This is the story of this fog-filled town, of murders and secrets, and of my death that's soon to come. As the lives of various people intersect, the resulting plot is absurd, strange and mystifying. And of course, you yourself are a part of it. Will you help me rip off the covers and unveil the truth?
Hmm, What's that? You think I'm being overly dramatic? Come now, allow a storyteller to have his fun. Now let's see, I suppose it's best to start in the beginning, or at least my beginning here, in this town you call home.
Like always, the town was drenched in the mysterious silver fog, its gothic buildings and maze-like structure clouded by the dense gas.
For the sake of my research, I entered the town. At the entry gate, the forlorn guard asked, “Are you sure you wish to enter? How long do you expect to stay, and what are your reasons for entry?”
I simply smiled and replied, “Yes, I truly do. As for how long… I expect to stay here for a week at most. As for my reasons, I'm here to get inspiration for my writing.”
The guard simply sighed and nodded, while wordlessly pushing a firm towards me. It took but a moment to fill out, and I was on my way in when the guard called out to me once more.
As I tilted my head back I heard him say, “You are familiar with the visions, correct?”
I spun around with a flourish and answered, “Why of course, it's part of why I'm here.”
As I turned back around and made my way in, I heard him mutter, “What a weirdo.”
How rude of him, don't you think? What's that, you agree with him? Hmph, like I care. Moving on.
As I entered the town, I was struck by a vision. My head spun as images, sounds, smells flashed through me. I saw myself dying on the floor, unable to move as my body wracked with pain, a gorgeous, yet deadly large poppy flower bloomed from my stomach. I heard a faint high pitched melodic sound in the background, I smelt the metallic scent of my blood, as my vision went dark.
Then the next moment, I found myself back where I was. The whiplash was disorienting, as I fell over, unable to reconcile my upright position with how I was in the vision.
I'd known about its existence of course, I'd known that the strange fog brought about visions of one's death, but rather than a prophecy or oracle, it felt like an experience. It was not from the perspective of some unknown omniscient narrator, looking down on us like a detached spectator. It was like a sneak peak, a preview of the movie that is, or rather will be my death.
But I suppose you'd know that far better than I do, given your experience with it. Ah well.
At the time, I was more intrigued than anything else. What an interesting phenomenon, is it not? A cryptic and symbolic preview of one's death, shown as a vivid experience. Did this prove the existence of an unchangeable fate? Or was the future shown in the vision fluid? Or was it some kind of a self-fulfilling prophecy?
What's that? You think my response is strange? No matter, let's move on.
I composed myself with a few deep breaths, and with the help of a few locals, got directions to the inn I was going to stay at.
As I walked through the foggy town, I noticed glowing neon strips along the road, and the few vehicles traveling along the roads had glaringly bright headlights. As I arrived at the inn, I noticed that it's name, Foghaven, was on a bright glowing neon sign.
All the neon really took away from the noir-esque aesthetic and the gloomy vibe, but strangely I've grown to like it. Given all the various personalities I ended up meeting later on, it seems like a fitting style.
But I'm getting ahead of myself. As I entered the inn, a gruff bearded man say at receptionist area. He was grumbling while chewing his nails, but quickly shifted personas at my entrance.
With a smile unsuited to his visage, he said, “Hello there, traveler. Will you be staying alone? Do you have an appointment?”
I nodded and put on a pleasant expression as I answered, “Indeed. You'll find me under the name, the Pyrite Pirate.”
The innkeeper frowned and grumbled as he looked at his list, an expression that did seem to suit him much more. But his expression cleared up soon after, as he reached down to pull out a pair of keys.
“Here ya go. And here I thought you were taking the piss out of me with that name. My name's Charles by the way. Charles Bailey.”
As I leant down to pick up the keys, I smiled and said, “My apologies. It's a pseudonym I've grown fond of and enjoy using. A wee bit of wordplay from a poor wordsmith like myself, that's all. My actual name is David. David B, uh, Werner.”
The man nodded absently, clearly not all that interested as he rang the bell multiple times impatiently.
A sweet voice yelled out, “I'm coming!”
