When Thomas looked out the window, he saw the world was gone. The line of trees, the bustling cars, the faithful lights of the shopping centre down the street, they had all vanished. A thick white something surrounded the building, dancing in front of the window, eating up every memory of reality. Thomas blinked. The world was back in its place – trees, cars, shopping centre. A black dog was greeting the early morning shoppers, wagging its bushy tail hopefully. Thomas had the distinct impression the dog was looking up at him. It could not have been, though. He was on the tenth floor, after all. The dog couldn’t see that far.
The memory of the white fog came back to him, and he hovered in front of the window uncertainly, afraid to look away. Worried that, once he did, the world would disappear again. The trees and shoppers and the black dog would all vanish in that unexpected nothingness.
“Don’t you ever go home?”
Thomas swirled round and frowned at the curly-haired young woman currently depositing a wet bag on the kitchen counter. Nell. Thomas had been working there for two years and still had no idea what Nell’s job was. She came and went at irregular intervals. Her e-mail address was never included in official communications, and Thomas could not remember seeing her at any office party. But whenever she resurfaced from one of her mysterious absences no one talked about, she brought fresh apples and a jar of honey. They were always regarded as office property.
“It’s only a quarter to seven,” Nell went on. “What are you doing here? No one’s in.”
“You’re in,” Thomas pointed out, then added, thinking it was the type of thing Nell would like to be involved in: “We should see someone about that dog down there. Maybe it’s lost. The owners might be looking everywhere for it.”
Nell squinted at him.
“What dog?”
Thomas turned back to the window, ready to point to the dog in front of the shopping centre. There was no sign of it. The shoppers still came and went, but the dog was gone.
It could have been nothing. Only a dog waiting in front of the shopping centre until the owner came out. But Thomas still saw clearly the moment the world had disappeared, drowned in milky whiteness. He could not escape the feeling that the dog had come out of that mist.
***
He spent the day in a strange state of anticipation. Every time he glanced up from his computer, he half-expected to find the world had disappeared again. It surprised him when everything stayed the same – no mist, no silence, no black dog. His anxiety did not ease off. It mounted as the hours crawled by uneventfully, as if each moment of peace would come with a heavy price. Reality was waiting to shatter all around him. It was only a matter of time.
Thomas did not see Nell again that day. She had probably gone off to wherever she went when she was not bringing fruit to the office. He did find that she had prepared a small jar of honey especially for him. In case you need it, the label said. In spite of himself, he remembered the gifts one got in fairy-tales. To be used when times are at their darkest. He shook his head, amused by the places his mind could take him. He stuffed the jar in his backpack, hoping none of his colleagues had noticed.
He usually enjoyed the walk back home. Evening made the town alive, turning the stuffed solemnity of the working hours into something joyful and free. It reminded Thomas that there was a life beyond the walls of the office. But this time, there were spots of complete silence that unnerved. It had not gone fully dark, but the air around him seemed cloudy somehow. Like something was surrounding him, cutting him off from the rest of the world. A white mist in the corner of his eye. Yet whenever he turned to have a better look, it was gone, as if it had never been there. As if the mist existed only in his mind.
Usually, he would stop somewhere on the way home. At the second-hand bookshop, most of the time. At the café down the road for an anonymous dinner and good music. At the dog park, to watch the people playing with their dogs. It was always full at that hour and Thomas had discovered you could find out a lot about people by watching them playing with their dogs. Today, however, he was not in the mood. He only wanted a door between him and the memory of that morning, when the world had briefly winked out for him.
He was finally at his apartment building. He ignored the neighbours gathered together for their daily gossip session and climbed to the second floor. He had a brief moment of panic when the key no longer seemed to fit. Then, he unlocked the door and stepped in.
The black dog was in the hallway, sitting on its haunches, staring straight at him.
Thomas froze in the act of locking the door. He gaped at the motionless shape, not really able to fully process what he was seeing. It was difficult for a man of his time, fed on rationality and cold hard facts, to accept something as improbable as a black dog materializing in his apartment. That was the stuff of horror stories, of castles and moors and nights of mist. Stories to amuse and perhaps stir the blood just a little, when life became boringly predictable. Safe, because they could never be real.
