Chapter Text
Jonathan Simms isn’t a lonesome child. His parents give him all the attention they can. It is no one’s place to tell them it isn’t enough.
Jon isn’t lonely, at least he tries not to be. He is taught how to read by his mama and with the help of his grandmother, he excels at it. Each time his parents leave him alone in his room he finds a new book to get lost in. The world of fantasy is so close to him he doesn’t think to ask about the white puffy clouds that keep following him around. Not even when they enter his house with him.
It starts during one of the walks through the nearby forest. His father is holding his right hand and his mama is holding the other. They talk over his head and he just observes the world of nature. It is late morning in autumn so the fog isn’t anything extraordinary for the adults. Little Jon is fascinated though. He pulls on his mother’s hand to get her attention. It takes some shaking to finally have her look down.
“What is it, sweetheart?” She asks in a soft voice.
He likes his mama’s voice. It can make every story interesting and beautiful.
“What’s that?” He moves his head toward the puffy clouds lying close to the ground.
He doesn’t want to let go of his dad. That would give him an opportunity to disappear into his office. Even if they are a long way from home Jon still worries that a call from work will reach them.
“This is fog.” His mama explains to him.
“Those are little droplets of water. Very, very small. Way smaller than the ones you can see dripping from the tap.” His dad appends.
Jon nods. It makes sense. The water dances around them while they wander. His parents go back to the topic they have been arguing over.
Jon knows when they are quarreling. His mama stands straighter and pulls her arms close to her body. She tugs him closer because of their joined hands. His dad’s voice gets louder when he doesn’t like something his mama is saying.
“Forget it.” She snaps and the silence falls.
Jon squeezes her hand tightly. He wants to tell her she shouldn’t worry. Everything will be fine. But his parents don’t like it when he speaks up during their adult talks so he stays silent.
He looks around the forest. He can hear the birds since his parents are quiet. Something brown moves not far from them and he is suddenly a witness to a bushy tail of a squirrel disappearing behind a tree. He lets go of his parents’ hands and runs to the place where he saw it run.
Each of his steps makes the fog rise. It dances around him and closes up once he passes through it. It doesn’t feel like anything against his skin. He ignores it, too focused on looking for the small animal.
His parents watch him with amusement. Neither says a word, too aware of their partner’s temper.
“Come Jon.” His mama speaks up when she sees him trying to get through the bushes on the other side of the tree. “We need to get back. Your grandma will arrive soon.”
With a sad sigh, he leaves the squirrel be. He turns back and stops in his tracks. He can see his parents, but they are just blurry figures standing a few feet away from him. The whitness of the fog makes everything look fuzzy. He steps into it and it surrounds him smoothly. He isn’t afraid of it. He extends his hand so he can touch those small droplets of water. It leaves his skin moist. He raises his arms, imagines becoming a dragon, and flies to his parents.
The fog follows them home. It lies near the ground and Jon is delighted to kick his legs and see it raise. He plays with it while his mother readies the dinner. His dad has disappeared into his office. Jon tried to catch his attention before the door closed and got promised to have his time after the meal.
So Jon observes the way the fog moves, tries to create shapes with it. They move too quickly for him to form anything lasting.
He swallows down any doubt he has about his dad finding time for him. Instead, he plans what he is going to show him. Maybe his new book. Or that picture they have asked him to make in kindergarten. He doesn’t like it, but his teacher has said it was amazing. Grandma agreed. He has wanted to show it to his dad the day he has brought it back, but he was too busy. And his mama came back late from work so it was only him and grandma until the late evening.
The fog around him gets thicker. The whiteness feels more solid when he makes it move. It has weight to it. He can raise his hands and it moves with them. It no longer flows near the ground, but it reaches his waist.
“Jon!” He hears his mama’s voice calling for him.
He can see the silhouette of his house so he runs to it. The fog parts before him. He outstretches his hands so he can once again become a dragon flying over the clouds. It feels like he could flap his arms and take off into the sky. It makes him laugh.
With a big smile still on his face, he reaches the kitchen. His mama makes him change out of his outdoor clothes and sits him down at the table. His father joins them soon. There is a tense silence that the scratching of the plates doesn’t dispense.
Jon looks between his parents. He doesn’t understand why they don’t talk to each other. He opens his mouth to say something, anything. Maybe tell them about his day at kindergarten. He has already told grandma, but they may want to hear about it too.
The phone rings. His dad gets up so quickly it looks like he has been waiting for it. He nearly runs to it.
“Yes, hello.” He greats whoever is on the other side of the line.
Jon’s mother watches him like a hawk. She looks worried, grips her spoon tightly. Jon focuses on his meal. Since he isn’t supposed to speak, he will do the thing that makes his mama call him her big, clever boy. He takes it upon himself to eat everything on his plate. The rule not to talk during phonecalls keeps his mouth shut even when he remembers that he wanted to tell her about the drawing.
The fog catches his eye. It travels in through the open window. It is one of the big ones with a view of the fields. Mama must have left it open. He observes the fog as it moves in, seemingly moved by the wind coming from the outside. His mother doesn’t notice as she only has eyes for her husband.
Jon isn’t stupid. The call probably means his dad won’t have time for him. He doesn’t dwell on the nagging feeling in his chest. Instead, he wolfs down his meal and wonders what can he find in the books about the fog and the rain.
Looking back Jon knows it wasn’t always like that. There were times when his parent found time for him. Yet it was never enough to fully get rid of the fog. He could always see it at the edge of his vision. Even in a room full of children when they preferred to play with each other instead of including him he could feel the wisps of it gently moving against his hand. It felt like a caress, a friend catching his hand to raise his spirit.
On the day he is left alone in this world with his grandmother the fog appears with a delay. He is reading when he gets the news. A simple book about simple problems he has brought back from kindergarten. There are too many pictures in it, which doesn’t let him imagine the animals the way he would like them to see them.
“What? How? I will be on my way.” He hears his grandmother’s voice from the room next to his.
She sounds strange. He looks up, a fringe of dark hair obscuring his vision. Mama said he needed a haircut. Jon likes his hair like this. It gives him something to hide behind.
Grandma stands in the doorway looking down at him. Her face is pale. She weavers like a mirage, skin pulled taut around her lips. Her eyes seem glazed. The big sweater that normally made her look cozy suddenly reminds him of a scarecrow he has seen during his walk home. She moves like there are guts of wind pulling her in different directions.
“Jon, you need to come with me.” Her voice is flat and dry.
He stares at her, not understanding. He is supposed to have an hour to finish his reading before his parents come back. Then there will be supper, his mama will talk to his grandma while he reads his book. Grandma will leave, his mama will make him get ready for sleep. Then…
“Jon. Get here. Now.” Behind the dead calmness, grandma seems angry at him.
She doesn’t regularly get angry. Only when he forgets to do something he was supposed to. He quickly gets up and looks around. What is he supposed to bring? A book? His bag?
“Jonathan.”
He leaves everything and runs to her. It turns out to be the right answer. She doesn’t scold him for running around. Instead, she grabs his arm and pulls him towards the door. They get their shoes on. She makes him pull his arms into his coat even though he has known how to get one on since he was four. Then she grabs her keys and they are out of the house.
The world outside is gray. Jon is floored by the amount of fog surrendering their garden. It has never been this foggy. He can barely see the car waiting for them. His grandma moves so quickly towards it he needs to run after her so he doesn’t get lost. He feels a deep certainty that if he went into the whiteness he would never find his way back.
Something deep within him shivers at the idea. He waits until his grandma opens the back door and then crawls into his seat. She slams the door. For a second he is sure she is the one that is going to get lost.
