Work Text:
There is a sound of wet shoes entering the room. It’s unclear what the liquid actually is. It’s followed by an unknown smell. The tape recorder turns on as the stranger pulls up a chair with a creak and sits.
Uhhhm, how did Gertrude start these? (muttering, they have no idea what they’re doing)
Statement of Bay about my time lost in the fog? My time by the river? One of these should work. Given by the subject themselves of course
My family has lived in the same house on the edge of the woods for as long as I can remember. It's all a part of this great valley, with a river running through, quaint villages scattered about and a road connecting all of them. The bottom of the valley is shaped by the river, allowing for some fields and smaller paths that lead between them. (it’s obvious they remember it fondly)
I took one of those paths every single day of my life to get to the nearest bus or the main road or even to go see a friend I had in the village, nearest to our house. I'd never been a social person and so making friends had been an arduous task. (their voice is more serious; they seem a bit bitter)
My family wasn’t of any help, they made our house feel so (they’re looking for the right word) small? The walls always seemed to lean in just too close for comfort. When it got too suffocating, I’d stare out of the window of my room. I would watch the cars moving about and most of the time, I could see the fog rolling in ever so gently. (with reverence in their voice)
It was nothing special for a place with this type of geography, but I could never keep myself from watching it and imagining how the slight chill would feel against my skin, how everything would feel just slightly damp, the condensation clinging and ghosting my skin would wash what I felt so far away. In those daydreams the mist blocked out the sun, washed out the colors and kept me safe from the truth that lurked just outside. I know it’s silly and I knew even back then, but I cried pretty often watching it all, taking it in. (they sound sad but ramp up into anger)
I mourned having to go outside and see the real world, all the people scurrying like rats, stopping only to look at me with distain and whispering of my shortcomings. All my mistakes were laid bare and everyone could see them, judge them and feel better about themselves. (the word themselves is almost spat out; they obviously feel distain towards the thought)
I obviously wasn’t exactly sought after company, being so… weird, different? Not sure how to put it. Point is I ended my schooling at the time with two friends. (their mood seems a bit erratic) It should have been obvious that they didn’t like me due to the fact they completely forgot about my birthday. Again, such a silly thing, but something that meant quite a lot to me, as we had celebrated both of their birthdays but not mine. (they sound happy again)
Well, hindsight is 20/20, right? It just so happened that one of these friends invited me to a party, a proper party. Could you imagine? I was anxious but overjoyed as I’d get to show other village 20 something-year-olds, I wasn’t so unusual. I set off to do the usual half hour walk across the spanning fields and noted that there hadn’t been any fog at the time, though it was still bright out at the time and I’d be walking home in the dark.
I got to the party first, even though I had been aiming for a fashionably late arrival. My friend greeted me, got me a soft drink, showed me to my seat and started a conversation, while we waited for the handful of other people to show. It took some time but in the next 30 minutes the party had properly started. It was mostly filled with people I knew a little, which unsettled me because four or five out of the around twenty individuals present voiced their dislike of my social awkwardness in the past. (they’re choked up for a second)
It started with some laughing, then pointing and then it became obvious jabs at my character, my looks and my general demeanor. I left soon after my only other friend, who also came to the party, started pushing for me to drink alcohol, even though they knew I couldn’t, due to my health. It had become glaringly clear that I was unwanted at any social gathering. (overreacting honestly)
I set off feeling sorry for myself and turned on the flashlight on my phone. It was foggy and I felt like I was getting lost on an almost straight path back to my house. I still felt safe until I heard some of the partygoers somewhere down the path. One of them called my name in a loud mocking tone. It was obvious that they were drunk, which wouldn’t scare me if, the friend that had invited me, hadn’t made me aware in a joking manner, that they were prime examples of aggressive drunks.
I made a split-second decision and ran straight into the area where the fog looked densest, even though it led me off the path. (the atmosphere changes, it’s serene, they speak with a calm voice, like they found what they were looking for)
The sounds were gone instantly. