What Lies Beneath the Fog

》6《

I opened the pub's door, chuckling, and walked outside, leaving Dad and Will to their otter talk.

The sunshine was already gone, and the fog was returning fast; it was nearly as thick and opaque as spilt milk now. Getting used to the island's crazy weather would certainly take me a while.

The light of the New Lighthouse was coming from the left, so I followed the high road to the right. I wanted to find the village shop and buy some more paints, and a new sketchbook. The island had too many perfect views and countless great spots to paint.

The shop was another white stone building, with a blue door this time. As I walked in, a low tinkle of a little bell hanging above the door announced my presence to the owner, whom I could not see anywhere at the moment.

The place was tiny, but it had everything-- from groceries and basic clothing to drugstore goods and pharmacy. It even doubled as a post office, which was located at the back. The shop was stuffed full of goods, but didn't feel crowded. All the things were neatly organized in aisles lined with tall shelves.

I walked through a couple of aisles but couldn't find any art supplies. Deciding to ask for help, instead of wasting time looking for them myself, I walked to a long wooden counter situated on the side.

"Hello!" I called when I didn't find anyone there.

Then I saw her again. The White Lady.

She rose from behind the counter, where she was going through some boxes. She was dressed in a white dress with long sleeves, exactly like the night before.

The woman in front of me wore a black hat with a light, semi-transparent, lacy veil covering her face. All of it, except for her full, rosy lips. Her hair was the colour of the brightest honey. It was very long, cascading down her shoulders and pooling to her waist in soft waves.

I must have looked bewildered or even frightened because she removed her veil quickly and smiled.

"Hi. You must be Liam," she said. "I'm Emma, Dean's friend. He and Lynn told everyone that you would be coming to live here. Nice to meet you."

Now that I realized she wasn't the White Lady, my face that a while ago must have been as white as her dress was quickly turning red. I could feel the blood creeping up my neck and flooding my cheeks. How could I have thought she was the island's ghost?! Her dress wasn't long enough, definitely not Victorian, and she was wearing a pair of tight jeans underneath.

The girl took the black hat off her head, and finally, I could see her face properly. Her eyes were of the most unusual colour-- purplish-blue, with tiny specks of green and lavender. Like the heather I saw growing in large, uneven patches high on the cliffs.

Even her face was unusual. It wore no trace of make-up; her beauty was well visible. I didn't have to look for it, as I was used to with the girls in the city. This girl did not hide her face underneath layers of coloured creams and powders.

Emma looked natural, like a sea sprite, or better, a fairy of this island.

Her bright hair had a few strands of platinum in it, as if woven from the island's silvery-white fog. She was astonishingly beautiful, I had never seen a girl as charming as her before.

Now I was definitely blushing; hopefully, she wouldn't notice.

"Yes, that's me," I said, accepting and shaking her extended hand.

It was so small, cold, and white that it could easily belong to one of the porcelain dolls my mum collected. Or to the restless ghost of Anne Byron.

"So, you are Dean's friend?" I asked the first thing that crossed my mind, just to say something, anything, to stop thinking of the island's White Lady.