Her white hair blends with the heavy air. Her eyes look dull. She gets into the front seat and starts the car. They leave the driveway and speed towards something Jon is sure he isn’t going to like. He watches the fields passing them by. The golden color of the ears of wheat is washed out. He cannot see the sky behind all the fog. He wonders if it is still there or maybe some kind of monster ate it while they were in the house. The sun must have been eaten too.
The car takes a wild turn and suddenly they are inside the town. There are no people around, just shops open by no one and ready to welcome no one. Jon starts counting each open sign he can see. The speed of the car doesn’t make his job easy. His mama would be angry at grandma for driving so fast. He doesn’t care enough to remind her about that.
The town is also filled with fog. He can only see the pavement closest to their car and the shops on that side of the street.
He looks down to check if his hands still carry any color. Their shade is the same it has been this morning. He pulls at his sweater and it is still blue. So are his socks. His boots are brown and his trousers black. He looks up at his grandma. To his horror, her jacket is no longer bright red. It is a muted brown, a color he has never liked. He pulls at his seat belt so he can bring himself closer to watch her. She is so focused on the road she doesn’t even notice his head piquing from between the seats.
The street ahead is as bleak as the one passing them in the side windows. Jon looks at his grandma and feels like there is a stranger driving him somewhere he doesn’t want to be.
“Where are we going, grandma?” He asks, his voice quiet and hesitant.
She twitches in her seat. A quick glimpse to her left makes her realize how close the child has gotten to her.
“Sit back.” She orders him.
He is obedient enough to get back in his place. She sighs. It isn’t his fault. She doesn’t know whose is, but the child sitting in the back seat is one of the victims. She grips the driving wheel hard enough to turn her knuckles white.
“We are going to a hospital. There has been an accident. Your mother isn’t feeling so well after her surgery.” She informs him.
She expects more questions. He only offers a blank stare in the rearview mirror.
“We need to check if she is alright.” She is worried they may only be able to say their goodbyes.
She has no idea how to tell a child something like this. She leaves the silence hanging over them. She stares intently at the remarkably empty road. The small amount of cars makes it easier for her to get where she is supposed to be.
Another turn and they arrive at the hospital. She leaves the car in the first available spot, barely waits long enough for Jon to get out, and grabs him so she can carry him while running towards the entrance. The child is pliant in her arms.
She talks to the first nurse she can spot. She points towards one of the doors and gives them both a sorrowful look. It could mean anything. But it means only one thing.
The doctor that greats them proves that her fears were right. They are too late. She lets go of Jon before she crumbles into the nearby chair. She doesn’t weep. She just sits there staring ahead.
The doctor looks at her with sympathy. She takes Jon’s hand into hers and starts to explain to the child what has happened. He keeps stealing glances at his grandma, but she doesn’t pay him any attention. So he looks at the woman holding his hand.
She looks nice. She keeps talking and talking about heaven and angels. He knows his parents are dead. He has heard the first time. He lets her talk. He doesn’t want her to stop because if she does the fog that has followed them inside the hospital is going to grab him. Or maybe he will wander into it on his own.
The doctor is called by a nurse and she has to leave. Jon grips her hands tighter, hoping she will understand. He doesn’t want to be left alone. Not when his grandmother looks paler and paler. Not when his parents aren’t coming home.
His grip is too light. She pulls back, pats his head, and with a last nod at his grandmother she leaves them alone.
Jon waits for a little while. He looks at the door they came in. The fog is still there, gathering at the floor. He kicks at it and it dances around him. It looks pretty against the harsh lights of the hospital. He kicks some more, making more of it fly into the air.
“Jon. Stop.” He hears his grandmother.
Her voice is even flatter. He follows her command and glances at her. She is staring at him. Her eyes are wet and her makeup is running down her cheeks. He comes closer. He knows that his cheeks are also wet. He has been crying since the doctor went away.
