The Voice in the Fog. Short story.
The coastal town of Brindlemere was a place where fog lingered like an uninvited guest, shrouding the world in damp silence. On most days, the sea seemed to disappear behind a thick gray wall, and the people went about their lives as if they were the only souls left in existence. The fog had become part of the rhythm of life in Brindlemere—a familiar backdrop to the fishing boats, the crumbling lighthouse, and the narrow cobblestone streets. Yet, there was one thing about the fog that made the town uneasy: the voice in the fog.
No one could say when it first started, the voice in the fog. Some claimed it had always been there, woven into the mist like an ancient curse. Others believed the voice in the fog began after the wreck of the Lady Aveline, a fishing trawler that never made it back to shore. Its entire crew—eight men, including the lighthouse keeper’s son—were lost to the sea. That was five years ago, and the town had not been the same since.
The voice came with the fog, drifting through the alleys and along the shore. Sometimes it was soft, a whisper carried on the breeze. Other times, it was louder, almost like a song, but always distant and impossible to place. People would stop in the streets, strain their ears, and look around, but there was never anyone there. It was a woman’s voice in the fog, or so most believed. Some thought it sounded like laughter, while others swore it was crying. But one thing was certain: the voice in the fog was not a sound from the living.
Mira had heard the voice in the fog many times, but she never spoke of it. As the daughter of the town’s only remaining lighthouse keeper, her family had always been close to the sea, both physically and emotionally. Her father, Elias, was a stoic man, weathered by years of hard labor and the grief of losing his son, Henry, in the wreck. After that tragic day, Elias had grown quieter, retreating into his work and the solitude of the lighthouse. Mira understood. She, too, felt the weight of Henry’s absence like a stone in her chest.
But lately, the voice in the fog had been different. It called her name.
“Mira…”
She first heard it one evening as she walked home from the market. The fog had rolled in thick and sudden, and the town felt muffled, as though it had been swallowed by a great, unseen force. She paused on the street, her basket of vegetables clutched tightly in her hand. The sound was faint, almost indistinct, but unmistakably her name.
“Mira…”
Her breath caught in her throat. She glanced around, but the streets were empty, and the mist swirled in ghostly patterns around her. The voice was familiar, but she couldn’t place it. It was as if it came from the depths of her memory, a sound she had once known but had long since forgotten.
She quickened her pace and hurried home.
For days after, she tried to ignore it. The voice didn’t come every time the fog settled in, but when it did, it was persistent. Each time, it grew louder, more insistent.
“Mira… Come closer.”
It always came from the direction of the sea.
She couldn’t shake the feeling that something was waiting for her out there, just beyond the edge of the mist. Her father, Elias, had always warned her about the dangers of the fog and the treacherous cliffs by the lighthouse, but this was different. This was not the warning of a physical threat. This was something deeper, something that pulled at her soul.
One night, unable to sleep, she sat by the window and stared out at the lighthouse. Its beam cut through the fog like a knife, slicing through the darkness in slow, sweeping arcs. The voice had been especially loud that evening, calling her again and again, though no one else seemed to hear it. Her father hadn’t mentioned it, nor had any of the townsfolk.
“Mira… Come to me.”
Her heart raced. She had to know. She had to see for herself what was calling her.
Wrapping herself in her cloak, she slipped out of the house and made her way toward the cliffs. The air was heavy with moisture, and the fog clung to her skin like icy fingers. As she approached the lighthouse, the voice grew clearer, more urgent.
“Mira…”
She stood at the edge of the cliffs, staring out into the gray void where the sea should have been. The lighthouse beam passed over her, momentarily illuminating the swirling mist, but it revealed nothing.
“Who are you?” she whispered, her voice trembling.
For a moment, there was silence, and she thought perhaps she had imagined it all. But then, the voice returned, louder than ever, and this time it was unmistakable.
“Mira… It’s me.”
Her heart nearly stopped. She knew that voice.
“Henry?”
The fog shifted, parting slightly, and for the briefest moment, she thought she saw a figure standing at the water’s edge. It was tall, shrouded in mist, but there was something familiar about its posture, its stance. Her brother. It had to be.
“Henry!” she cried, taking a step forward. “Is it really you?”
But the figure dissolved into the fog as quickly as it had appeared, and the voice faded into the distance.
She fell and her knees touched the ground, tears were flowing down her cheeks. Was it possible? Could her brother still be out there, lost in the fog, waiting for her? This thought was both at the same time terrifying and thrilling.
For the next few days, she was consumed by the idea. She questioned everyone in town, hoping someone else had seen or heard something, but no one had. They looked at her with pity, chalking her behavior up to grief. After all, hadn’t they all lost someone to the sea?
But Mira knew what she had heard. She knew it was Henry’s voice.
Finally, one evening, she couldn’t resist any longer. She gathered her courage and made her way back to the cliffs, determined to find the truth. The fog was thicker than ever, swirling around her in dense clouds, but she pressed on.
“Mira…” The voice was clear now, almost as if it were right beside her. “Come to me.”
“I’m here, Henry,” she called. “I’m coming!”
She stepped closer to the edge, her heart pounding in her chest. The sea roared below, invisible beneath the fog, but she didn’t hesitate. She took one more step, and the ground gave way beneath her.
For a brief, terrifying moment, she was weightless, falling toward the churning sea below. But just as quickly, she felt something cold and solid wrap around her wrist, pulling her back from the edge.
It was her father, his face pale and his eyes wide with fear.
“What were you thinking?” he shouted, his voice shaking. “The cliffs are dangerous!”
“I—I heard him, Father,” she stammered. “I heard Henry.”
Elias’s face softened, and he pulled her into his arms.
“I know,” he whispered. “I hear him, too.”
And together, they stood at the edge of the fog, listening to the voice that would never truly leave them.
