I woke up early the next day, eager to get going. There was a lot more for me to learn about this town after all. As I got ready and went down to the dining area of the inn for breakfast, the lovely Ann greeted me in a soft voice, “Well aren't you up early, Mr Werner. What a surprise.”

I took a seat and chuckled while leafing through the menu.

“Please, just call me David. And why is it surprising?”

Ann took up her notepad and got ready to take my order as she responded, “Oh it's nothing, you just seem like the laid back type, that's all. So, what'll you have?”

I yawned as I replied, “How mean, sounds like you're saying I look like a lazy person. I'll have whatever you recommend, alongside your company.”

Ann was taken off guard as she hesitantly replied, “I'm afraid I need to work, but I'll go ahead and get you our signature pancakes, along with a cup of coffee.”

With a sigh, I put the menu down and said, “Come now. I can see that there's no one else around. I'm afraid to say your inn isn't exactly busy, much less at this time. Please, join me, just for a bit. At least for me, I'm bored without any company.”

Ann gave me a defeated smile as she nodded and said, “Alright. I'll be back with your order in about ten more minutes.”

I then awaited her arrival by briefly going through my notes from yesterday. There wasn't as much information as I'd hoped for. It seemed like even the townspeople didn't really know all that much about the fog.

Ann arrived soon after with some lovely Scotch pancakes served with blueberry syrup and a cup of coffee. I wasn't much of a coffee drinker, but I was still half asleep so it was just what I needed.

As she sat down, Ann smiled and said, “So, Mr Werner, what would you like to talk about?”

I sighed and responded, “Like I said, please call me David. Calling me Mr Werner just reminds me of my father, who I'm loath to be reminded of.”

Ann winced and nodded sympathetically. With a sigh she said, “I understand, and can relate. My, uh, father certainly has… issues as well, though he's not a bad person per se. I suppose you can't really choose your family. But I do still care about him, he's all I've got. Was your father your only family?”

I shook my head and said, “No, I had a sister as well. We were very close. After my dad died, it was just us against the world.”

Ann nodded, not saying a word. She is someone who understands loss, and understood then that words of sympathy would've just been hollow.

We went on talking for a while after I finished eating and had washed my hands. We continued our conversation even after I got back. As I learnt, Ann had studied engineering for a few years at college before dropping out to help at her father’s inn, and enjoyed writing. She asked for some advice on the latter.

Our conversation was interrupted when her father came down and yelled, “Ann get over here and bring me that medicine!”

He was clutching his head and muttering to himself as he seated himself. I turned to her and asked, “Is your father sick?”

As she got up to help her father, she picked up my plate and gave a sad smile as she answered, “No, he's just asking for his hangover medicine. I apologize, David, but I need to go, it's time for me to get back to work. Also, I almost forgot but there's a letter for you, it came this morning. I'll come and give it to you in a moment.”

Even after she left, I could hear a few scattered words exchanged between her and her father. Nothing was particularly clear or helpful, but I could tell her father was not in a good mood. Soon after their conversation ended, Ann came over and handed me a letter. I just barely got in a word of thanks before she left again.

With a sigh, I opened up the letter. Within it was an invitation to a tea party from Mrs. Diane Walker. I'd heard of her in my preliminary research of the town. She was a very rich older woman, who was often said to be the most important person in town, having understated yet ubiquitous influence in it. She was also a mysterious figure whom not much was known about, so this was an important opportunity.

The timing of this letter also proved that she likely did know a lot about the goings-on in this town. After all, I'd only arrived the evening of the day before, and I hadn't been particularly ostentatious in my arrival. Nor had I done much. Yet it had arrived at the inn I was staying at, addressed to me with my full name.

And so I went back to my room to get ready to meet this Diane Walker. The letter also had a map with directions to her address.

Within half an hour, I arrived at her home, a large mansion with Victorian architecture with lush gardens. As soon as I showed the invitation, I was guided through the lush garden to the backyard, where a small yet incredibly elegant tea party was set up, with white china dishes and cups wrapped in gold threads, a round white marble table, and mahogany chairs with soft cushions.

The area had somehow been cleared of a lot of the fog with some clever ventilation, and so all the participants of the tea party were clearly visible. At the head of the table sat an old refined woman who wore her wrinkles well, and was dressed in a fine Gothic dress. It was clear that she was Diane Walker, the one who invited me here.

To Diane’s left sat a nervous looking man, around the same age as me. He might've once been handsome, but stress had eaten away at him, leaving him looking haggard and worn out.

To her right sat a woman who had some handsome androgynous features with gorgeous blue eyes. She was pretty, and it was clear that in her heyday would've been a head turning beauty the likes of which are rare. Unfortunately, the heavy and clearly visible bags under her eyes took away from her good looks a bit. She was dressed in a well made yet worn out gown that had seen years of use. Something about her appearance seemed vaguely familiar to me.