But he cannot feel the pain. He cannot feel anger. He stares at his grandmother and she stares at him. Finally, she extends her arm and pulls him closer. She pulls him up so he is sitting in her lap and she hugs him.
He has never noticed how strong she can be. She starts skating against him. They rock forwards and backward. She murmurs about ‘unfair’ and ‘why’. It takes him a second to realize he is the one shaking. His voice is so loud it has been drowning out his grandmother’s whispers.
He is crying.
He is whaling against her chest.
He doesn’t care about the fog, he only wants his mama and dad to come back from work to eat dinner.
They stay like this for a long while. No one bothers them, as they got informed by the head doctor why the child is screaming his heart out in one of the corridors. When he is done his grandmother pulls him back so they can look at each other. She tries to smile, but her lips do not work. She relents when she is sure what came on has been a grimace.
“We will go back home now, okay?” Even she can hear how devoid of emotions her voice is.
“‘kay,” Jon murmurs. His green eyes are still full of tears.
She nods and puts him back on the ground. He wobbles in place, suddenly unsure how to stand on his own. He grips her hand strongly. The fog is gone. There is only him and his grandma in the corridor and her jacket is as red as strawberries from that stupid book.
It feels strange, but he is sure it will be back. It always is.
The nurse from before calls them over before they leave. She talks to his grandmother and Jon uses it as an opportunity to look around. HE grabs some flyers from the counter so he can read them in the car. He doesn’t pay attention to the adults. He is suddenly sure that if he hasn’t paid attention to that doctor from before his parent would still be alive. If he hadn’t heard about it it wouldn’t have been real.
“Jon.” His grandma calls him again. He walks quickly to her.
Her hand is outstretched towards him. He grasps it strongly, even though it is cold and clammy. His grandmother is still pale, but her clothes are colorful and outside the sun is shining. He doesn’t read the flyers because he is too busy watching the fields of wheat they pass on their way back. Their golden color makes him feel a tad better.
After that, the fog accompanies him in small doses.
His grandmother tries for a little while. She tries to be both a mother, a father and a grandparent. She comes to his parent-teacher conference but once she realizes Jon isn’t causing any trouble and his grades are always fine she starts omitting every third of them. Then every second. Then she appears only at the start and the end of the school year.
They see each other during the breakfasts and the suppers but they mostly eat in silence. There is no fog in their house, but he hasn’t seen his grandmother wearing anything colorful in months. Even the dark clothing looks gray instead of black. Her eyes have lost their color. They don’t look at him, instead, they just stare at the plates in front of her. Their dullness reflects the table and the meal she has made for them.
At some point, Jon has started bringing books with him to the table. She doesn’t comment and neither does she try to talk to him once he starts reading. She keeps the TV on all the time and looks at it over his shoulder while he burns through another tale. When they are done Jon helps with washing the plates. His grandmother opens the kitchen window, gets out a cigarette, and smokes it while watching him. It is the only time they regularly try to talk.
“How is school?” She asks between puffs.
“Good.”
“Any girls picking your interest?”
“No.”
“Boys?”
“No.”
“Any information from the teachers I should know?”
“Nothing.”
The silence falls after they go through the scripted set of questions. Sometimes he tries to change it. He tries to talk. It happens during the sunny days when there is no natural fog outside reminding him of the one that follows his steps.
“One of the books you have brought is interesting. It talks about witches and magic. There are even spells in it. It looks old.”
“Hm. Good.” She finishes her cigarette. She puts it out and throws it into the bin. “Are you going to try any?”
“Why would I? It’s just an interesting topic to read about.”
“Of course.” She says in her flat tone.
She doesn’t give him time to continue. She turns her back to him and walks to the living room. The TV’s volume has been lowered for the meal but now it is brought back up.
“I will be here if you need me.” She calls to him from the sofa.
He quickly shuts the kitchen window so the fog doesn’t climb inside. He can tell that even if the day has been sunny the evening is going to be damper.
