Cheryl Tardif - Children of the Fog

Instantly, she was dead sober. She strode into the living room where she slipped into her jacket and boots. Then she tiptoed to the sliding door.

“Spy on me, will ya. I don’t think so.”

The door slid open unhindered and she stepped out onto the veranda, accompanied by a flashlight and an iron fire poker. She waited. Then she took a tentative step forward and the beam of light swept across an object near her foot.

A card-sized white envelope.

She picked it up and examined it. It was blank. No address, no stamp, nothing. Cautiously, she opened it, but it was empty.

She thought of the chocolate bar in the cooler.

“What the heck’s going on?”

Someone giggled nearby.

Sadie flicked off the flashlight. There was enough light from a slice of moon and its reflection off the river that she could see her way down the steps to the grass below. She crept around to the back door, sticking close to the side of the cabin. Her boots made quiet crunching sounds, and she held her breath, hoping that whoever was out there wouldn’t hear. Even in the crisp night air, her palms grew sweaty and it became difficult to hold the poker handle. She almost dropped it, twice.

She paused, listening.

There was a faint rustle of foliage not far from where she stood. Then a quicksilver flash of white whipped through the trees.

The ghost child from last night?

She moved onward with reckless persistence, one boot planted in front of the other. When the ground dipped, she lurched forward, her foot hovering for a second in midair. Thrown off balance, she hooked an arm around a tree trunk, spinning around it in a half-circle, like a square dancer at a barn dance.

Catching her breath, she squinted into the dark.

Where are you, damn it?

Then she saw the child—if that’s what it was—half hidden by a tree. Crouching low, Sadie waited until the white shape moved away before dashing toward the woods. She made it without mishap and leaned against a tree.

“This is crazy,” she scolded herself. “What are you doing?”

She covered her mouth, partly to muffle the sound but also to hide the mist her breath was making. Her heart thumped in her chest so loudly she was sure it could be heard.

The white shape was just ahead.

Guided by the moonlight, Sadie continued through the trees.

Six yards to go.

She peered over her shoulder to ensure that she could still see the light from the cabin. It seemed a great distance away. Still, she moved forward, the sound of the river trickling over the rocks concealing her progress. With the poker raised above her head, she took another step closer and a twig cracked beneath her boots.

Up ahead, someone muttered something unintelligible.

Sadie turned on the flashlight.

An ethereal face with wide doe eyes stared back at her.

“What are you doing out here?” Sadie asked, baffled.

Before her stood a young girl—eight or nine years old maybe—wearing a white bath towel over her head and body. Underneath, she had on a white cotton nightgown with a yellow peace sign on the front.

Liquid pools of blue blinked once, twice, from beneath thick, dark lashes. “I’m sorry,” the girl said in a trembling voice.

“For wha—?”

A solid weight slammed into Sadie’s back. The poker and flashlight flew into the air, and as she hurtled toward the ground, she flung her arms out and braced for the fall. She hit the frozen ground, knees first, and slid onto her stomach, her palms skidding, burning. She let out a pained gasp, then closed her eyes, her heart beating frantically against her chest.

It would be so easy to lie here… die here.

Footsteps tramped through the woods—away from her. She lifted her head, but saw only fleeting shadows. Her fingertips grazed cold metal. She retrieved the poker, then struggled to her feet and searched for the flashlight.

But it was nowhere to be found.

“Wait! Who are you?” She tipped her head, listening, but the woods were silent. “I won’t hurt you. I just want to…”

What did she want?

She turned in the direction of what she hoped to God was the cabin. In the encompassing darkness, she couldn’t tell. As she carefully maneuvered between bushes and trees, she paused every now and then to listen for the river. When she broke from the woods, she found herself on the beach, the cabin a few yards away. She strode toward it, throwing anxious looks over her shoulder.

Someone had attacked her. But who?

She had felt a strong body behind her, but had seen nothing, heard no one. Except the girl.

“No children around here,” she muttered. “Yeah right, Irma.”

Someone living nearby obviously had a daughter.

Infinity Cabin welcomed her, undisturbed in its solitary existence. Cursing herself for losing the flashlight, she fumbled in the dark and lit the oil lamp. With determination, she strode toward the back door and slid the deadbolt into place. Staring at it, she didn’t feel safe. Not one bit. So she pushed the armchair in front of the door.

“Let’s see you get through that !”

As a final measure she jammed a broom handle against the sliding door frame. No one would be able to open it without removing the broom first. She grabbed another rum and cola and dragged the comforter from the bedroom. Then she curled up on the sofa, the poker propped up within reach.

Just in case.

Morning crept into the cabin, and an ominous sound boomed through the air, then dwindled into a low drone.

Foggy-headed, Sadie sat up. She flung back the blanket and sucked in a deep breath as pain shot through her knees and hands. She stared at her palms, noting the fresh scrapes and dried blood. Her gaze went from her clothes—the same ones she had worn yesterday—to the grandfather clock, and then to the simmering fireplace.

She frowned. “Okay… why am I out here?”

The clock gonged again. It died midway, as if someone had gripped its innards in a chokehold.

Sadie looked at her watch. “It’s ten o’clock and all you could manage were two gongs?” She caught sight of the chair by the door. “What the heck was I doing last night?”

She rubbed her forehead, trying to remember.

A girl! She had seen a girl in the woods.

“Or did you?”

Doubt plagued her, especially when she noticed the open bottle of rum on the counter. She staggered into the bathroom, took one look at her unkempt reflection and made a face. She picked up the hairbrush, intent on getting the tangles out of her hair, then frowned and dropped the brush on the counter.

Why bother? No one would see her anyway.

Except maybe the girl…

“You’re seeing things. That’s what it is. You haven’t had booze for so long, you’re hallucinating.” She snorted. “And talking to yourself.”

Confident that she had solved the previous night’s events, she decided to have a luxurious bath. She had to boil water on the Coleman stove and in the fireplace—three pots at a time. It took fifteen pots of hot water and a few cold ones to fill the tub halfway. Hell, it wasn’t like she had anything better to do.

Sadie soaked for a long while, allowing the past week’s anxiety to melt away. She shampooed her hair, then rinsed it in the bath water. Closing her eyes, she slid underwater until she was completely submerged. She held her breath as long as she could, and when she came up sputtering for air, she was disappointed. Drowning herself was definitely out of the question.

After she towel dried her hair, she shrugged on her jacket and reached for the sliding door. The broom handle in the track made her pause. She tugged at it, her brow furrowed in puzzlement. What was she trying to keep out?