To the handsome woman's right sat an older man and a boy who looked to be his son. It was a familiar looking boy, the one I'd met in the park the other day, the one who'd dragged the twins away. The boy was busy playing a game of chess with Diane Walker, with a look of deep focus.

And the last was a young man to the kid’s right, who was also the man he'd met that day in the park, Demara.

They were chatting when I entered the area, but Ms Walker simply raised her hand and they promptly quieted down. She stool up and gave me a quick curtsy accompanied as she said, “Greetings, Mr David Werner. I hope your journey here was fine. I thought about arranging for a carriage for you from the inn to here, but it seemed presumptuous. Please, take a seat.”

I smiled as I awkwardly vowed in response and took a seat between the nervous wreck and Demara. Hah, presumptuous. Like she hadn't been presumptuous enough already. Such a bold and mysterious woman, don't you think? She always has that enigmatic smile on her face, and never gives away a single detail unless she wants to. But I suppose you'd know her better than I do.

Stolen novel; please report.

As I took a seat, Ms Walker said, “I believe you've met some here already, but allow me to introduce them. The man to my left is Jim Ensor, a brilliant painter, and a dear friend. He can be a bit shy and nervous, but I hope you two get along.”

Said person on the other hand did not look very interested in the idea. He rubbed his hands nervously, glared at me, and said, “I don't understand why you invited this… stranger to our gatherings all of a sudden. How do I know he won't kill me?”

Diane Walker laughed pleasantly, turned to him, and in a sweet tone tinged with something else replied, “Oh enough, Jim. He won’t be killing you.”

She then turned to me and said, “Don’t mind him. He has intense thanatophobia, due to those visions. It's not exactly a pleasant experience, and his vision is… particularly scary. Drowning in a sea of blood does sound like a terrifying experience, don't you think? Plus he's more sensitive to the visions than most.”

Jim’s eyes widened as he hissed at her in an angry, terrified voice, “Why are you telling him about my vision? Oh I should've never told you about that.”

Ms Walker calmly ignored him and moved on, pointing to the lady to her right as she said, “And that's Julie Maupin, an opera singer. Well, an ex-opera singer. It's a shame really, I loved her performances and it's a sad story what happened to her there, as well as her husband.”

Julie Maupin interrupted her and said, “Yes, it is a sad story, one that we needn't get into here.”

They looked at each other for a moment, as they had a silent conversation. But finally Diane sighed and said, “Very well, let's move on. To her right is Mr George Dent, who helped build the clocktower here. And next to him is his son Bobby, whom I'm playing a chess match against.”

As she turned to the final member of the tea party, her seemingly indelible smile dimmed a bit, as she said in a somewhat annoyed voice, “This is Demara, whom I believe you met the other day, telling stories to children. He's my grandson, and while he's certainly a talented young man, he has yet to hold onto any vocation long enough to be worthy of calling it a profession. I hope you can help guide him, as his senior.”

Demara’s eyes narrowed for a moment, but he laughed and said, “I prefer to be known as a jack of all trades, grandma. Besides, I have a feeling I'm going to be all set for the future soon enough.”

She hid her scoff with a quick cough as she moved on to say, “Well then, Mr Werner. I hear you're a writer, aren't you? How fascinating. I'm quite a fan of the arts, to be honest. All this engineering and science is great, but humanity’s true greatness lies in the pursuit of art. But I digress. I imagine you're here to do research for your work?”

I nodded, and began to talk about why I was here.

“Yes, I'm simply fascinated by this mysterious fog. Such a unique phenomenon. Is it fate? A self-fulfilling prophecy? If you all wouldn't mind, I'd love to hear about the visions you all received. I understand it might be rude to ask though, so I won't mind if you refuse.”

As I said it, I studied the reactions of those before me. The painter seemed to hate the topic, but also somewhat relieved, likely because Mrs Walker hasn't already shared his. Julie was indifferent, as though she didn't care either way. But of course even now I've yet to see her in a different state. The kid was waiting for Ms Walker’s next move, who herself was trying to figure it out. Mr Dent looked vaguely annoyed, and Demara had an enigmatic smile on his face, which I suppose was about the one thing he had in common with his grandmother.

With a click of the tongue, Ms Walker played a move and said, “I don't mind. My vision was far more straightforward and clear than most. It showed me getting shot in the head.”

My eyes widened, and I asked, “Do you know who did it?”

With an enigmatic smile, she simply said, “I wonder.”

As if. I'm absolutely sure she does, but we moved on.

Julie went next, and said, “My vision was a bit vague on some ways, but somewhat straightforward in other ways. From what I understood, I will be dying in my sleep.”

She had a vacant look in her eyes as she spoke, and the complete lack of emotion in her voice made me wonder if she really was telling the truth.