He takes his book back to his room. He leaves it on his bed and dresses up for a walk. There are parts of the forest that look different at night.
The Tale for Mr. Spider is there when he gets back from school the following day. It is hidden between other books and as he reaches for it a deep panic settles in his bones. His curiosity fights with his survival instinct.
The book oozes violence, yet it isn’t that what makes him want to pull back. It is the feeling of being controlled. He wants to pull back and run. To hide away from this book, from his grandmother and other people. For a second he wishes to disappear in the fog.
The picture on the back cover, the spider with its black legs and the swollen abdomen doesn’t sit well with him. The bleakness of it is broken by the garish red hat the spider is wearing. Deep inside he begins to resent this book, more than he has ever hated anything. It makes him feel dirty, but its call is too strong, and he has to see what is inside it.
He doesn’t notice when he leaves the house. He is so caught up in the reading that he could walk under a running car and not notice it. His boots disturb the fog on the ground. It doesn’t dance. It curls around him and steers him away from any doors that he could encounter.
It gently guides him towards the park and then disperses. He doesn’t even notice the sudden reappearance of other people. The big letters would normally jar him for being too childish but the ‘KNOCK KNOCK’ makes something in his stomach churn. His feet steer him towards a nearby building. He begins to walk, his head still in his book. Then a large hand grabs the book and takes it from him.
A local bully, the same one he has taken to avoid by hiding in the fog looks down at him. He spits at Jon, makes fun of him for reading a book for children. And Jon just watches him. Watches as the bully trails off, as the book mesmerizes him. He follows the older teenager to the same door he has wanted to go to. Jon feels detached from what he is seeing. Like a movie playing on a screen or something happening to someone else he observes himself watching another human.
The bully stands in front of the door, his eyes scanning the pages. He must finish the book before he is ready. Jon controls his breathing and comes a little closer. He doesn’t want to disturb whatever is happening. But he wants his book back. He might hate it. He may even want to burn it. But it is his, his knowledge, his terror. It belongs to him.
The other kid finally reaches the end of the short story. He raises his hand slowly. His eyes are scanning the last page and in his mind, Jon can see the ‘KNOCK KNOCK’ written there.
The door opens and the darkness at the other side is encompassing. The night has fallen over them, but it doesn’t hold a candle to the nothingness waiting behind that door.
Jon can see something appearing around the bully. The gray strands circle him. Suddenly he is certain that if he waits a moment longer it will be too late. He darts forward and tears the book away from the bully’s hands. Normally he wouldn’t stand a chance against an eighteen-year-old boy. This situation proves to be different. His hands open. He doesn’t even glance at the child that is partially the cause for his coming death. His eyes are too focused on what is ahead of him.
Jon jumps back. He isn’t swift enough. Black, hairy legs shut out of the door. They are large, impossibly long. The skin covering them so thin he could see each tendon move if he had the time.
One of those limbs tries to wrap around him. He lets out a shout loud enough that someone should have noticed. It is the fog that saves his life.
He pulls on it and suddenly he is surrendered by whiteness. He is alone and the house he has been standing in front of is gone. So is the bully.
He looks around and lets out a sigh of relief. He is safe. He is alone.
He looks down at the book he is clutching in his hands. It still looks terrifying. His hands are wet and sticky from a blad tar leaking from the pages.
Now though he knows why the book is so strange. The spider waiting behind that door isn’t something to trifle with. He keeps the book closed with both of his hands during his walk home. The fog accompanies him all the way even though it thins down once he gets to his house. His grandmother is back from her part-time job and she looks from the TV screen when he gets inside.
“Don’t come back so late.” She tells him and turns the volume up.
He treats it as dismissal. He enters his room. It hasn’t changed during his absence. It feels wrong to be here even though he isn’t the same Jon he was hours ago. Each part of the furniture feels different like someone has come in and moved each object an inch to the left.