Except here he was. And here the dog was, too, where no dog should have been. For a while, they stayed staring at each other, man and dog, locked in an unexplainable exchange. Despite the shock, Thomas was quick to discover he was not exactly afraid. There was nothing threatening about the dog. It could have been a normal dog, except there was no way it could have gotten inside the apartment. Except the last time Thomas had seen a black dog was after he had been convinced a white mist-like substance had swallowed the world.
“You’re not real,” Thomas told the black dog with unfaltering confidence.
Immediately, he cursed himself. There was a rule the stories warned you about, over and over again. Don’t acknowledge such creatures. Pretend they’re not there. Don’t talk to them. When you did, they could come to you. That is when they could harm you.
The words could not be erased. The spell had caught shape. Slowly, clumsily, the dog got up. It padded towards Thomas, who stood there, frozen. It sniffed at his cold hands. Then it simply turned away, further into the house.
Thomas sagged against the front door. He knew the dog was still in the house and would probably never leave, but an understanding seemed to have been reached between the two of them. Thomas would not be harmed.
He glanced at the spot where the dog had been sitting. There were traces of something white against the red carpet. Like some kind of mist, slowly dissolving.
***
The next morning, the dog wasn’t there anymore. Thomas was surprised he had fallen asleep after all. He had certainly not been intending to. The last thing he remembered, he was sitting at his computer, catching up on the latest news of his friends, scattered all over the world. He usually did not bother, but the events of that day had left him unsettled, in need of some tangible connection. So, he had scrolled through months of weddings and births and promotions, with the white mist tainting every picture, a taunting reminder that life was passing him by.
The alarm woke him next morning. He found himself in bed, although he could have sworn he had not fallen asleep there. A shudder went through him, as he wondered what could have happened to him while he was asleep – and if the mist had brought something other than the black dog.
He dressed mechanically, his movements slower than usual. He felt a strange lethargy, as if his movements were hindered by something soft and heavy. His breathing felt too slow and he could not get rid of that white, coiling smoke in the corner of his eyes. He stared at his reflection in the mirror. His face appeared to float in a cloud of steam.
“Am I dying?” Thomas wondered out loud.
He had not meant to say it. He did not believe it until the words were spoken, but now the thought would not go away. Was he? Maybe that was the reason for the mist and the black dog and the general unsettling feeling. Something was wrong with him, causing him to hallucinate, before it all broke down.
Or maybe – and he clutched the basin as if it was his only lifeline – maybe he was already dead. What if he had died and not noticed it, and was now living in some kind of shadow of his former life – before he faded into the mist?
“It’s ridiculous,” Thomas told himself straightening his shoulders and letting go of the sink. “It’s not true.”
But, as the mist coiled itself against the bathroom mirror, it seemed to form words: Isn’t it?
***
By mid-morning, though, Thomas had to admit that, if he was not alive, then he was in hell, and the devil for some reason had taken on the shape of his boss, pompous suits and overly-decorated office included. Thomas was “slacking off”, apparently. Yesterday he had been “irritatingly distracted” and he had missed replying to some “crucial e-mails” apparently inconveniencing “valuable clients”. He bore the tirade in silence – he had heard some variant of it before, and he could recite it in his sleep if he ever felt the urge to torture himself. His eyes wondered around the office in dazed boredom, until they fixed themselves on the black dog, sitting next to the water cooler. It was grinning, its teeth bared. Probably laughing at Thomas’ predicament.
“…You’re no longer at the age when you can afford to be a dreamer. You’re a grown man, so just call her.”
Reluctantly, Thomas turned his attention back to his boss.
“I’m sorry? Call who?”
The fancy suit was turning white and foggy before his eyes.
“The woman you’re obviously mooning over,” his boss said sharply. “Why else would you be so distracted?”
