What Lies Beneath the Fog

》8《

I spent the evening reading Emma's book in my bed.

My room was dark, a bit creepy with its shabby furniture that seemed to come from the times long passed. The weak light produced by the reading lamp attached to the bookshelf above my bed wasn't strong enough to disperse the shadows hiding in the corners.

The Byron's Lighthouse, visible through my window, was adding to the chilling atmosphere of the night. I could see the cone of its light, searching the darkness of the island and the surrounding sea.

The ancient cottage, my new home, was moaning and sighing in the calm of the night. I could hear the low creaking of all of its age-old wooden parts, whispering, complaining against their age. It was much louder at night, when the house was still, and ruled by silence.

There was nothing about the White Lady in Emma's book, but there was a lot of information about the lighthouse. About its construction, architecture,  and all the changes it had gone through, up to its automation in eighteen ninety-six.

Despite there being no mention of the Byrons or Anne's restless ghost, the book was interesting, and I kept reading for a long time after I heard my parents retiring to bed. When I checked my phone to see what time it was once I had finished reading the whole book, it showed two a.m.

There was no network coverage in my room at the moment; there was no point in keeping it on, really. I switched both the phone and the reading light off but couldn't fall asleep. My mind was teeming with confused thoughts about this strange island and Emma, the mystery surrounding the Byrons and Emma, the ghost and... Emma.

After a while, I gave up on sleeping and got out of bed. I walked to the window and opened it wide. Everything was pitch black outside, there was no moon or stars piercing the light mist that started pouring inside my room through the open window, carried by the lightest of summer breezes, smelling heavenly of sea water and the blooming heather. The lighthouse and its light looked more distant, unfocused behind the curtain of the translucent mist.

My attention was suddenly attracted by a slight movement in the shadows under my window. I looked down and froze.

She was there. The White Lady, elusive and fascinating, standing very still, looking eerie and nearly translucent, like the night's mist.

The light breeze was caressing her long white dress. It swayed around her body as if it wanted to fly away. Long tendrils of the light fog were coiling around her in silvery ribbons, trying to make her disappear in the blackness of the night. The apparition looked blurred, not completely corporeal. I couldn't see clearly where her figure ended and the fog started, as if they were made of the same substance.

She was facing my window, looking in my direction. Watching me intently. Making me feel... spellbound.

It was creepy. I felt the hair on the back of my neck rising out of fear, and yet, I was unable to close the window or even just move away from it. It was dark outside, but still I could see her face clearly-- it was as white as her dress. I couldn't focus on her features well, though; my eyes were drawn into hers. They, her eyes, were two pools of darkness, two bottomless wells filled with night and mysteries.

The White Lady, with that look in her eyes, was definitely frightening.

It took all of my will to break her spell, or whatever it was she was doing to me to keep me there, and reach for my camera. I took a couple of steps back, opened the drawer where I kept it and grabbed it quickly, then returned to the window again.

The ghostly apparition was gone.

I took a deep breath;
I hadn't even realized that I had nearly stopped breathing when I saw her.

She didn't allow me to take a picture of herself, but she couldn't stop me drawing her. Quickly, I walked over to my bed, switching the reading light back on. I sat down with my sketchbook open on a blank page.

Just a quick pencil sketch.

A woman dressed all in white, alone in the night. Her dress and long dark hair catching the wind and blooming around her, then melting into the mist surrounding her figure. Her face slightly unfocused, more imagined than really seen, with indistinct, only hinted at features, half covered by the shadow cast by her large hat.

And then her eyes. Even in the drawing, they were her most intriguing feature. Large, black, mesmerising,  and mysterious eyes. They were scary but questioning at the same time. Asking for something. Pleading for help.

Looking at the drawing made me feel uneasy. When I realised that my window was still open, I put the sketchbook on the floor and went to shut it fast, without looking around for her. I had had enough of apparitions for one night.

Back in my bed, I switched the light off but turned my phone back on. Even without the network, I felt somehow better leaving it on. The clock on its screen showed four a.m., and I hadn't even closed my eyes yet.

I didn't know how long it took me to fall asleep, but when I woke up the following morning, I felt as if I hadn't slept at all. It was well past eleven. I sat up on the bed and put my bare feet on the floor. The touch of the cool wood helped me to disperse my sleepiness and start recalling my dream.

No, it hadn't been a dream; last night, I saw the island's ghost.

I picked up my sketchbook and looked at the strange drawing. It was my only proof. The most needed proof for myself-- if I hadn't drawn her, I would definitely think that I dreamt her up after listening to Will and Emma's stories.

Thinking of Emma... This afternoon, she was supposed to come up here with Dean and show me the Old Lighthouse. The thought made me feel elated. I stood up and got dressed quickly, unable to contain my excitement.

When I opened the window, I was greeted by one of the rare summer days with not even the slightest trace of fog. I would go out after lunch to paint the lighthouse from the cliffs behind our house. I might get a better view from there than from my window. Who knows when I would get a chance to see it again, free from the ever-present cloud of suffocating fog.

I was halfway down the noisy stairs when I realized that I had left the broken key somewhere in my room and ran back for it. I simply... needed to have it with me.

That broken key once used to open only a door to one of the houses of this island. Now, I was sure about it, it was the key to solving the mystery of the island's restless ghost.