A glance at the clock tells him it has been hours. He takes a deep breath and looks down at the book. The feeling it has given him before is gone. It doesn’t feel safe, but the violence isn’t so prominent. No, it feels satiated. Like a cat after a good meal, it is sleepy.
He knows books aren’t alive. He isn’t a child. But this one is different. He has seen proof of that. He lowers it to the ground. He tries to keep it in his sight when he picks up one of the looser floorboards. He has always wanted a secret stash, a place to keep the books he has liked. The problem is he has never liked any book enough to use it. And there is no sense to have a secret place if his grandmother never enters his room anyway.
He takes A guest for Mr. Spider and puts it there. He makes sure to keep the title way up. A predator with a full stomach still poses a threat. He is sure he hasn’t blinked even once since he got the courage to look down at the book. He doesn’t break his gaze up until it is covered by the floorboard. Once it is secured he quickly gets up and moves away from the spot. He almost runs to the window and gets it open. Just like he thought it would the fog greets him. He lets it in. Sitting on his windowsill he looks up at the stars.
For a second he wonders about sharing what has happened with his grandmother. He dismisses the thought quickly. She is busy with the telly.
Besides she never really listens, just nods and waits until he is finished to tell him to go and play in his room. He lists other adults he knows that could help. His teacher and the doctors he had been in contact with. But he knows it would cause a problem for his grandmother. She may even get angrier than the last time the police have brought him back home from his nightly wanderings.
More importantly, he isn’t sure they would believe him.
He doesn’t’ even entertain the idea of talking to someone his age. They are boring and they do not speak to him anyway. He is left with the book and the knowledge that someone has been taken by it. He worries over what the parent of the lost child will say. What if they know it was all Jon’s fault?
He moves around a little. It makes the fog weaver around him. He looks at it with wonder. It has saved his life. It has answered his call. He lets his finger stir the fog around. It dances around him. He makes a wish then.
He hopes that just as it did before the fog will hear him. That it will answer his call even if no one ever really did. He squeezes his eyes shut. The pressure is big enough to bring out some tears. They gather in the corners of his eyes but do not fall.
Once he is sure his wish has been articulated loud and clear he opens his eyes. He is still alone in his room, the fog his only company. He exhales.
He will have to find out if his wish has been heard tomorrow. For now, he takes a blanket from his bed and curls up under the window. He doesn’t want to read anything. His limbs feel heavy. The sweat makes the air chilly against his neck. His bed is too close to the book. He has to move it if he wants to sleep there. He promises to himself that he will do it tomorrow. For now, his eyes feel too heavy.
He leaves the window partially open. The space left is enough for the fog to still invade his room but not big enough for his grandma to notice any drafts. He closes his eyes, pillows his head on his hands, and sleeps.
No one asks about the boy that wandered into the Spider’s den. Jon isn’t stupid enough to go asking about him. He keeps his eyes wide open and listens to his grandma talking about calling the girl who leaves down the street to come and help her with some heavy works.
There are no missing posters. In a town so small there is no way he could have missed one. Jon spots the bully’s mother in a convenience store. She keeps on putting food in the stroller while looking at the shopping list in her hand. She nods at his grandmother when they pass her and smiles at Jon. He doesn’t answer with one of his own. Instead, he keeps staring at her up until the moment his grandmother shakes his arm. She has noticed the prolonged look.
“Quit it.”
Jon looks back at the mother. She doesn’t look sad. She looks normal. Maybe a little weirded out by a child in a store. There is no proof of her griefing after a dead son.
He tails after his grandmother and once they are out of the store he finds enough courage to ask.
“Do you remember the guy that has helped us last summer?”
“What?” His grandmother starts the car.
“He carried the boxes out.” The ones with his parents’ things.
“What are you talking about? July was the one helping us.”
His brow furrows. It may be a sign it did work.
“She did? I think it was that guy?”
“What guy? Jon, I am telling you. It was July.”
“He is the son of the lady we met at the store.”