The dog sitting behind you and the mist that keeps eating up the world. Thomas nearly said it but held his tongue at the last minute. He was on edge, but not that far gone that he was ready to risk being thrown out of the office in a straightjacket.
As he left the room, he cast one last glance inside. He could not see his boss anymore. The office was swimming in white fog. The black dog had gone, too.
***
He was starting to get used to this. The mist was expected. He had learned to navigate his way through it, even when he could see nothing much past its blinding whiteness. He managed to contain his alarm now whenever the black dog materialized in front of his eyes, at the most random times. In fact, Thomas suspected he would miss the dog if he went away for good.
Humanity’s greatest trait, Thomas mused. To adapt to anything. To get used to the troubles and forget the times they hadn’t been there. To plough on and accept everything life threw at you. Evolution at its finest. Except, maybe it wasn’t. Maybe it sounded too much like resignation. Maybe he was supposed to fight back.
“Or maybe I should accept it all the way,” Thomas thought one evening, as he looked out the window of his small flat to the mist coiling itself around his favourite tree. “Maybe I should step in. see what is there.”
His new theory was that he should not be afraid of what came out of the mist. The mist wasn’t there to spew things out into the world. It was waiting for him. That was where the black dog came in. It was supposed to guide Thomas to this new world. And, just like that, the fear was back, and the acceptance had vanished.
***
Thomas was working late. It was not out of any new-found enthusiasm for the job. He simply did not want to face the road home. Today had been particularly bad. The fog had coiled around him that morning, taking away his eyesight, causing him to stumble into other passers-by repeatedly. No doubt they thought he was drunk. At least in front of the computer he could pretend everything was fine.
Something was telling him that today everything would unravel. The black dog had not left his side. The fog was more than an inconvenience in the corner of his eyes. He could feel it. The cold dampness had him shivering constantly. Not that anyone had noticed or, at least, they had not taken any action. That was the rule at the office. Pretend everyone else did not exist. Thomas had been content with that. But now he found himself longing for some human connection. Something was going to happen to him, and he did not want to be alone.
“Are you alright?”
The voice was like an answer to his prayer. Thomas looked up, blinking to dissolve the fog around his eyes. There was Nell, frowning at him in concern. He could hardly recognise her. He had not seen Nell since the morning when it had all started.
For a moment, he was ready to dismiss the question – to smile carelessly and answer that, of course he was fine, why wouldn’t he be? But the need to have someone close put a stop to lying.
“To tell you the truth, I don’t think that I am,” he admitted. “I feel… trapped. In a fog, so to speak.”
It was as close as he could get to the truth without sounding completely out of his mind. After all, he barely knew Nell. He did not know how she would react if he started rambling about white mist and black dogs only he could see.
Nell gazed at him with a knowing look. Something in her eyes told him she had heard everything he had to say loud and clear.
“Are you scared?” she asked softly.
Thomas ran a weary hand over his face. It was cold. It was always cold now.
“I don’t know what’s happening to me. I feel like… I feel like my entire existence will be taken from me soon. Yeah, you could say I’m afraid. Frankly, Nell, I’m scared to death.”
Nell sat down in the empty chair beside him. It was then that Thomas registered they were alone in the office. Everyone else had gone home.
“I don’t think you have any reason to be afraid,” Nell spoke thoughtfully. “I’m sure no one wants to harm you. It’s just that… you know, it’s about curiosity. They want to know more about you. That’s all.”
Thomas shook his head.
“Who does? What are you talking about?”
Nell leaned forward, putting a hand on his arm. The touch felt real – but, in a way, not entirely. It felt like the fog. Real and insubstantial at the same time.
“Who are you?” he asked. “You’ve never… you’ve never worked here, have you?”
Nell laughed. Her eyes shone with barely held merriment. It changed her, turning her into something less of the real world, and closer to the world of coiling mists and black dogs.
“You know – no one else asked me this question before now. They just took me for granted. So did you, although I’ve always sensed you were more observant than most. That’s why I decided to reveal myself for who I really am.”
