Chapter Text
The mist did not simply surround them. It consumed them.
It curled around Mildred Hubble and Ethel Hallow like a living creature, cold and heavy, pressing against their skin until Mildred could not tell where her body ended and the fog began. She reached blindly through the swirling white, her fingers trembling as she tried to find anything solid, anything familiar.
Instead, she found Ethel.
Her hand brushed the sleeve of Ethel’s cloak, and Ethel flinched as if Mildred had shocked her. But then, without hesitation, Ethel grabbed her wrist with a grip so tight it almost hurt.
“Do not let go,” Ethel whispered, her voice thin and trembling despite her best efforts to sound composed.
“I was not planning to,” Mildred whispered back, though her heart hammered so loudly she wondered if Ethel could hear it.
The mist thickened, swirling around them in slow, deliberate circles. Mildred felt the ground shift beneath her feet, as if the world itself was tilting. Ethel stumbled, and Mildred instinctively steadied her, their hands locking together more tightly.
“Hubble,” Ethel said, her voice cracking, “if we die in here, I am blaming you.”
Mildred let out a shaky breath. “You dragged me out here.”
“I did not drag you. You followed me.”
“Because you were running into a magical death cloud.”
“It is not a death cloud,” Ethel snapped, though her voice wavered. “It is just mist.”
“It is literally called the Mist of Time.”
Ethel opened her mouth to argue, but the mist twisted violently, pulling them forward with a force that felt like a giant hand closing around their bodies. Mildred gasped. Ethel’s nails dug into her skin.
Then everything stopped.
The mist released them.
They stumbled onto solid stone, their breaths ragged, their hearts racing. Mildred blinked rapidly, trying to clear her vision. The world around them slowly sharpened, shapes forming out of the fading fog.
And then she froze.
“Ethel,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. “This is not right.”
Ethel stepped forward slowly, her eyes wide, her face pale. “This is Cackle’s. But it is not our Cackle’s.”
The courtyard stretched out before them, but everything looked new. The stone walls were smooth and unweathered. The lanterns glowed with a warm golden light. The air smelled of fresh herbs and polished wood. The ivy that usually crawled across the bricks was missing, as if the school had not yet lived long enough to grow old.
Mildred turned in a slow circle, her breath catching. “It feels like a dream.”
“It feels like trouble,” Ethel said sharply, though her voice trembled. “We need to find Miss Cackle. The real one. Our one, if she is here.”
They walked cautiously through the courtyard, their footsteps echoing softly. Mildred brushed her fingers along the wall, surprised by how warm the stone felt. No cracks. No moss. No age.
They entered the main hallway.
Along the walls hung framed photographs. Not the ones they knew. These were older, sepia toned, showing students in stiff uniforms with silver stitching. The girls in the photos stood perfectly straight, hands folded, expressions serious.
Mildred leaned closer. “These look ancient.”
Ethel’s eyes narrowed. “These are not from our time.”
Mildred swallowed. “Ethel… do you think we are in the past?”
Ethel did not answer at first. She stared at the photographs, her expression tightening.
“I think,” she said quietly, “that we are somewhere we should not be.”
They continued walking, the school growing stranger with every step. The torches flickered with a warm glow that made the shadows dance across the floor. The air felt alive, humming with old magic.
Mildred shivered. “Do you feel that?”
“Yes,” Ethel said. “And I do not like it.”
They reached the staircase.
“Her office should be up there,” Ethel said.
“Should,” Mildred repeated. “Not definitely.”
Ethel shot her a look. “Do you have a better idea then Hubble?”
Mildred sighed. “No.”
They climbed the stairs slowly. Mildred’s hand brushed the railing, surprised by how smooth the wood felt. Less scratches. No dents. No signs of decades of students running their hands along it.
When they reached the landing, Mildred felt a chill run down her spine. The door to the Headmistress’s office was slightly open.
Ethel pushed it gently.
Inside, the room was smaller than the one they knew. Scrolls lined the shelves. A cauldron bubbled quietly in the corner. The desk was neat, polished, and organized with perfect precision.
But the room was not empty.
Two girls stood near the window.
One had dark hair tied back with a ribbon, her posture straight and confident. The other had the same face, the same eyes, without glasses, but her expression was sharper, more mischievous.
Mildred froze.
Ethel’s breath caught. She leaned in close, her lips brushing Mildred’s ear.
“Mildred,” she whispered, “I think that is Ada Cackle.”
Mildred’s eyes widened. “And the other one…”
“Agatha,” Ethel whispered.
The girls turned.
Ada’s eyes widened. “Who are you?”
Agatha stepped forward, curiosity gleaming. “You are not from our year.”
Mildred opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
Ethel tried to speak, but her throat closed.
Ada tilted her head. “You look frightened.”
Agatha smirked. “Maybe they are hiding something.”
Mildred took a step back. “We… we were just looking for someone.”
“Who?” Ada asked.
Ethel swallowed. “The Headmistress.”
Agatha raised an eyebrow. “Our mother?”
Mildred’s heart dropped. “Your… mother?”
Before anyone could say more, a voice echoed from the hallway.
“Ada. Agatha. Why is this door open?”
The girls froze.
Ada grabbed Agatha’s arm. “Mother.”
Agatha hissed, “Hide.”
They ducked behind the cabinet near the window.
Mildred and Ethel were not so lucky.
The door swung open.
A tall woman entered, her presence filling the room instantly. Her robes were deep purple. Her hair was pinned back in a strict knot. Her expression was sharp enough to cut stone.
Alma Cackle.
Her eyes landed on Mildred and Ethel.
“Who,” she said slowly, “are you?”
Ethel’s hand shot out and grabbed Mildred’s.
Mildred felt her pulse spike. “Ethel…”
“Run,” Ethel whispered.
And they did.
They bolted past Alma, nearly colliding with her as they sprinted into the hallway. Alma shouted something behind them, but panic drowned out the words. They ran down the stairs, through the corridor, past the old photographs, their breaths ragged and uneven.
Mildred’s legs burned. Ethel’s grip tightened.
They did not stop until they reached the far end of the courtyard.
Ethel leaned against the wall, gasping. “She saw us. She saw everything.”
Mildred pressed a hand to her chest. “We need a plan.”
Ethel closed her eyes. “We need help.”
Mildred looked up at the sky. “I hope they are trying.”
(The Present)
The mist pressed against the windows like a living storm.
Ada Cackle stood near the entrance, her hands clasped tightly. Her face was pale, her eyes fixed on the swirling fog outside.
Miss Hardbroom paced beside her, her cloak swaying with every sharp turn. “We should have found them by now.”
Ada shook her head. “This mist is older than the school itself. It does not obey rules.”
Maud and Enid rushed in, breathless.
“Miss Cackle,” Maud said, her voice trembling, “is it true? Are they still out there?”
Enid swallowed. “Are they going to be okay?”
Ada looked at them, her eyes softening with a sadness she rarely showed.
“I do not know,” she said quietly.
Miss Hardbroom stopped pacing.
No one spoke.
The mist pulsed once, like a heartbeat.
And the school fell silent.