And then she showed up, like a vision of beauty. She had short brown hair, with cute bangs framing her face and the rest of her hair tied up in a ponytail. She had dazzling green eyes, a shapely face and a wondrous smile. She was just the right height at a little under six feet, and her bo-
Ow! That's no way to interrupt a storyteller in full flow, but I'll let it slide, I suppose I got, ah, carried away. Moving on.
As she arrived, she smiled and said, “Hello sir. Allow me to show you to your room.”
I blankly nodded and followed her, doing my best not to stare at her body from behind as we walked up the stairs. Overtly that is.
As we arrived, she vowed and said, “Here's your room sir. Is there any other way I can serve you?”
I bit back the first response that instinctively came to mind, one that certainly wasn't appropriate to tell her, and one that I'll decline to mention here given your expression.
I simply smiled graciously and replied, “Thank you dear, that'll be all for now. May I have your name?”
A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
She smiled dazzlingly once more as she answered, “Of course sir. It's Ann Bailey. Ann without an ‘e’, not with.”
I smiled as charmingly as I could while opening my door. As I entered I said, “Thank you, Ann without an 'e’. Lovely name. I'll ask you if I need your assistance… or your company.”
I closed the door as I relaxed on the bed. It wasn't very comfortable, but good enough for my needs.
I turned my thoughts back to this town. Given my purpose in coming here, I couldn't dally around with frivolous tasks like flirting, no matter how attractive Ann was.
With that thought, I got ready to head out and learn more about this town firsthand.
I wasn't sure where to start, and so I called Ann over and asked for a map, and for her to mark the inn on the map. I put it in my backpack along with a few other things I could use.
As I was leaving the Foghaven, Charles called out and said, “So you're going out are you? A bit of advice, don't stay out long after dusk. Before then you only get the vision of death the first time, maybe once in a while after if you're sensitive, more often if you're particularly so. But at dusk? Practically every other moment you're plagued with it. The only one who bothers to go out then is the Fogwalker.”
Fogwalker. Such a curious name, is it not? What do you think of it? Ah, so you don't mind. Well then, moving on.
As I left, I contemplated where to go. What I wanted was information. From my experience, the best source for information are children, since they're relatively open-minded, naive, and willing to talk, especially if given some cheap chocolate as compensation. Plus they're far more enjoyable to hang around than adults, don't you think?
As adults we shed and put on personas from one situation to another, we claim responsibility for things we shouldn't have responsibility for and deflect responsibility for the things we should be held accountable for, and we're bogged down by the weight of the world and enjoy complaining about it more than anything else.
But ah, I get carried away. I'm an adult myself, and can't claim to be above all that. I might very well be worse in certain ways. As an adult yourself, what do you think?
Huh, what an interesting answer. ‘An adult’s duty is to balance between ideals and reality while walking towards the future steadfastly.’
That certainly sounds nice. But how many can truly live up to that? And how can we walk diligently towards a future that holds our ugly and inevitable end? But we digress.
As I said, with that idea I set out to the park, where I expected there to be kids. And I found them, though not as many as I hoped for, and they weren't alone, as they gathered around a man.
The man himself looked young, at least younger than me, and I'm barely in my 30s. He was moving around animatedly as he seemed to be telling them a story. I was still at a bit of a distance, but I could tell he was handsome even through the fog. I moved closer, but just enough that I could hear the man's words clearly.
“So you see, there I stood staring at a man-eating bear dead in the eye. It seemed to be on drugs, cocaine maybe. It's claws and teeth were dyed red, with bits and pieces of flesh scattered all over. But without any hesitation, I smashed it in the face with a steel shovel incredibly hard and jumped into the river below.”
It didn't quite seem like an age appropriate story for his audience, but they were teenagers so it seemed like the sort of thing they'd enjoy. The reaction however was somewhat mixed.
Most kids were doubtful, some were scared, some were apathetic, a couple seemed especially interested, particularly a certain pair of twins, and one innocent kid was just confused as he mumbled, “What's cocaine?”
The man wisely ignored the question, but was soon peppered with questions from the others.
“Where'd the river come from? You never mentioned that.”
“I've heard that hits to the head like that don't kill bears. How'd it die then?”
