Forcing Back the Unknowable Fog: A Halloween Story

There’s an uncomfortable breeze. Natural, of course, but accompanying the crisp wind is an uncomfortable feeling that something is out there. I try my best to pay it no mind. I am, after all, more than capable of handling it. Whatever it may be. Probably, at least. The wind is a good thing, too. It keeps the light fog moving, preventing it from settling into something heavier. Heavier fog, this early in the morning, would be an ill omen.

Omens. Those for good and for ill. Since I was a child, I was taught to keep an eye out for them. My dad used to have a whole long list of different omens to look out for, and what they might mean. I don’t remember them all, of course. But whenever I notice more than one at the same time, they click into my mind. A distant memory, only coming forth when relevant. I’m guessing that’s why my parents made sure I was learning it so young. So that the knowledge is always there.

I continue walking through town, towards the lodge. My friends and I came here on a hiking trip. Not my ideal time, but wandering has never felt wrong to my mind. Tomorrow is the last leg of the hike, and then there is the whitewater rafting back down the river and the final leg into the city. But something has unnerved me since we got into town. I don’t exactly know what, but the feeling that there’s something right there, hovering nearby. It’s not the same as the feeling that you’re being watched. It’s more the feeling when you’re in a packed subway car and someone enters and stands right behind you. Where even though you aren’t looking at them and they aren’t looking at you, you can feel them right there. Ever since I’ve stepped foot in this town, I’ve felt that feeling. Everywhere. And I can’t shake it.

I reenter the lodge, bringing the morning coffees I had left to get up to my slowly awakening friends. I always have the energy. My teachers used to say I had too much energy, but what’s actually going on is not quite that simple. It’s more that whenever I’m doing something, I never need to stop before it’s finished, before I succeed in what I’m doing. I set down the coffees on our suite’s table, and say, “Doofuses, how’re we doing?”

Sasha, coming out from her room already dressed and ready for the day, smiles. “Thank you for the coffee run, Reggie,” she offers, grabbing the regular sized black coffee.

“Not a problem,” I reply, “What about the others?”

“Nate’s still asleep, of course,” she remarks with a smile. “Not sure about Bill.”

From the other side of the suite, Bill speaks. “Fuck you, I need to shower.”

“And Isabella?”

Bill groans. “She’s the reason I haven’t been able to take my shower yet,” he complains.

I smile. “Just a heads up, there’s a chilly breeze and a light fog right now.”

“It should clear up before we head out,” Sasha offers.

I shake my head. “Maybe,” I equivocate, “I wouldn’t count on it though.” Something about the fog feels like it was trying to get thicker, not like it was fading with the nighttime. Like the only thing holding it back was the breeze. I’m not sure which I prefer, the current rolling light fog with the frigid breeze, or the thick fog that would come if the breeze weren’t there. Both are less than ideal.

“I’ll go roll Nate out of bed,” I say, then to Sasha I add jokingly, “Get your girlfriend out of the shower before Bill gets more annoying.”

Sasha shakes her head, shooting back, “Shut up,” as she heads towards the one bathroom for our suite. I walk over to the couch that Nate is sleeping on. He’s out, collapsed on the sofa. Didn’t even bother to pull out the pullout bed. This whole hiking thing isn’t Nate’s idea of a good time, but this year was Sasha’s choice. He had last year’s week of freedom, when we went on our cross-country road trip. I reach down to shake him awake.

It takes a couple of shakes before he mutters. “I’m up. Where’s the coffee?” Slowly, Nate sits up and looks over at the coffee. He stands and starts muttering. “Ow. Ouch. Oof. Ah. Ow,” as he walks slowly to the coffee.

“You good?” Bill asks.

“No,” Nate complains as he starts to drink his oversized mocha. “But I can manage through tomorrow.”

I walk out on the balcony, while everyone else is waking up. Leaning on the rail, the breeze begins to slow. And I can hear something in the distance. I can’t tell where, it almost feels like it’s inside me. A slow rolling chant, bubbling up out of nothingness. Looking out at the thickening fog, I realize something. Other than the barista, I haven’t seen anyone else in town today.

Sasha comes out to join me as I think about that fact. “Isa says she’ll be out in a minute,” she claims. “How are you doing? Get yourself any coffee while you were out?”

I shake my head. “You know me Sasha. You really think I need that?”

Sasha chuckles. We’ve known each other since High School. “Probably not,” she admits, “But maybe old age is finally getting to you.”

“Let me at least make it to thirty before you start calling me old,” I joke back. She’s three months younger than me, and loves to help me remember that. I gesture towards the fog. “It’s not clearing up,” I warn her.

Sasha sighs. “We’ll deal. Probably.” She takes a swig of her coffee and heads back inside.

-It slumbers no longer.- The dark thought crept into my mind. It is somehow both mine and not mine. This isn’t the first time I’ve had this sort of thought, and I know better than to ignore them. But what that means, I can’t tell. A deep whisper in my ear follows. ‘They will react in turn,’ the beautiful voice says confidently. I whip my head around, but no one is there. I sigh. Not a good sign. The voices have left me alone since high school, when there was the gas leak that shut down the school for a month. Keeping me from dying. Not sure why. Or what they were. But like many of the standard omens my parents taught me, I always assumed the voices were warnings about imminent danger. Though what is the threat? It probably is related to that feeling keeping me alert of something being close.

