Fog-Heavy
The fog came in without warning.
One moment, Eliza could still see the water stretching out ahead of the boat — gray, endless, dull but navigable. The next, the world narrowed to damp air and the low groan of the engine pushing forward into nothing.
The captain swore under his breath.
“This isn’t right,” he muttered, gripping the wheel harder. “Fog like this shouldn’t roll in so fast.”
Eliza tightened her fingers around the straps of her pack. Inside it, her notebook pressed flat against her back, the hard edge of her camera familiar and grounding. She’d packed lightly — too lightly, she realized now.
“Are we off course?” she asked.
The captain didn’t answer right away.
The fog thickened, swallowing sound, swallowing distance. The horizon disappeared entirely.
Then the engine stuttered.
Once. Twice.
The boat slowed.
“There,” the captain said suddenly, pointing. “Land.”
Eliza leaned forward, heart kicking as a dark shape emerged from the gray — trees, dense and towering, their tops lost in mist.
“I didn’t know there was an island here,” she said.
“There isn’t,” he replied flatly.
The boat drifted closer, bumping softly against rock. The captain stood, movements abrupt, nervous.
“You need to get off,” he said.
Her stomach dropped. “What? No — you said you’d take me to the port. My exhibition—”
“I know what I said.” He grabbed a coil of rope, eyes darting into the fog. “This isn’t safe. I’ll circle back. Once the fog lifts.”
“That doesn’t sound reassuring.”
“You want to stay on a dead engine in fog you can’t see through?” he snapped. Then, softer, “Get on land. I’ll follow.”
She hesitated — every instinct screaming wrong — but the boat rocked, unsteady.
She climbed out, boots scraping stone.
The moment her feet hit solid ground, the fog surged again.
“Wait!” she called, turning back.
The boat was already drifting away, swallowed whole. No engine sound. No silhouette.
Just fog.
“WAIT!” she shouted, panic clawing up her throat.
Nothing answered.
The forest loomed behind her, dark and wet and watching.
She swallowed hard, tightening her grip on her pack.
“Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Okay. Just... stay calm.”
The fog pressed closer.
And then — a sound.
A footstep.
