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It does no good, looking into the fog for too long.

Today the fog laid thick over the quiet town and carried a sickly-sweet smell of decay. Odd shapes moved just outside of reach. Shapes that looked almost human and sounded almost like your mother or sister or your dog that got lost three months ago. Almost.

Despite that, I had to make a quick grocery run, because I woke up to find that something had eaten all that was left of my toothpaste.

Bright Bottom only had one grocery store ran by Miss Jenna Hoppkins; a thin woman in her thirties, slightly too lanky not to look off-putting, and with eyes much older than the rest of her.

It was open from six am to six pm every day of the week except for Saturdays, regardless of the weather, or economic situation. It even stayed open all throughout the circus incident of 2007. That’s what Uncle Rich had told me, anyway.

The trip to London Street made for a short bike ride, although the fog had me wishing it was shorter. Voices whispered barely coherent promises of love and passion, and when that didn’t work, they switched to thinly veiled threats. Same old, same old. I didn’t even slow down until I reached the grocers.

Jenn barely looked up from her book when I walked in. This early, it was only the two of us inside, bar the large moth repeatedly ramming its body against the fluorescent light. It was much too late for her.

I went down my list, navigating the isles with the dubious help of my faded memory, and even more faded signs.

Eggs, milk, yoghurt, then toothpaste, dental floss, and gnome repellent to keep those fuckers out of the garden.

I dumped my haul on the belt, and Jennie finally put her book away (I could never figure out what kind of books she read. She always took the dust jacket off and wrapped the cover in newspaper instead).

“Hello sweetheart,” she said, same tone and cadence as always.

I didn’t feel like hearing my own voice yet, so I stayed quiet. It mattered little to Jina; she had a limited catalogue of words she circled through - most of them unhelpful - no matter how you tried to engage with her.

“That’ll be fifteen quid,” she said and added a fruit roll-up free of charge, even though I didn’t have the cute kid privilege anymore.

I dropped the money in the coin dish and got a “Have a nice day,” in return.

My bike wasn’t outside, even though I was sure I rode it here and chained it to the lamp post. It was a toss-up whether someone had stolen it or it drove away on its own. I hoped it was the latter. I really liked this bike. Either way, it meant that I had to make my way back through the fog on foot.

The murmur was louder now that there was no wind whistling around my head to distract me. The fog continued in its attempts to lure me with things I had no interest in, and threaten with truths I already knew, now accompanied with a distant hum I could feel behind my eyes more so than hear. I had to grit my teeth and flex my hands into fists in pace with my walk to keep myself from straying off the path. Condensation soaked my jacket and I could smell fresh dug-up soil everywhere. I couldn’t shake the feeling I was walking through a graveyard.

A centipede scattered under my feet and I tripped over myself trying not to step on it. It flashed its mandibles and hissed before scuttling to hide in the nearest bush. I managed to fall on my bum and scraped my palm a bit in trying to catch myself. The solid asphalt wasn’t forgiving to my valiant attempt, and the fall didn’t feel any less humiliating with the fog as a witness; hundreds of ghostly eyes I couldn’t see peering at me, with their mouths sniggering and jeering.

I dusted myself off, trying my best to keep a hold on my dignity. The fog got thicker as I walked down the street. At this point, it swallowed up the houses around me, and even half of a church roof. The church doors were open, letting the fog in and the odd humming out. Still, it seemed a better idea to be in there than outside with the mocking voices.

People were sitting in the stone pews. Well, less people and more the idea of people. Smudged silhouettes and shapes, praying, singing, crying, whispering, screaming, all of it just as distant as the people themselves, bleeding together into a bastardised choir guided by the rhythm of my footsteps.

Something small laid on the altar, but before I could get close enough to make it out, a movement at the edge of my vision caught my attention instead.

He stood in the shade of a pillar, blending with the grey of stone so well I could barely see him until he moved again.

“What are you doing here, child?” he asked, not unkindly. “Are you coming to join us?”

“No,” I said. My voice carried through the space in a way his didn’t. I took a step back without thinking. “I’m just… looking for my uncle.”

And I was, wasn’t I? Even if I hadn’t thought about it, I waltzed into this place hoping to spot him in the pews.

The priest - that’s what I assumed he was, at least - regarded me with an empty gaze, before putting on a sad smile.

“This isn’t the place to seek truth. You should know.”

A loud crash rang through the church, like a pane of glass shattering, and I was almost stupid enough to turn around.

In the second it took me from flinching to composing myself, the priest made it a whole step towards me.

“Why don’t you join us for the morning sermon.” It wasn’t a question, and this time he gestured to the altar; to the thing laying atop it. I could see blood.

I had the increasing sensation that I had walked into a web and the spider was slowly making its way over, ready to wrap me up and have my insides for a late breakfast. That’s what the people inside were, I realised; praying and suffering to satiate his bottomless hunger. It was pulling me in too, I could feel the gentle tug beckoning me with what masqueraded as a warm welcome.

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“No, thank you,” I said, “I just want Rich back.” I held the priest’s unwavering gaze and braced to run.

At length he said almost disappointed: “A Tradesman will be visiting town in a week. He will tell you whatever truth you might seek, if you’re willing to pay his price.”

“What’s the price?”

The priest gave an exaggerated shrug and finally blinked. “It is difficult to say what he might deem worthy. His moods are observed to be quite shifty.”

I wondered if I should respond, but before I could think of something, the priest stepped back ever so slightly behind the pillar, and as he disappeared from view, so did his presence.

