. Don’t you?” “Yes... I know I’ve been here before and that I know you, but everything seems a bit unclear. Why did I come back?” “Everyone leaves when it’s their time. You have the ability to come and go as you please. It’s only when the red Gipe summons you that it takes a while to become, shall we say ‘acclimated’ again. Don’t worry; your memory will come back. The Freeun need you, the future is at risk if you don’t help.” “Please eat, both of you, then Sahsie will take you to your room to rest and give you a chance to complete your adjusting to Filanche,” Jolash said patting her shoulder. Cara nibbled at the food but wasn’t hungry. Mandy did the same.. Sahsie guided them to a large room containing a small table, a desk with chairs and two beds. They changed into the sarongs left on their beds and slid under the covers. Within a minute, Cara started dreaming. She was back on shore by the lake that led to Filanche. The fog, light at the shoreline, increased in density towards the middle. While watching the thickest fog, she witnessed graceful creatures with long necks and tails, take form, dance and stretch in the surrounding mist. Each took on color as they materialized, becoming sparkling azure, brilliant crimson and deep ebony shapes. As the azure reared, large wings sprouted from his back. The same happened to the crimson and black creatures. Gradually the beasts became elegant dragons of crimson, azure and ebony. The black had golden eyes that pierced the fog and as he rose, they seemed to draw darkness from the depths of the lake. The azure’s eyes were pools of blue intensifying in color as if pulling sapphires from the heavens; the crimson’s eyes were multifaceted rubies sparkling in the sun. The black one came closer to shore and a hissing sound could be heard. This seemed to infuriate the azure and crimson dragons and they reared up facing him. Out of the atmosphere, clouds grew, first, puffy popcorn white but increasing to boil into dark, ominous thunderheads forming a large maelstrom. The hissing increased to an earsplitting level. All three took to the sky with fluid motion, rising towards the whirlpool. Thunder crashed and lightning blasted between clouds as the dragons spewed fire into the churning mass.. The Freeun on shore ran haphazardly for cover. On the dock stood Jolash, his hair was silver; his face had the glow of omnipotence. Lifting his right arm, he drew a spell in the air, and the azure dragon flew to him. He perched himself on the blue beast and soared into the heavens. Cara woke with a start; the dream seemed etched on her mind, seared in her memory. Every detail replayed while she dressed and returned to the main mural room. She stood in the empty room in front of the Desert View feeling the heat permeate the area directly in front of it. The heat rose in radiating bands and in the distance, she saw graceful creatures dancing similar to the ones formed by the mist. She turned and walked to the Jungle View, concentrating on the waterfall off to the right. A mist rose assuming the shape of a fog creature. Above the rumble of water, a hissing grew and the beast began to solidify. “You have the power to transform creatures out of the mist.” “Jolash, you startled me! I dreamt of creatures of fog changing to dragons. Drawn here, I stared into each View and saw the creatures form. What changed them to dragons?” “The power to change them is within you. Don’t you feel a surge when the creatures form increasing the power within you?” “Yes, but I don’t know what to do with it. In my dream, you were there and mounted the azure dragon, and I woke. Help me remember what to do.” “Enter the Desert View, from there journey to the lair of the crimson dragon,” Jolash said. Cara stood in front of the Desert View. Stepping over the threshold she felt the hot, dry air sting her lungs. The sun, almost directly overhead beat mercilessly. Slowly she increased her gait and in the distance, a glimmer appeared which seemed to rise and fall with each labored breath she took. This became a hill rapidly growing into a scarlet mountain with a cave at its base. Mottled red sand as if stained with blood from a great battle swirled from the cavity appearing as a mist. “The cave of my crimson dragon,” Cara whispered. Then in a loud voice, she summoned him. “Sacred anointing needs God’s unmistaken inborn nexus to eternal life. Sanguine, out of the mist come forth!” |
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"You're Too Loose"
The Aspiring Editors Club