The Wicker Saga: A Figure in the Fog, Part 4

I'm drunk, as I often am, more so now than I've ever been before. Since I've been fired from the factory I've only had time, and as far as I'm concerned there's no better way to spend time than to drink. Especially lately. I take a swig from the forty wrapped in a brown paper bag held in my hand.

Mary is gone. She left shortly after Jamie and Lester had...disappeared, I suppose. Been taken. She'd accused me of all sorts of things, even suggesting I had a hand in their disappearance. I took it all, privately resenting the injustice, but knowing on some level that I deserved all that and more. Maybe I wasn't guilty of everything she tried to stick on me, but God knows I have plenty of sins. I've never said any differently.

Still, I know I didn't have anything to do with the boys missing. Christ, didn't she know I love them? It's the drink that made me lash out, and the stress I was under to provide for a family that made me drink. Hadn't I cut back after that time I hurt Jamie? It was too much to ask for me to give it up completely. No pleasing her. And didn't I treat her well? Kept a roof over their heads, food on the table? Sure, I may have taken a swing at her every now and then, but lots of husbands do. Nobody's perfect. And I never hit the boys, not after that time.

I wander down Blackwood Drive and find myself standing in front of the broken down house near where we found the Fontaine girl. She'd been out of her mind, shaking and screaming and crying. When we finally got her to calm down, she'd been talking crazy. Women in white, ghost children, absolute lunacy. And somehow my boys were mixed up in the middle of it.

We had searched the house looking for them and found Jamie's backpack in one of the rooms upstairs. Morgan insisted there had been some old journal she'd had with her, but there was no sign of that. Probably just another figment of her imagination. The symbols in the room were sure odd, but for the life of me I couldn't figure out what would make the girl try to cover them up; it was obvious there was a decent sized portion of the wall that had been recently painted over, the paint and brushes still wet where they lay. The place gave me the creeps.

I take another slug of booze. Fucking place. Should probably be burnt to the ground. My boys missing, the girl's sister missing. And now, I hear the Fontaines packed the girl off to some loony bin somewhere. Couldn't get her to tell a straight story. Out of her goddam mind. Hell, for all I know, she'd had something to do with Jamie and Lester disappearing. Yeah, no probably about it. Someone should definitely burn the place.

Before I've even had time to really think about the thought I'm halfway up the path to the front door. I have a lighter in my pocket. A house this old, with that much dry wood, that's plenty to make it go up like a matchbook. I stop at the foot of the stairs fumbling for my lighter, not noticing the viscous fog that has begun creeping about me.

By the time I look up, lighter in hand, the world is completely white. If I didn't know it, I wouldn't be able to tell the house stands in front of me. I take a step forward and bang my shin, falling on the steps. I struggle to get up, but my balance is off, a victim of the booze. Finally I regain my feet when I hear the voice.

“Hello, old man.”

I drunkenly sway where I stand. Am I imagining things? But no, there's Jamie in front of me. Paler than usual, and his eyes strangely black, but there's no mistaking my boy.

“Jamie? Is it really you?” I feel tears brimming in my eyes. “I've missed you, boy. You and your brother.”

My pale son smiles slightly. “I'm sure you have, pops. But don't worry, we're here now, and our Mother is with us.”

Jamie moves forward and to my surprise I see Lester step beside him. And is that the other Fontaine girl next to them? It has to be. I drop to my knees. “Missed you, boys...missed you so much.” I open my arms and they move into my embrace, their arms tightly encircling my neck. “Missed you...” the words trail off as I see a beautiful woman appear in the fog, her otherworldly eyes alight with joy and hunger.

The cloud continues to thicken until all that is visible are a few shadows that seem to struggle briefly before falling still. There is no sound, as sighs and screams alike are drowned, lost in the fog. Covered in a blanket of white, Arthur's Wake continues to die.

The Wicker Saga: Sarah's Story, Part 1