The Mist (1)

"The mist, the mist... It rolled down from the tall mountains into the valley not so long ago, and like a beast circling its prey, it unnaturally enclosed around us," a man wearing nothing but old underwear sat inside a pot on the side of a dirt road.

An old lady poked her head out from the nearby house, pushing open the blinds from inside. "Young man, if you listen to every ghost story in these parts, you'll end up living in a pot too," she scolded. She had no problem telling the man off as she warned a young-seeming man who was covered in a robe that reached his shins. He wore straw and wood clog sandals and a hat that seemed too big to be practical.

Under such a hat, a small smile could be found as he walked off. His voice was a whisper that seemed nearly inaudible but was clearly heard by both the man and the woman. "If I ignore every ghost story in these parts, the ghosts may find themselves bored." Even the man in the pot gave him a strange look before balling up his legs and laughing, as the old woman just shook her head in a defeated manner. "Young ones these days."

The old man couldn't help but chuckle. "Maybe it's just you who is getting old!" he teased. "Oh, shut up, Dad. Now come inside and eat." The man just got up and laughed his way inside, while the robed man looked back with his smile and giggled a little at the lady and her father.

As the man walked ahead, he looked around the town, peering down the alleys between houses and observing the people walking by. Some looked completely normal, while others varied in appearance. There were men with swords on their backs, an old man walking with a staff adorned with some type of crystal at its end, using it like a walking stick. There was even a little boy who had fire for eyes, running with a girl whose hands were made of ice. The boy stopped and stared at the man's face, causing the girl to stop as well. The man looked down at the boy, giving him a knowing look, and then shook his head as he continued on.

Looking past these oddities, a glow seemed to emanate from under his hat as his eyes peered beyond the strange folk and into the area outside the village. The mist was indeed moving—slowly but steadily—creeping onto the outskirts and covering the path he had taken to arrive.

He followed the road through town before finding a stall to sit at, where he was served by an older man whose head shone from the sun's reflection. "So, stranger, have you found a place yet?" The man under the hat smiled and shook his head. "My stay will be no longer than necessary."

The man behind the counter sighed and looked up at the mountains that acted as a backdrop to their village, no matter which way you looked, and the mist emanating from their peaks. "That's what they all say, but my advice is to just settle down here instead of wasting your time in the mist. It'll just lead you back here anyway."

He looked at the man, leaning against the back of his chair. "Oh, really now? I know mist can make one's vision hazy, but to always walk back the way you came... Some would call that more than just mist." As the man behind the counter ladled food into a bowl, he recalled a memory. "Yeah, but what else can one call it? It acts like mist, it looks like mist. The only problem is that it won't let us leave, and the knockers."

"Oh? And where are the knockers?" he asked, grabbing the bowl. "Might as well tell ya, I don't want another one to open the door. They come from the mist, or at least we think. They can't open doors or windows, and while they can bust down even stone walls, they won't break in. They will just sit there and knock throughout the night. Once one has chosen a house, they will knock incessantly. If you open your door, they will chase you throughout town. The only way to escape them is to go into another home where they haven't been let in."

"It seems you know a lot about these 'knockers'," he said while drinking from the bowl.

"Well, when you've lived here for so long, it's hard not to learn their patterns," replied the man behind the counter. "The mist encompasses the whole town at night and slowly recedes as the sun rises. Many people have been here for so long that they don't care anymore. Even if they hear your cries, they may not open their door. They don't believe there to be a way out, but some believe that Able will lead them out of the fog with his special ability."

"I am to assume Able is the young boy with special eyes?" he recalled the young boy he saw on his way here.

"You would be right. He's the only one who has seen what the Knockers' faces look like and lived to tell the tale. He can see through solid objects that aren't too thick. One night, he looked through his door and described a face as 'the face my sister has when she squishes ants.'"

The man's smile, which seemed to never stop, had a momentary pause as he looked back from his seat. He didn't focus on the townsfolk walking by, the adjacent house, or the nearby alleys. Instead, his gaze was fixed on the skyline, at the tip of a mountain's peak. His smile turned into a frown.

"Only naughty children would squish ants and find it fun."