His grandmother looks at him in the rearview mirror. “Stop saying things like that.” Her tone is sharp.
“Why?” He doesn’t let up.
“Because I am telling you to.”
“What happened? Does she have a son?”
“Jonathan. Stop it.”
“I want to know.”
“And I am telling you to stop. So stop it.”
“Why?”
His grandmother grinds her teeth. Her voice has been getting louder and louder with each sentence. She takes in a deep breath and tries to school her expression.
“You won’t go talking about her son because he has died in an accident.”
She makes sure he understands it is the end of the conversation by the tilt of her tone.
“When?”
She curses under her breath. “Long ago. Ten years. Eleven. I don’t know.”
Happy with the answer he sits back. It did work. His grandmother keeps shooting him glances, waiting for another barrel of questions.
He looks down at his hands. The fog has listened to him. There is something light bubbling in his stomach. He feels special. Finally, someone has listened to him. It feels even better than a box of new books. Or maybe as good. He finds it hard to compare.
He wonders what else the fog can do. It has kept him safe. Sometimes it accompanies him on his way to school which has made it easier to deal with the bullies. He simply goes back in the fog thick enough not to be noticed. Or maybe he too disappears in it.
Fear grips his insides. What if he too disappears from people’s memories when he travels through the fog? His grandmother forgets about him only to remember him when he gets back. He steals a quick look at her. She keeps her gaze on the road ahead. He wonders if she would even care if he never came back.
He shakes his head to get rid of the thought. It tastes foul in his mind. He looks outside the window. They are passing by the fields of wheat and he can see the sun reflecting from it. There is a fog there, like always. He smiles at it, happy to see it is still there. A part of him has been scared it decided it was done with him after helping him with Mr. Spider.
They reach their house at record speed. It is one of those days when there is nearly no one else on the road.
His grandmother asks him to help her with the groceries. Once they are done she just waves at him. She has her TV to get back to. He runs to his room to check if the floorboard is in its place. Once he is sure it is still there he grabs his backpack, a new book, and goes outside. He calls out to tell his grandma he is going out. She doesn’t answer, but that is nothing new.
He goes into one of his favorite places. A trail behind his house leads into the forest. If he follows it for long enough he can reach a clearing. He lies down a blanket he always carries in his bag. He settles on it and opens the book. He doesn’t have to look around to notice the fog is gathering around the clearing. It settles around him like a blanket.
He grows up surrendered by the fog. It is there when other students talk to each other and he is too busy with his books. It gyrates around his fingers whenever he catches people kissing at the back of the school. He lets it in whenever he opens his window at night to smoke a cigarette.
Teachers sometimes overlook him in class which proves to be useful whenever he gets too caught up in his reading. The school subjects aren’t much of a problem besides being dreadfully dull. He starts to order books for the local library so he can finally read things differently than a random batch he used to get from his grandmother.
His marks are rather satisfactory but each teacher that gives him his work back looks surprised. Jon writes it up to them forgetting about him. he uses it whenever he wants to continue reading during class. There is a great distance between his desk and those belonging to other students.
He never tries to ask anyone for help or to borrow any supplies. He always has everything he needs. If he forgets anything the distance looks to be too big to try to reach out. He feels like he would need to shout. The thought makes him smile. He abhors shouting.
He does his notes, writes down every assignment, and solves all math problems. He does it as fast as he can just so he can back to his books. Once they are in his hands he is finally where he belongs. Sentence after sentence he is pulled into a different world. Even the driest story is more interesting than his peer's problems. He doesn't particularly like fantasy, the tales too removed from reality simply bore him. Those concerning real people make him feel closer to those he has never met.
Often he finds himself knowing more than the teacher telling them facts about history. It would be his favorite subject if not for the amount of useless information that borders on propaganda they feed him. He keeps his head low, sometimes murmurs his displeasure under his breath whenever he hears another falsehood.