Thomas’ shoulders stiffened.
“What do you want?”
Nell shrugged.
“I suppose the same thing as you. Connection. Understanding. Someone to learn from. Someone to share the world with. That’s what we want – the people beyond the mist. We’re curious about you, that’s all. And you – you’re lonely.”
“What of it?” Thomas demanded sharply.
Nell looked around pointedly at the empty office.
“You’ve got no reason to be here. Why not enter the fog? Follow the black dog.”
Thomas stiffened.
“Die, you mean.”
She did not deny it. If she had, Thomas perhaps would have considered the offer.
“You’re so dramatic,” Nell said. “Death, your current existence – is there really a difference? At least, if you step inside the mist, you’ll have a purpose. You’d help us learn.”
“And if I say no?” Thomas insisted.
Please say you’ll just go away and leave me alone. He nearly said that, but still had some pride left not to start begging outright.
Nell’s face was uncompromising. She got up.
“Think about it,” she said over her shoulder. “We can wait. We have time. Do you?”
Thomas buried his face in his hands. He understood perfectly. If he said no now, it would not matter. Because the mist would keep on following him, keep on taking his energy until he said yes. Until he agreed to step in.
***
The first thing Thomas did that night was to get rid of Nell’s jar of honey. He bagged it and threw it in a garbage can on the other end of his street. All this under the watchful gaze of the black dog. Thomas was surprised it had not tried to stop him. But, then again, the dog had never interfered with him in any way. Had never harmed him. Perhaps Nell was right, and whatever came from the mist was not malevolent. He shook his head. Why was he thinking that anyway? It was not like he intended to step through.
When he got back, the jar of honey was waiting for him on the kitchen counter. The black dog bared its teeth in a grin. There is no escape, it seemed to say.
***
That night, for the first time, the fog crept into his house. So far, Thomas had been safe there. The black dog was often with him, but the fog was just an image in the corner of his eyes. He often saw it outside, engulfing the world. But he had never thought it could get in.
Thomas was half-asleep, in that uncertain midnight state, on the threshold of another world, between dream and reality. He usually had little knowledge of who he was during that time. He knew he existed but he did not know where or why. The world was a distant dream. And whatever he saw in that bizarre state, he usually accepted it without hesitation.
When the mist crept inside his room, he was not surprised. Some part of his mind had been expecting it. When it floated towards the bed, he watched in almost detached fascination. He did not look away.
The mist surrounded the bed. It got cold. Thomas noticed that only abstractly. He was aware he was shivering violently, and a part of his brain warned him that he was freezing. But he did not really know what freezing was.
The mist – or something in it – stroked his hair. It reminded Thomas of Nell. It felt like he was sure Nell’s hand would feel. Only the touch was also wet and cold, like it came from somewhere underwater, or from the leafy undergrowth of the forest.
He tried to move then. In truth, he was not sure why he wanted to move – if he was trying to escape, or to reach out to the fog. It did not matter, though. His limbs would not obey him. They felt heavy and foreign as if his body no longer belonged to him.
His mind cleared all of a sudden, and with the awareness came a fear he had never experienced before. Something in him struggled, attempting to move, wanting to lift at least a finger, that would prove he was still in control. But no matter how much he raised it and shouted in his own mind, he could not move at all.
He watched with wide eyes as the fog shifted, distancing itself, then getting close again, teasing him with its slow hypnotic dance. He felt icy fingers taking his hand, and he could do nothing to move away. The black dog was there on his bed, breathing in his face. And there was nothing Thomas could do to get away.
The milky whiteness of the fog gave way to images, too fast and blurred for him to make out much of them. He recognised scenes from his life, but he was not sure they had really happened. At times, he fancied he could hear Nell’s voice although, in truth, it did not sound anything like Nell’s calm way of talking.
The fog was a part of him now. He drowned in its iciness, feeling his thoughts changing. Time lost its meaning as he lay there, a helpless statue swimming in white mist. Then, as if it had never been there, the fog evaporated. The black dog was gone, leaving Thomas alone for the first time in days. Thomas swallowed harshly. His relief was short lived, though. He realized he could taste honey.