“Thank you,” I said anyway and turned around, averting my gaze from the altar. The shapes watched me leave, but I made sure not to look at any of them directly either.

The fog outside was gone, but so was the sun, and the moon lent little light to my confusion. Where I just came from was Sidney Malcovich’s summer house, who, judging by the state of the place, hasn’t been back here since I started high school. There was never a church here - or in the whole of Bright Bottom, for that matter.

I collapsed onto a nearby bench and flipped my phone open to check the time.

20:23, 7th of July. Somehow it was last night.

Well… at least I didn’t waste a whole day in a church that didn’t exist, and I still had my groceries.

When I trusted my knees not to give out under me again, I made the rest of the trek back to End.

My bike stood at the fence - of course, because I haven’t ridden it to the grocer’s yet - and my old toothpaste was half full again. Great. Two pounds wasted.

I slept with both tubes of toothpaste under my pillow that night, just in case.

The fog still came in the morning, but it was nowhere as thick and the only smell it carried was that of burning wood from a distant winter.

I took my time with breakfast, staring anywhere but the faded yellow chair at the other side of the table. The house sat quietly today, waiting for me to get to work, so I heard distinctly when something scurried over the floorboards. The toothpaste thief, I suspected. Luckily, I had the sense to hide both tubes in my bag. I would have to set up a trap for this critter later.

Without anything else to distract me, I forced myself to open up the shop. Rich’s locking mechanism did most of it for me. I just needed to flip the store sign to “Open”, and after a few seconds of ticking and clicking in the doorframe, the protection charm turned off and unlocked the front door.

From eight to three Monday through Wednesday, and from three to six Thursday and Friday.

For the first time in three months.

For the foreseeable future.

There was no-one to make bets with on how long it would take someone to notice the shop was open again, but I made an offer for two hours anyway. In the meantime, I decided to go through the ledgers.

Rich’s accounting was a whole new mess to contend with. He obviously had a foolproof system of keeping track of things, its only flaw being that nobody else in the entire world could read it. It only took me an hour to cave in and call Dad. He promised to come by on the weekend and help me try to make sense of it.

“You can still change your mind, you know,” he said. “Nobody would blame you.”

“I know,” I said, but my feet were firmly planted in Bright Bottom. Be it out of defiance, pride, or guilt; it didn’t matter. I wasn’t going anywhere.

I decided not to mention the numerous suspiciously large purchases of bird feathers Rich had made over the last year. We could talk about that when he got here.

The doorbell chimed half an hour before noon. I was nose-deep in the inventory book, and sprung out from behind the counter to see Miriam, the local apothecary.

She walked inside with raised eyebrows. “I heard the shop was open again, so I came to check if Rich came back.”

I probably had Mrs Jankins to thank for spreading the word. I was quite surprised she hadn’t called the neighbourhood watch on me for jumping the fence yesterday. She might have been too busy watching the latest episode of Wife Swap to notice.

“I’m taking over for now,” I said with all the confidence I could muster. It was hard, looking at Miriam and not feeling like I was seven again and had just knocked over her mortar full of blended widow’s tears.

“I see,” Miriam thinned her lips. “I suppose it's a good thing it stays in the family. I would be sad to see it sold off.” She swiped her bony fingers over the counter, then hurriedly walked around and to the medicine shelves. “What a shame.” she muttered to herself as she looked over the vials. “I assume you know your way around there?”

I nodded.

“Good, good. I’ll bring the refills for what’s missing. We can settle finances later.” Miriam turned as if to leave, but then she whipped around again and pointed at me. “I am in need of some rabbit bones. Could you get some for me soon? I’m a little old for such ventures and now that Rich is… well…”

“I’ll get to it as soon as the weather allows,” I said quickly, so she wouldn’t have to finish.

“Sweet child.” She smiled. “You know where to find me, yes?”

“I do.”

“Good. Come over whenever, don’t be shy.”

“Thank you,” I wanted to say, but she had already closed the door behind her.

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I sat in the shop alone until lunch, but it took me another hour to reconcile with the fact that no-one else was going to come today. I decided to fill the time with sorting out the mess on the desk. It made for dull work, but it had to be done anyway, so why not now. I had to make a whole new folder for loose papers I wasn't sure were important or not, and threw out dozens more, to the point where they started to fall behind the overflowing bin.

While trying to fish them out, I found a sizable box full of old playing cards. Rich has never had an ounce of talent for divination, so he’d probably kicked the box back there to wait for me to stop by.

The sudden lump in my throat didn’t have anything to do with my impulsive decision to close early for the day, nor did the box that stayed abandoned half-hidden under the desk.

I made afternoon tea through tears. It didn't help that I haven’t been here so long that I forgot which cupboard held Rich’s tea collection. By the time I sat down on the porch, I was so fed up with myself that I couldn’t even enjoy the sun and the tea had turned bitter. I just stared into the garden and halfheartedly planned out how I would tackle the overgrowth, so I wouldn’t have to be in my own head.

A lonely magpie flew over and sat on the largest magnolia branch, and I belatedly remembered the birdfeeder on the far side of the porch.

“Hello.” I tipped my head.

It watched me with mild curiosity, not at all scared of the singing windchimes around it.

“You don’t happen to have a friend nearby, do you?”

It tilted its head quizzically. I looked around, but there was no other bird in sight. Only dragonflies darting about.

“Sorrow it is, then.”

It squawked at me with what sounded like an accusation and flew away into the forest. That’s what I get for leaving the birdfeeder empty, I suppose.

8th of July

Going through the motions,

crawling ever forward.

But who are you,

Really?