“What did the bear smell and sound like? Was it terrifying?”
“Do you think something like that could happen here? I'm scared.”
“My parents said that you're a… what was it, a compulsive liar? Is that true?”
The man smiled nervously as he attempted to navigate through the minefield of questions.
He stood tall and answered, “Well aren't you a curious crowd. Now to answer your questions… the river was there before, I just never mentioned it to, ah, create some tension. But I was far up on a cliff, only a skilled diver such as myself could've made it. As for the hit, I never said it died from that, did I? It died from the drugs, very tragic. But my strike contributed greatly, or that's what I was told. Its stench reeked of blood, and its roar shook the ground. And you need not fear, for I will stand up against it again if the need arises. And while I may have told your parents a few tall tales, almost everything I've told you is true. It's based on a true story, and was even turned into a movie, though not one you kiddos can watch.”
The sheer confidence and charisma in the way he talked swayed some, though most were still doubtful. It was well done by him. Like most good lies there were elements of truth to it. There was a story of a bear having accidentally consumed drugs and died of an overdose, and it had been made into a movie, but everything else was made up. I decided it was a good time to step in. I did need to ask my questions, and there wasn't much time before dusk.
So I stepped out with a cough. As they turned around, wary of the newcomer, I smiled and said, “Hello there. I happened to overhear your story, fascinating stuff. I'm new to this town, and was hoping all of you would tell me more about it.”
The man unabashedly jumped in and said, “Why of course! The genius before you will guide you through our mysterious and absurd town. What would you like to know? Perhaps about the deep and dark secrets that lie within?”
As the man went on and on, I only half paid attention to him. He was clearly a liar, maybe even a compulsive liar from the erratic way he acted. Every lie tends to have a kernel of truth, so I did try to remember what I could, but ultimately there were more useful parties present.
I sidestepped him casually, smiled at the kids, and said, “Hey kids, you can tell me what you know as well. I have some chocolate for you.”
They were initially reluctant, except for the twins who were strangely excited.
Like I expected, they quickly rushed over upon hearing the last line. I quickly pulled out the box of chocolates in my bag. As they eagerly took some one by one, a barrage of information came my way.
“You know about the visions right? They're super creepy, and they can come to you randomly.”
“Yeah, one time I got hit by it when I was about to score a goal. They're so creepy! That's why Mom never let us out before dusk.”
“Oh yeah, you definitely shouldn't go out at night. The visions are said to be so powerful then that you might get trapped in them till you die. Really you just shouldn't stay out for long.”
“Ooh, do you know about the Fogwalker? They say he walks through the fog all day, even at nighttime. He's the only one out there then. You can hear his melodic whistling sometimes, it's really creepy.”
As the kids kept throwing information at me while taking chocolate from the box as they pleased, I took out a notebook to write down everything I could. As I was jotting down my notes, one of the twins suddenly spoke up. I'd noticed that they were strangely silent given their previous excitement.
I turned to them as the twins shouted in unison, “What was your vision?”
The very next moment, a taller boy who'd been leaning against a tree quickly walked over and knocked them on the head. He hadn't bothered to come over for the chocolates at all.
The older boy scowled and said, “Don't you know it's rude to ask about that? Sorry, about these two idiots.”
Then he glanced up with a frown, and said, “It's getting dark. It's time to go.”
As he dragged the twins away, the other kids ran off as well, taking as much chocolate as they could while they left.
As I packed my things up with a sigh, one of the twins swung around while still being held by the older boy and yelled, “We'll be here tomorrow as well, in the afternoon! Talk to you then!”
Those two really are adorable, aren't they? With their bright and loud voices, their particular choice of clothing with garish color schemes, they stand out even amongst the varied characters of this town, much like the neon lights.
Anyways, with my job down there I decided to head home for the day. As I got ready to leave, I noticed the man who'd been telling tall tales still awkwardly standing there. After a polite cough, he smiled and said, “Well it was nice to meet you stranger. My name is Demara. What's yours?”
I held out my hand as I replied, “Yeah nice to meet you as well. I'm David.”
I didn't particularly want to spend time with the man, so I quickly excused myself and ran back to the inn. I'd done enough for the day, or so I thought.