Leading The Fog
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I was just a kid when I first heard of the fog. It came from an old woman who lived in the forest, and she told me that it had been there since long before her time—since before anyone could remember, really.
She said that if you got lost out on those dark roads at night, then you’d better pray to whatever gods might be listening for help because there would be no one coming after you to save your soul. That’s what they call the fog now: “the fog.” But back then it wasn’t called anything, not even by people like my grandmother.
The story goes that once upon a time, many years ago (or so the old lady claimed), there were these two brothers named John and Thomas who went off into the woods with their father, looking for mushrooms or berries or something.
They never returned home. Some folks say that they saw them being led away by demons, but nobody knows how true any of this is anymore.
All we do know is that the next day everyone found their houses deserted, except for all of the things left behind—clothes still hanging in closets, food sitting on tables waiting to be eaten, children playing outside unaware that their parents had vanished without a trace.
And every year afterward, whenever the weather turned cold, strange lights appeared over certain parts of town. No one knew where they came from or why they stayed only for a short while each night. Then the lights would disappear, leaving nothing more than empty air as proof that they ever existed.
Everyone thought they must have been caused by some kind of natural phenomenon, though none of us understood exactly what that meant.
Then a few months later, another family disappeared—this time a whole bunch of kids from a single neighborhood. Again, their homes remained untouched, and again, there was nothing left inside to suggest that anyone had gone missing.
People started talking about the fog, wondering whether it could somehow cause someone to simply vanish right out of thin air. We didn’t think much of the idea, especially since no one had seen anything resembling a creature lurking around our own neighborhoods yet.
Still, rumors spread quickly among the townsfolk, and soon enough everyone had begun to believe that the fog was responsible for all of these mysterious disappearances.
“It comes down from the mountains,” my grandma used to tell me. “And wherever it touches the ground, evil follows close behind.”
Of course, I always wondered how she could possibly know such a thing; maybe she just made up the stories herself to scare me straight. But then I remembered hearing other tales from her, ones that weren’t quite as fantastical but were just as scary nonetheless.
Stories about the men who roamed the dark alleys alone at night, about the black-clad strangers who haunted the streets and alleyways, and about the creatures that lurked in the shadows, watching and waiting for their prey. These were the stories Grandma told me when I asked her what monsters lived under the bed or in the closet.
So perhaps the truth isn’t too far removed from the fanciful lies that Grandma spun for me. Maybe the fog does come from the mountains after all—but maybe it also brings with it the darker side of human nature, too.
***
A man stepped out onto the street, his eyes fixed on the fog swirling past him. He moved slowly, deliberately, as if he wanted to savor every moment of his journey, even though the fog itself seemed determined to take everything from him before it let him go.
His face was hidden beneath a hooded cloak, and although I couldn’t see his features, I sensed that he wore a scowl on it—a look of anger at the world in general but especially directed toward himself.
He walked along the road leading into town until he reached a small clearing surrounded by trees. There, he stopped, turning to stare up into the gray sky. A light rain began to fall, soaking through his clothes and chilling the skin underneath.
But the stranger paid little attention to either of these sensations. Instead, he pulled his hood tighter against the wind, drawing it low across his brows, obscuring most of his expression.
His gaze fell upon the house standing just beyond the tree line, its windows glowing softly within the gloom. This was where he needed to go. Not only did this building hold the answers that he sought, but it was also the place where he had last seen his daughter alive.
The man’s thoughts drifted back to the day when he’d discovered her lifeless body lying on the floor of her bedroom. The police had said that she had died suddenly, choking on her own blood. She had suffered an accident involving a broken bottle of cough syrup, according to them.
But the man knew better. He had known immediately that the girl hadn’t choked on any foreign substance. That wasn’t how she had met her end. Her throat had been slit open from ear to ear, and the wound had been inflicted with surgical precision. Someone had killed her, and whoever that person might have been, the murderer had done so with malice aforethought.
The stranger stood motionless for several minutes, staring at the house while the rain continued to pour down. It was a large structure, built of rough-hewn logs and covered by a roof made of thick shingles. Although it looked like an ordinary dwelling, there was something eerie about the way it loomed over the surrounding forest.
In fact, I felt a bit uneasy myself now, sensing that the darkness pressing against my back was not entirely friendly. As I watched, the stranger took two steps forward, moving away from the shelter of the trees and closer to the house. Then he raised his hand and knocked firmly on the front door.
I heard footsteps approach from within, followed by the sound of bolts being drawn back. The doorknob turned, and the door swung outward, revealing the silhouette of a woman standing in the doorway.