Demara went next. He looked strangely happy as he described his ridiculously extravagant vision. I don't remember much of it, but I remember talking monkeys, a loud ringing sound as the wind rushed past him, an adventure in the jungle, a narrow escape from big-lipped alligators, some gorgeous women that fell in love with him, and other strange elements. The whole story ended with him dying from a pineapple allergy.

It was a ridiculous and nonsensical story, and a bald-faced lie. But he was a genuinely good storyteller, and managed to make it surprisingly fun to listen to. Mrs Walker was right in that he certainly did have some talent.

She chuckled and said, “I see you're as imaginative as ever with those lies of yours. It really is unfortunate that you don't sit down and focus on turning it into a career.”

Demara sneered and replied, “The technical term is a story, granny. Besides, there are parts which are true.”

Mr Dent scoffed as he said, “The only parts which I imagine are based in reality are the parts about women. Your frivolous dalliances reflect badly on those around you, don't you realize that? Hmph moving on, I'll just go ahead and share my vision then. I don't see the harm, personally I think it's just nonsense, probably some sort of hallucination caused by the fog. As for my vision, it was being trapped in a small dark place, with the voice of Mr Bennet and Mr Hofmann whispering unintelligibly in my ear. Those two are dead, so iti is obviously ridiculous.”

Mrs Walker opened her mouth to speak, but then the kid played a move, and muttered, “checkmate in five.”

She turned her attention to the board briefly as her eyebrows narrowed. She then lifted her head back up and smiled at the boy, while handing him a plate of cake.

“Well done Bobby. Keep working on your chess skills, you certainly have the talent.”

Mr Dent sighed and said, “I still don't see the benefit in pushing him to play this game. It'd be better for him to just follow in my footsteps and become an engineer.”

Mrs Walker fixed him with a steely gaze, which looked all the more terrifying when combined with the fact that she was still smiling, and said, “What's that? Don't you think your son has the talent to reach the top? Are you disagreeing with me, Mr Dent? How curious. Would you like to discuss it further elsewhere?”

Mr Dent quickly backtracked with a slight look of panic in his eyes and said, “Oh no, that's not necessary. I wouldn't say I disagree. I simply thought it'd be nice to have him succeed me. Plus you know a professional chess career would require a lot of support, and I'm just a humble engineer.”

Isn't that an incredibly quick change? It truly is remarkable how well she had the group wrapped around her fingers. Except for one of them, I suppose.

The conversation moved on from there. While the group was eccentric, I must admit they were an interesting, intelligent and eclectic bunch.

As the conversation dimmed down while nearing its end, I decided to take the leap and asked, “Could any of you tell me more about the murder of Amy Farrow?”

The table fell silent. Demara looked nervous, though he tried to hide it. Mr Dent and Jim looked like they were trying to curl inwards in an attempt to make themselves smaller. Bobby looked curious, studying the adults around him intently. Even Julie, who'd seemed unflappable up to this point, shook slightly, as her eyes filled with sorrow.

Only Mrs Walker was as calm as ever, as she slowly took a sip of her tea and said, “An interesting question, Mr Werner. Is this supposed to be part of your research as well? I'll bite. The Amy Farrow I assume you're referring to did die tragically not too long ago. But I'm afraid she only arrived here not long before she died, and most people here didn't have a chance to get acquainted with her.”

My eyes narrowed as I processed her words. I could tell there was more she wasn't telling me, but I decided to slightly switch lanes.

“I see. Well that's a shame. But I suppose you certainly were familiar with the death of your own daughter and her husband?”

At that Mr Dent angrily slammed his hands against the table and yelled, “That's enough. We've been more than polite enough when it comes to you and your queries, but that's enough! I think it's time for us to leave, Ms Walker.”

Such an interesting response, don't you think? I knew I'd crossed a line, that was the goal. I'd expected a more angry response to come from those related to the ones I mentioned.

As Mr Dent stormed off while dragging along his son, Ms Walker sighed and said, “I'm afraid he did have a point. You went too far, I'm afraid. As much as I hate to end things on a sour note, I think it's time to end this tea party. I do hope we'll be able to have you over again, Mr Werner. Goodbye. I'll arrange for a carriage to take you back to your inn.”

On cue, the others got up to leave as well. As I got up and turned to leave, Ms Walker called out and said, “Oh, wait just a second, Mr. Werner. You haven't said anything about your vision. It's only fair that you share, don't you think?”

I turned around to face her, I noticed the others hovering at the edge of my sight, clearly curious as well. With a sigh, I nodded and shared it. I didn't observe the reaction of the others, but Ms Walker smiled like it was expected and said, “I understand. That'll be all, Mr Werner. Your carriage will be here soon enough.”

As I rode in the carriage back home, I thought back to everything I learnt, and tried to picture my best moves. I of course had the meeting in the afternoon with those twins, which from my pocket watch was only a short while away. I closed by eyes, allowing myself a moment of relaxation. My work here was not over yet, but I could give myself that much.