He looks up only once and catches the eye of a girl sitting nearby. She is looking at him, her gaze judging. The distance between them suddenly feels even bigger than ever before. Jon turns back to his notes, his cheeks red and hands shaking. People are the strange ones for him. Reading about them proves much more useful.
He doesn’t try to make anyone else disappear. He worries about overusing such a gift and the price he will undoubtedly pay for it. He has read enough books about the supernatural to know such a gift comes with a price. But even years in he hasn’t noticed it. He is cautious with calling it a gift even though it continues to look like one.
The fog that follows him reminds him of some otherworldly guardian. It keeps him safe from other monsters and people that prove too much of a liability. He sometimes wanders into it on his walks through the town and welcomes the quiet world it leads to. There he can read in peace. It bothers him that there are no real books in this version of the local library.
The effort required of him makes him grit his teeth and curl his hands into fists. The lady at the desk in the hall smiles at him each time he visits. She even recommends books for him. He decides, after a few visits, that he may like her. He is still cautious around her, recites the things he is going to say in his mind before speaking but once he is there he feels better. She gives him the recommendation, brings out the books he has ordered. He takes them, tries to smile, and leaves. The fog doesn’t follow him inside but once he is out it crawls around him like a blanket.
He starts to research the paranormal. Many of the books he comes across prove to be useless. He brings them back to the library with a scowl. The lady at the desk smiles at him with understanding and tells him about the place he should look into if he wants anything even remotely close to the truth. The Magnus Institute in London.
Jon weighs his options. He is graduating in a year and he hasn’t encountered anything resembling Mr. Spider since he was eight. He has time. He makes sure to check if his library is able to borrow books from The Institute for him. It would take time but he would be able to secure a few interesting resources. He decides it will be enough to keep him occupied. He makes sure to thank the nice lady once again when he is leaving. He has never cared to ask her name and there is no name sign at her desk. He is curious for just a second about her but then lets it go. People are never that interesting once he gets to know them.
The books he gets do not concern a friendly fog. They talk about tribes living in Africa or the rites of passage of Native Americans. They are mostly written by white researchers that spend a few days with natives and tried to create an interesting tale out of their customs.
Jon rereads some passages, for the first time makes himself look at the same pages twice. Between the words, he finds some truths. He starts a journal in which he details each fact he has managed to find. He stores it next to The guest for Mr. Spider.
The book still gives him nightmares but he can feel it is not time yet. It isn’t hungry even though its last meal is almost fully digested. He doesn’t let himself think what it will do once it is done with his bully. Ten years is enough time for an abomination like it to create a plan of revenge for imprisoning it. He checks on it every time he has to note some discovery.
Each time it is still there he feels the dread creeping up his back and a sense of relief deep in his stomach. A part of him always hopes it will be gone. Another cannot bear to lose it.
Another year passes him by. His notebook has grown into two additional ones. He has a basic picture of entities depending on fear and different cultures worshiping them. His eyes must be guided by one of them he realizes. And the fog must also accompany him for a reason. He tries to feel more distrustful towards it but it never sticks. He doesn’t have it in him to forsake his only companion.
The time he spends at school makes him as isolated as the moments he is at his house. His grandmother is there to make sure he doesn’t go hungry. With time she has stopped asking any questions which make him glad. There is nothing in his life that would interest her. She doesn’t even look at him when they pass by each other in the corridors. He has a sneaking suspicion he looks too much like her son for her to be able to talk to him.
It gives him an idea. One that rattles in his brain until he cannot ignore it.
He has been gathering money his grandmother has given him as a monthly allowance. It isn’t much but enough to buy food for a little while. And he can always sleep in the other world, the one hidden by fog.
He waits until the graduation, beating his breath to finally be able to have free access to the books he needs. It feels like a magic line. Once he graduates he will fulfill his responsibility towards his parents and grandmother. He will be on his own. He waits anxiously for the graduation.