Though her face was shrouded in shadow, I could still make out her shape: tall and slender with long hair tied back in a ponytail. At first glance, I thought she must be quite young, but as she drew nearer, it became clear that she was older than she appeared.
Her features were sharp and angular, her complexion pale, and yet there was a beauty about her nevertheless. Like the man, she wore a thin white robe, one that draped loosely around her frame without concealing much else.
She smiled warmly as she stepped aside and gestured for the man to enter. With no hesitation, he went inside and closed the door behind him.
The interior of the cabin was dim, lit only by a single lamp sitting beside the front door. When the man approached it, he saw that it burned with a bright flame, casting a flickering glow throughout the room. He paused for a moment, glancing quickly around.
Everything was quiet here, nothing more than a few pieces of furniture scattered haphazardly across the floor. A wooden table sat near the window, and next to it rested a pair of chairs positioned opposite each other on either side of a small fireplace.
On top of the mantel above the firebox hung a painting depicting a snowy landscape, the snow piled high in the foreground but melting rapidly in the distance. Several potted plants lay strewn across the ground nearby; their roots protruded from holes cut into the soil, reaching upward toward the ceiling in search of sunlight.
“Welcome,” said the woman. “Please, sit.”
The stranger nodded silently and sank into one of the seats, pulling off his wet boots before setting them neatly alongside the chair. After taking a seat himself, he glanced briefly at the painting hanging on the wall. It depicted a scene similar to the one outside.
Only instead of snow, the mountains were blanketed in dense fog. The sky was dark and brooding overhead, while below, a river ran swiftly between towering cliffs.
It all reminded me of some kind of fairy tale or fable. But then again, what did I know? Perhaps such things really existed somewhere deep inside the woodlands. And perhaps they weren’t so different from us after all…
After studying the picture for a time, the man reached up and switched off the lamp. Now the entire room was bathed in darkness, save for the faint light radiating from the crackling flames of the hearth. Even though it was cold inside the cabin, there was a cozy warmth emanating from the fireplace. If anything, it seemed almost inviting.
“I’m sorry if we disturbed you,” said the woman. “We didn’t mean to intrude.”
Her voice was soft and pleasant, with a hint of musicality. Despite its soothing timbre, however, there was also something strange about it—something unsettling, even. I couldn’t put my finger on exactly why, but I found myself growing increasingly uncomfortable whenever she spoke. Something told me that this was not going to be your average visit.
Then again, maybe it wouldn’t matter anyway. Maybe whatever happened tonight would happen regardless of whether I stayed or left. Either way, I was just another guest who needed to pay his bill.
“No need to apologize,” replied the man as he removed his coat and set it carefully on a hook mounted above the door. “I don’t mind at all.”
He folded his arms and leaned back in his chair as he waited for the woman to speak. She remained silent for a moment longer, watching him closely, until finally, she broke the silence herself.
“My name is Alice,” she began. “And yours?”
“John.”
Alice nodded slowly, then shifted uncomfortably in her seat. For some reason, she kept looking down at her hands, as if she had suddenly forgotten how to use them. Eventually, she looked up again, meeting John’s eyes directly once more.
“You’re an adventurer, aren’t you?” she asked. “A traveler like me.”
As soon as she finished speaking, she rose abruptly from her seat, moving over to stand before the fireplace. There was a sudden flurry of activity as she lifted several logs from the fire and placed them on the floor. Then she returned to her seat and crossed her legs beneath the table, leaning forward expectantly.
“Well?” she prompted. “Are you, or are you not?”
“Of course I am,” answered John without missing a beat. “What do you think I’ve been doing since I got here?”
“I see…” said Alice softly. Her brow furrowed slightly, and for a brief instant, I thought I could detect a trace of fear in her gaze.
But that must have just been my imagination. Surely she wasn’t afraid of this man standing right in front of her!
Still, I felt compelled to say something. So when she turned away from me, I cleared my throat loudly and addressed her in a clear voice:
“Excuse me, ma’am. Are you all right? You seem very pale.”
When I spoke, Alice shot me a withering glare. Apparently, she hadn’t realized I was still present.
“Why should that surprise you?” she snapped bitterly. “I suppose it shouldn’t come as much of a shock, considering everything else I’ve seen today. But what can one expect from someone who dares to call themselves a hero, yet never lifts a hand against anyone?”
She paused momentarily, as though waiting for John to respond, but he simply stared straight ahead, refusing to meet her eye. His expression was calm and impassive; no anger showed upon his face. As far as I could tell, he was completely unruffled by the woman’s outburst.
