Fishtail

5.The stuff of nightmares

The wind whistled through the misted pine trees on the edge of the pebbly beach, making Will's Blood freeze. He could almost see the dark shapes that creept along, just under there dark boughs. But they never truly showed themselves, and whenever Will had tried to go near them, they laughed wickedly and disappeared.

The wind was unbearably cold, and Will shivered under his makeshift cover; some poles he'd found on the beach and 3 pine boughs he'd managed to wrestle off a tree. He pulled the bag closer around him, but it also wasn't much protection from that chilling wind and damp mist. That mist was ever present; it hung in the trees and shrouded the water, or crept along the beach and tried to touch his toes. It seemed to be nearly alive, and it chilled him with a vehemence.

He had opened the package, inspected it and it's contents, and now it lay open in front of Will. he had just finished his first meal of floppy seaweed, and it wasn't sitting well. He would need to get better at finding food. And building a shelter. And surviving in general.

His thoughts wandered back to Maria, but in truth she was never far; Will was reluctant to try and venture into the trees- not only because of their creepiness -as he knew she could not find him there; she too was afraid of going too far from him. But Will didn't know that, and he wondered rather sadly if he would ever see her again. He supposed he might, for his fate was uncertain and he doubted he would ever find his way back to society. He wondered if he even wanted to.

His life up to this point hadn't meant much. His childhood had been rather uneventful, besides growing up in a rather poor district of London and never really having enough to eat. He had had dour brothers, three of whom were older than him, and one sister who had died when she was only four years old. His Father was a London LampLighter, his Mother a Washerwoman. His brothers were all large, strong Boys and his father said they would get good jobs and do quite well in the world. But Will was lean and tall, his blond hair like his mother's, and he had a general good disposition. He was unlike his family in most ways, and he knew his place was not with them, but on the Sea. He had loved the Sea since he was a little boy, and would often be found late at night, sitting on the beach, starting at the waves. He was a dreamy sort of boy, never able to stick to a task without his thoughts drifting back to the open waves, and it drove his mother distracted. His Father on the other hand was glad of his sons love for the ocean, for it would be easy- once he was old enough -to send him on his way. His Father would encourage him in his salty fancy's, and often took him to see the ships take harbor, or take off on there majestic journeys. Once Will was 14, he got him a job loading the Cargo, and once Will was 18, he snuck aboard and for nearly a year he worked on the ship undetected. But one night a man who we was working besides caught on, Will never did find out how, and he was reported, and nearly arrested. But his time on board had gained him some useful knowledge, and casting him off would have been dangerous for them......

***

The Mist seemed to whisper at him, it's twining swirls reached out, trying to curl him in, but it pushed at him to, almost as if it said, come, come be our feast, but if you don't, leave, for no one wants you here...

he sat on the beach, waiting for what he knew not, until night swallowed him, and he slept.

He awoke to the sound of wolves howling. How was that possible? Were there wolves here? Surly not.

A howl, closer now. He jumped to his feet: he had no weapon and no way to defend himself except with his own feeble hands.

The mist made it hard to see. Shapes moved through it, shapes low to the ground and human sized. Then the mist parted to allow a black hooded shape to step forward, Flanked by two wolves. Even under the tattered robe it was obviously a woman. She raised her hand as she stepped forward, a pale hand, slender and beautiful, with one large, pearl-studded ring on the middle finger.

The figure was still approaching Will and he found it necessary to take several steps back. However futile it felt to ask he said, "Who are you?"

The figure laughed, a high, keening, merciless laugh. She snapped her fingers and the wolves at her sides turned to mist.

She stopped now, she was so tall she stood a few inches over Will, and he couldn't find his feet to move them.

Very intentionally, she raised her hand to her head and pulled her hood off.

Will gasped and fell back, for the face was Maria's, beautiful, with her long thick black hair falling about her. The thing laughed again, and this time it was a hard cackle, like breaking wood under a stone. It looked at him with black eyes- not at all like Maria's green ones -and said in a cold voice, "you, Will Fernby, will never be loved by anyone." The mist collected around it, swirling thickly, and it vanished into the whitish gray.

Will cried. His throat went horse and his tears dried up but still he sobbed. He felt his heart would never hold together: it would fall apart and fall apart and whatever he tried to do wouldn't hold it together. Eventually he fell asleep curled in a ball, exhausted again.