What Lies Beneath the Fog

》2《

Leaving the harbour behind, we followed a narrow, winding road. It avoided the village and wound its way up, between the rocks and cliffs on one side, and the green valley on the other.

We had left our car on the mainland, there was no need to bring it out here. Foggy Island was quite small, with only a few roads. We could easily walk everywhere.

My parents knew this island, they had come here on holiday several times, years ago. Dad had even come on his own, at least twice recently. First, to check on the otters for his project, and then, once he had persuaded Mum to move here, to find us a house. I was glad that he knew this place so well. Otherwise, we would get lost easily today. Not because the place was big.

It was because of the fog.

All I could see right now was my father in front of me and a few red roofs in the distance. The bright rainproof jackets, which Mum had insisted on buying for all of us, proved really useful. Their fluorescent colours made us more visible to each other.

The road led upwards for a couple of kilometres, at least. After a good half an hour of a very slow walk, we reached the stone wall towering above the valley and turned left. The place was beautiful but strange and unsettling at the same time.

I felt being watched, as if the rugged cliffs around me had eyes. Or, better, as if there was someone hidden among them, watching me and waiting patiently for a perfect occasion to approach me...

The thought made the short hair on the back of my neck prickle and stand erect. I turned around but could not see anything apart from the white fog that made everything look eerie and amorphous.

"Finally, we are here!" Mum exclaimed, quite out of breath after the climb. "I'm not as fit as I thought I was."

Her short, curly hair looked brown now, all damp from the fog. My hair must have looked that way too-- our hair and eyes were of the same colour. We were two green-eyed redheads of the family.

"You'll get used to it soon, Sara!" Dad called, laughing.

"She is right, Dad, it wouldn't be you if you didn't choose a house located in the highest spot of the island," I said, quite breathless myself.

"If I chose a different cottage, we wouldn't have this view from our sitting room, look!"

We stopped and looked where he was pointing. The fog had dissipated from the spot where we stood at the moment, rushing off towards the cliffs. Some of it still lingered deep underneath us, among the grazing sheep. In the distance, I could see the tiny, sleepy village, and over, on the sea, the blue and white ferry that had brought us here, only just visible on the horizon. It looked much faster now, as it made its way across the sea, leaving a frothy trail of white foam in its wake, rushing away, as if it wanted to escape the fog that was descending again, fast.

It was all so picturesque.
The island was like a little realm, frozen under the mysterious fog, somewhere between the past and the present.

When I turned right, in the direction of our new house, I noticed a second lighthouse, a more ancient-looking one. It had been invisible from the village before, and even now, I could only see it partly-- just the tip of its white tower and the cone of light piercing through the fog and the thickening darkness.

After about ten more minutes of walking, we reached our new home, and I got to see the lighthouse better. It was situated on one of the dangerous looking cliffs, on a kind of large, natural platform, far behind, and slightly lower than our house. I would need to find a way to walk over to it, I couldn't see any from where I stood now.

"That's the Old Lighthouse," Dad explained, following my look. "They call it the Byron's Lighthouse, and there are a lot of local legends and rumours about it. You'll love them," he said, winking at me. "They say..."

"Would you please stop filling his head with the local nonsense on our first night here, James?! Come on, you two, enter," Mum scolded him, approaching the lavender-coloured front door of our new house.

She looked tired and still a bit breathless, but happy. This new adventure suited her perfectly. Mum opened the old wooden door, and we entered the white stone house. We left our luggage in the narrow hall and walked into the sitting room.

I fell in love with it at first sight. It had all the original, antique furniture that was perfect for the island cottage. There was even a huge fireplace, essential for banishing the humidity and coolness of the ever-present fog. Even though we were in the middle of the summer, the ancient house felt cold and damp.

Mum must have been thinking the same because she was already next to it, looking around for wood and matches.

The room's large window was lined with heavy curtains, probably for the same reason. The view that it offered was breathtaking. On a clear day, we would see the entire valley, the roofs of the village, the harbour, and the blueness of the sea rolling and stretching in the distance.

"So, what do you think? This is what I was talking about," Dad said proudly, observing our reactions. "It will give you a lot of inspiration for your watercolours, Liam." Like a small, excited boy, he was nearly jumping with joy and pleasure.

"It definitely will, Dad," I said, returning his smile.

"Go and see your room upstairs, honey, it's the one on the left. You'll get a different view from there," Mum joined in our conversation. "In the meantime, I'll check if Lynn managed to bring us some food. I wouldn't like to return all the way down to the village, to eat in her pub tonight. I'm exhausted."

Lynn and her husband Will were old friends of my parents'. They owned the only pub on the island. The four of them met when my mum and dad came on holiday here in the past, and they stayed in touch ever since. Lynn and Will even came to visit us in Edinburgh a few times. Their son, Dean, was approximately my age, but I didn't remember him much. My parents were hoping that we would become friends now.

I climbed up the old, wooden staircase which made all kinds of strange noises under my feet, as if I woke it up after years of a peaceful slumber, making it protest against my unwelcome presence unhappily. At the top of the stairs, I found a short corridor. At its end, in front of me, I could see the only bathroom of the house. Apart from that, there were just two other doors. The cottage felt quite small, after our spacious flat in the city.

Following Mum's instructions, I walked towards the white door on the left. It stood half open, and I walked inside the room slowly, drawn by the beauty of the view its only window offered.

I could finally see the whole Old Lighthouse. If it wasn't for the sea moving, heaving, crashing against the cliffs deep down, it would look like a painting. Even though it wasn't completely dark outside yet, the nearly full moon was already rising from the depths of the sea behind the lighthouse, partly covered by mist. The scenery looked eerie and breathtakingly beautiful.

After a while, I forced myself to tear my gaze from the window, resolved to go back downstairs, and get my bag. I wanted to take some pictures of the amazing view, and my camera was still somewhere inside my luggage.

I found Dad already unpacking; his laptop and the few books he carried here with him were scattered on the table by the sitting room window. Apparently, he claimed our new sitting room as his office.

"Liam, would you like a pizza tonight?" Mum called from the kitchen when she heard me on the stairs. "It's either that or fish burgers; that's what I found in the freezer. There's enough food for tonight and breakfast tomorrow; there's even a bottle of wine. We really need to thank Lynn for all that she's done for us; she's such a treasure."

"Definitely, Mum, pizza is great, you know I love it. Do you need any help?"

"No honey, I'm fine here, go unpack if you want. I'll call you when the dinner is ready. You'll need to make your bed, too. The sheets should be in the chest of drawers by your window, Lynn took care of everything."

"Ok, Mum, don't worry," I called to her, walking up the creaky stairs again, my bag on my shoulder.

I would make my bed, but only after I took a few pictures of the Byron's Lighthouse.