“That’s quite enough,” came a new voice. This time it belonged to the man seated beside John. He stood up smoothly and walked across the room toward where Alice sat. With a single sweeping gesture, he swept aside the heavy curtains covering the window and pulled open the shutters.
A fresh gust of wind rushed into the room, blowing the candle out and plunging us both into darkness. The only light now was coming from the flickering embers of the fireplace behind me.
The man stepped closer to me and peered intently through the gloom. When our eyes met, I saw that he was blue-gray, like those of a wolf. Yet unlike their color, they shone brightly, almost fiercely. It was hard to imagine that any living thing could possess eyes that vivid.
And as he watched me curiously, I noticed that his pupils weren’t circular at all, but rather resembled two tiny slits. They reminded me of a cat.
This man… looks familiar somehow.
I glanced quickly around the cabin, taking note of each and every detail. After a few moments, I remembered: this was the same fellow who had greeted me earlier. I’d assumed that he worked at the inn, but apparently not. In fact, judging from his attire and demeanor, I suspected he might actually live in the building.
His clothing was well made—not cheap, but neither did it look like it had been tailored specifically for him. Instead, it appeared to be part of a uniform belonging to some sort of organization. At first glance, it seemed to consist primarily of dark pants and long-sleeved shirts, with a pair of gloves tucked inside his belt and a large sword hanging from his hip.
But the outfit was far too elaborate to belong to a common soldier, so I couldn’t help wondering exactly what kind of establishment this man represented.
“Who are you?” demanded Alice sharply. Despite her words, however, there didn’t appear to be anything particularly hostile about her tone. Perhaps she really was just curious after all. Or perhaps she was merely trying to put John off balance. Whatever the case may have been, her question clearly caught the man by surprise.
For a moment, he hesitated, then finally shook his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t believe we’ve ever met.”
“We haven’t!” exclaimed Alice. She looked genuinely perplexed now, her expression softening somewhat as she regarded the man. “Then how do you know my name?”
“Perhaps because your friend has already told me it.” He smiled gently. “And if that isn’t reason enough, consider that you’ve been staring at me the entire time we’ve been talking. I would assume that means you recognize me.”
Alice frowned again, but this time she kept her mouth closed tightly, as though she was determined to avoid saying another word until he responded.
John, meanwhile, continued to stare straight ahead, seemingly oblivious to the conversation unfolding before him.
Finally, the man sighed heavily. “If you insist on making such an obvious point, Miss, then I’ll admit defeat. Yes, I’m aware of your identity. That doesn’t mean I understand why you’re wearing that ridiculous mask, however.”
He gestured toward the hood hiding Alice’s features, which remained firmly in place despite her best efforts to remove it. Then, turning back to me once more, he added:
“You see, Master Mathers, I’m afraid I must apologize for my companion here. We’ve known each other most of our lives, and while we get along fairly well, even I have to admit that she can sometimes be difficult to deal with. Especially when she’s angry…”
At that last remark, the man gave me a brief smile. It took all my willpower not to turn and run out the door as fast as possible, leaving Alice behind without another word. But unfortunately for her, I wasn’t going anywhere, and I knew it. So instead, I forced myself to remain standing still as I studied the man carefully.
What is this guy doing here? Is he with them…?
As much as I wanted to ask these questions aloud, I decided against it. My plan was to keep things as simple and straightforward as possible. If I let my curiosity get the better of me now, however, I wouldn’t be able to resist asking any number of additional questions later on.
And since I didn’t want to give away any information prematurely, I resolved to hold off on further inquiries until the appropriate time presented itself.
Instead, I focused my attention on John, whose silence spoke volumes. What are you up to, old chap?
It wasn’t like me to be so suspicious. Usually, I never questioned anyone unless I absolutely had to. But given the circumstances surrounding my current predicament, I felt justified in being extra careful. Besides, there were several reasons why I should probably start getting used to this sort of behavior.
Not only did I suspect that I’d soon be working alongside the man himself, but I also had no doubt whatsoever that he’d eventually discover my secret. Sooner or later, he was bound to find out about my condition, and when he did, there was nothing I could do to stop him from revealing everything to everyone else.
Still, there was one thing that troubled me greatly about this particular situation. The man sitting next to me was undeniably strange, but there was something about him that simply didn’t seem right. Something about his mannerisms, or maybe his voice…or both. Either way, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I hadn’t seen him somewhere before.
But where?