***
The next day there was a confusion in him that he could not quite explain. His thoughts were muddled, all over the place. He could not focus on any single thing. All he knew was the fear, although he had forgotten the source.
Thomas met Nell at the office. She greeted him civilly, as if nothing had happened between them. Thomas replied in the same manner, half-wondering why he thought something should have happened. Then, it all came back to him. He bolted to the bathroom before people could notice he was panicking. He stood for a long time clutching the basin, not daring to look in the mirror. What was happening to him? Why was he forgetting things?
The rest of the morning passed in a mixture of alarm and confusion. At times, he was painfully aware of the mist swirling around him, the black dog, Nell watching his every move. At other times, he could not understand what had him so scared. Something had changed the night before and he could not understand what. In truth, he could not recall much of what had happened then. All he knew was the fear and the taste of honey.
Thomas left the office soon after lunch. He was keenly aware of several people casting him strange looks, but no one tried to stop him. He was glad. He did not know what he would have done, had they got in his way.
He walked for a long time, without thinking about where he was going. From time to time, people bumped into him, or bikes zoomed close by. He did not really notice them. His mind had left him, or maybe there was something else there, something urging him to meet some inescapable destiny.
It was only when he reached the edge of the town that Thomas woke up from his trance. He turned to face the green fields through which the highway wound, surprisingly empty at that time of day. A patch of fog was drifting lazily up ahead. It blocked his view of whatever was beyond. The black dog was waiting for him. For the first time, it was wagging its tail. Thomas could not help smiling.
He could taste honey again. He had not eaten anything with honey that day. He did not find it unpleasant. He felt himself suspended in a moment he could not quite understand, where his gestures were not entirely his own. But he wanted to find out what would happen next. He wanted to know where the next step would take him.
Thomas hesitated. He took a deep breath, then walked towards the fog. No one saw him disappear into the white mist. No one ever saw him coming back.
***
He opened his eyes to a sunlit orchard. In front of him, there were rows upon rows of apple trees in bloom. The buzzing of bees was a constant hum in his ears. He was home, he thought. It didn’t fit, but before he could remember why, he spotted the house. A wooden cottage with flowerpots at the windows. He made his way towards it.
At the door, he stopped and turned around. A golden haze hung over the tops of the apple orchard. There was no white mist.
“But, then again, why would there be?” Thomas thought.
He shook himself out of the uneasiness that kept trying to creep into his mind and entered the house. A large black dog bounded towards him, wagging its tail in greeting. Thomas bent down to stroke the dark fur. It was soft and warm and alive, and he could not understand the shiver of disgust that went through him. What was wrong with him? Why should he be afraid of his own dog?
A woman was waiting for him in the kitchen. Nell, bright and golden like the evening haze outside. She was arranging several jars of honey on the wooden shelves. The smell of it enveloped him in a warm embrace, scattering all worries that still tried to reach him. Nell looked up and smiled.
“You’ve kept me waiting,” she said. “Welcome home.”
A golden band glittered on her finger. Thomas glanced down at his own hand to see a matching ring. He dismissed his confusion.
“Come sit down,” Nell urged, drawing a chair for him. “I have some new honey. Try it. I’m sure you’ll love it.”
Thomas made his way to the table and sat down. The black dog sat close to him. Nell was on his other side. He looked at the jar of honey his wife had prepared for him.
For a moment, he froze. This was not real. This was not his house. That was not his dog. Nell wasn’t his wife.
“Thomas?” Nell’s voice broke through the darkness, curious and uncertain at the same time. “Won’t you try the honey?”
The doubts shrunk away at the words. He took a spoon and dug into the jar. He completely missed the glint in Nell’s eyes, her smirk like that a spider would wear when a fly walked willingly and unsuspectingly straight into its web.
Outside, the orchard and the cottage disappeared under a wall of milky-white mist.
END
Copyright Simina Lungu 2021
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