After a few minutes, I head back inside. Everyone who was awake moments ago are asleep now. And the chanting grows louder. No longer merely inside my head. Now it comes from everywhere. The rhythmic thrum of voices, not quite singing but not exactly not. I check each of my friends. They’re alive. They’re breathing. Just out cold. Isabella stumbles out of the shower in her towel and looks at everyone, confused. “What’s going on? What are these sounds?” she asks, rubbing her ears as though she thinks something is wrong with them.

“Some kind of chant or poem?” I guess aloud in reply.

Isabella looks at me more confused than she had been before. “Those generally involve words, not just noises.”

I hear the words, so why doesn’t she? They sing of glory and fate. Of peace and hunger. The poem is almost moving, if it weren’t so unsettlingly performed. I push those thoughts aside and focus on the issue at hand. Her being awake means it isn’t just the problem of things trying to slow me down. Something is causing the sleep. Something that would affect my friends but not me and not the showering Isabella.

It clicks. The coffee. “Get dressed, and don’t touch the coffee,” I say, a bit of nervousness creeping into my voice.

She hears the nervousness, a vibe she rarely if ever has felt from me, and immediately gets the situation. “Got it. What’s the plan?” she asks, immediately getting serious and heading back into her bedroom to get dressed.

I don’t know. What do we do? “I need to figure out what’s going on first,” I say. “Which means I’m heading back through the fog, to that coffeeshop.”

Isabella sticks her head out of the bedroom door. “And me?” she asks.

“Stay awake, and watch over everyone. Don’t want anything happening to them while I’m gone.” She looks nervous, so I add with a confident smile. “Don’t worry, I’ll be back before you know it.” She nods and ducks back into the bedroom. I take her latte, which undoubtedly is drugged as well, and make my way back out into the town.

The fog is overbearing and the uneasy presence is almost overwhelming. But with each step I take, the breeze starts to pick up once more. Not even nor cold like before, but warm and whipping like a tropical storm. I walk my way to the coffee shop.

I swing the door open. Standing by the counter, mouth open in chant, stands the barista. He sees me and gets visibly confused. “You shouldn’t. No, this is wrong.”

“What’s going on with my friends? How do I wake them up?” I press, even inside, the wind whips the door open and swirls around. Inside the building, somehow.

“The gate is already open,” he says, “They’re long gone through it. And you should be too. It needs four to be sated, and the pained one should not be awake after last night.”

Four. They thought one of the coffees for me. “What do you mean by that? The first part, I don’t care about the satiation of whatever.”

“You should. If it stays awake, it will come here. And then it will never be stopped.”

“What do you mean they’re gone?” I press.

“They drank the coffee,” he answers. “Their souls followed the song. Nothing to be done for them now.”

I glare at him. “Want to bet,” I say, letting a smirk show up on my face. “What is this thing you’re so scared of?”

“The Unknowable one, it sleeps here. Has for as long as the town has existed, possibly longer. Once a generation, the families who live here send travelers spirits to keep it sated and asleep. But it wasn’t supposed to wake for another few years, so we improvised without the usual preparations.”

“So I have to go save my friends,” I say with a sigh. “Get to chanting, and bottoms up.” I down Isabella’s latte. It feels weird, drinking coffee for the first time since college. The barista looks confused at me. I smile even wider. “Get to chanting.” He does start to chant. I walk over to one of the coffee shop’s tables and sit down. “Okay,” I whisper to myself, “Hopefully this isn’t as bad as last time.” And then darkness begins to swallow my vision as my face begins to descend towards the table and I go limp.

I see the gate open and a vast stretch of everything always there. The chaos embroiling everything. And the song draws me in towards the gate. Through the gate. My friends’ spirits are there, too, dreaming. Only Sasha will likely realize this is not a dream. She was with me last time. She notices me there and looks nervous. Then echoing begins to speak all around us. Or continues their speech. SO THEY STILL OFFER ME TRIBUTE. FINALLY. I AM HAPPY TO OBLIGE THEIR OFFERS WITH PEACE.

I look out over the vast and ever-changing place that is also a person. The library that lives. The Unknowable. And I offer a sincere apology. “Sorry, Lost One, But I can’t accept any offers of peace.” I feel all the eyes of the place that is alive and yet not so turn to gaze through me. And the fear as it sees what’s on the other side. “I offer only a war that you did not ask for.” And with that, I close my eyes, and I open my own gates into this realm. And the war that has raged for my lifetime begins to flood in here. I gather my friends with me. Trying my best to protect them by keeping them close as the war that happens whenever I come to this side of consciousness wages around us. The Unknowable begins to burn away, as things beyond comprehension begin to understand it by their mere proximity. Slowly, I begin to move us back towards the open gate. So perhaps we can manage to finish our hiking trip before the end of our week of freedom.