What Lies Beneath the Fog

》3《

Back in my room, I put the bag on the floor and started unpacking while looking for my camera. I didn't bring much at the moment. We were planning to go back to Edinburgh before the end of the summer and bring some more things. Especially the warm clothes, for the long, rainy and windy winter on the island.

When I found the camera at the bottom of my luggage, I returned to the window. I took a few pictures of the ancient lighthouse, with the nearly full moon rising behind and the dark blue sea far below. Not only was it beautiful, there was something strange about it. Something unusual, supernatural even, that my senses just refused to grasp.

Then, I walked over to the chest of drawers that stood opposite my bed, not far from the window, to look for the bed sheets. The top drawer of the old piece of furniture was quite empty, so I decided to put my art things there-- a half-full sketchbook, some brushes, and my watercolour paints. Painting was my biggest hobby, and seeing how beautiful the island was, it would keep me busy over the summer. I put my camera in there, too.

The sheets were in the second drawer, fresh, clean, and ironed. I really had to thank Lynn for her friendly welcome.

Then, out of curiosity, I checked the last, bottom drawer. As it opened, I heard something move in there, but I couldn't see anything. I kneeled down, putting my right hand inside tentatively, trying to reach whatever was there, hidden from my sight. My fingers touched something cool and hard. I closed my hand around the unseen object and brought it out.

The room was already dark; I had to stand up and switch on the reading light attached to a bookshelf above my bed to see it properly.

The thing in my hand was a plain and simple box made of wood, as big as my camera. It was painted black and didn't have any close or a lock. It looked old-fashioned, or rather antique. Opening it carefully, I looked inside.
It contained a large skeleton key, broken in two pieces. The metal it was made of felt smooth and strangely cool to the touch; who knows how long it had been lying in there, abandoned and forgotten...

Without really thinking about it, I put the broken key in the back pocket of my jeans, leaving the now empty box inside the drawer.

From my other pocket, I took out my phone. It had lost the last trace of signal when the ferry had entered the cloud of fog on the sea, becoming quite useless. But now I noticed a couple of lines indicating that my dad had already managed to fix and switch on the Wi-Fi downstairs.

So, at least in the house, I could still use it as a phone. Outside, it would become my watch, and maybe a torch if I ever got lost in the fog or stayed out too late, I mused. I placed the phone on top of the chest of drawers, then walked to my bed. The room filled with darkness as soon as I switched off the small reading lamp.

Looking out of the window at the lighthouse again, I realised that I felt a strange attraction to it. I felt mesmerised by its light, piercing its way intermittently through the mist, reaching out to me.

Now it was completely dark outside; the light from the lamps scattered along the road at wide intervals did not reach this side of the house. The fog was everywhere, cool, thick, and strange. The white tower of the lighthouse was covered in it, like a bride in her veil. There was something so attractive and... mysterious about the old building. I just couldn't put my finger exactly on what it was.

I didn't know how long I stood there, admiring its silent beauty, when I heard Mum's voice, calling me to come down for dinner.

"How do you like your room?" Mum asked while I was helping her with the dishes after we had finished eating.

It was always me and never my dad to help her tidy up the kitchen after our meals. Dad was always too busy to do any kind of housework. According to him, at least.

"It's fine, the view is amazing," I told her.

"I know it's much smaller than what you had before, but..."

"Don't worry, Mum, it's perfect here," I rushed to reassure her.

I did not want my parents to feel guilty for moving to this island. I liked the place so far.

"Remember, whenever you want any of your friends to come over and stay for a few days, or you feel like going back for a while, just tell me. Please," she begged, stroking my hair with her damp hand.

"Don't worry, Mum, really, I'm fine," I repeated, throwing a tea towel at her playfully, a revenge for getting my hair wet.

I wasn't feeling homesick at all. Actually, I couldn't wait to start exploring the island.

Some time later, I left my parents sipping their wine by the warm, crackling fire in the sitting room. Dad was talking about his great otter project again, and Mum was listening patiently, looking at him with love and admiration. Despite all the years they had spent together, they were still so much in love. Seeing them like this made me happy. They were great parents, they really deserved this adventure.

After I took a shower, I was ready to go to bed. The long journey and the island's fresh air made me feel exhausted; I couldn't keep my eyes open any longer.

But before I settled for the night, I walked to the window one last time. The view of the lighthouse... it was drawing me in, I couldn't resist it. I decided to leave the curtains open; this way, I could see the old lighthouse from my bed and wake up with this beautiful view.

After unpacking a few more things, I settled in my new bed and fell asleep even as my head touched the pillow.

In the morning, I woke up feeling dazed. It took me a while to realize where I was. Then I saw the view behind my window.

The lighthouse.

I partly remembered my dream about it. Or maybe it wasn't a dream, I wasn't sure. I had seen someone walking towards it, over the dangerous cliffs, at night, in the dark. A figure, a woman with very long hair, all dressed in white. Except for her large, old-fashioned hat. That was dark, most probably black. But with all the fog and the darkness enveloping the mysterious figure, I couldn't be sure about the colours.

In any case, there had been someone. Somebody who knew the place well enough to walk around outside in the fog after dark.

I stood up and walked to the window slowly, opening it wide, hoping that the fresh air would help me disperse the last traces of my confusing dream. Even on a sunny summer morning, some mist was still hovering around, close to the ground, as if it was glued to the cliffs; the sunshine was not strong enough to disperse it all. The Old Lighthouse seemed to be floating on a cloud.

Only now, in broad daylight, I properly noticed the beautiful colours of the island. The cliffs, in most places, were covered in patches of lush, green moss, and another purplish-blue plant. Heather.

Its faint and sweet scent, carried by the light sea breeze, was pouring into my room. It was all so wonderfully inspiring that I couldn't wait to take out my watercolours and start painting.

Then another, stronger smell reached my nostrils. Freshly made pancakes from downstairs, Mum's speciality.

The mouth-watering aroma made me realise that I was ravenous. Banishing all the thoughts of my strange dream and even my beloved painting, I got dressed quickly. I checked the pocket of my jeans-- the broken key was still there. For some reason, I wanted to carry it with me.

For some reason, I felt obliged, or better, compelled, to keep it within reach at all times.