The longer I stared at the stranger, the harder it became to recall anything specific. After all, I’d spent years traveling around the world with my parents before they died, and it was impossible for me to remember every single person I encountered during those travels.
Still, if I had to guess, I would have said that the man reminded me of someone who’d once visited our home many years ago.
In fact, I was almost certain of it!
“Are you sure you two know each other?” asked Alice curiously. Her tone sounded less accusatory than usual, although I still doubted very much whether she actually believed what she was saying.
She knows too much, I thought grimly. Which means she might end up betraying us sooner rather than later.
“Of course we do,” replied the man. “Although I have to say, I’m surprised you haven’t recognized me yet. You seemed pretty eager to meet me earlier.”
His statement made sense, and I quickly realized that he was referring to the day we first arrived in London. At the time, I was under the impression that the woman standing beside him—the one holding his hand and leading him through the crowd—was Alice’s mother, Mrs. White.
However, based on how much older she appeared compared to him, I assumed that Mr. White must have been born sometime after her death.
I was wrong, though.
“Wait just a moment!” shouted Alice suddenly as she stepped forward. “That’s my father you’re talking about! Who are you?”
Mr. White looked over at Alice with a puzzled expression before replying:
“Your father? Why would you think that?”
“Because he looks exactly like you! He has the same hair color, the same eyes…and that’s not all. His voice sounds familiar too—”
Alice stopped abruptly as the man held up a hand to silence her. Then, looking directly into my eyes, he asked:
“…Master Mathers? Have we met somewhere before?”
“No,” I replied honestly. Although I was tempted to tell him the truth, I decided against it. For some reason, I couldn’t bring myself to lie to the man. In fact, I found his question to be somewhat unsettling. Wasn’t he supposed to be dead by now?
Then again, if he really was alive, then perhaps his appearance had changed somehow. Maybe he’d gotten married, or maybe he’d undergone some kind of surgery that allowed him to look younger than he truly was. There was any number of possibilities. All I knew for sure was that he definitely didn’t resemble the man I remembered. That much was obvious.
After a few moments’ pause, Mr. White turned back toward Alice.
“Well, Miss Holmes, what do you make of that?” he inquired casually.
“Nothing good, I imagine,” responded Alice flatly. She continued staring straight ahead, refusing to acknowledge either of us.
A short while later, we finally reached the main entrance to the hotel. As we walked past the front desk, I overheard the clerk informing another guest about an upcoming special event taking place in their ballroom. According to him, it involved “the most famous detective in England”—a reference to Sherlock Holmes, of course.
As far as I was concerned, this claim proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the man standing next to me was indeed the famed master sleuth himself. Unfortunately, however, there was still one more mystery to solve before I could confirm my suspicions. Namely, why had Mr. White shown such interest in meeting me?
***
Once we entered the hotel lobby, Mr. White immediately headed off toward the staircase that led down to the lower floors. Meanwhile, Alice remained standing beside me, clearly reluctant to follow.
“Where are you going?” I asked her bluntly.
It took Alice several seconds to respond. When she did reply, however, her words came out slowly and deliberately.
“I don’t want to go downstairs.”
“Why not?” I demanded angrily. “You need to confront your father, no matter what happens! If you let this chance slip away, you’ll never get another one!”
“What makes you so sure that he is my father?!” Alice retorted sharply. “For all you know, he could’ve been lying to you from the start! What if he only pretended to recognize you because he wanted to use your knowledge against me?”
My response caught me completely off guard. I wasn’t expecting Alice to raise such objections. After all, this was exactly what I’d told her to expect when we parted ways earlier. Nevertheless, she obviously hadn’t taken me seriously enough to consider these issues beforehand.
Now that things had already progressed to this point, however, I couldn’t allow her to change her mind now without causing problems for both of us.
“Look…” I began hesitantly. “If you can’t come with me, then I guess I’ll just have to take care of this on my own. But you should at least try to understand why I’m doing this. It isn’t easy being forced to live a double life, you know. And sometimes, it feels like I’ll never escape from those bonds forever…”
There was a long pause before Alice spoke again. When she finally did open her mouth, however, the tone of her voice sounded completely different from usual—almost as if someone else had taken control of her body. Perhaps it was due to the stress of our recent experiences, but the normally calm and collected girl who stood before me now appeared almost angry.
“Who says I’m ‘forced’ to keep living a double life?! Do you even realize how much work it takes to maintain two separate identities? You might not feel anything yourself, but there are times when it gets pretty hard for me, too!”
The End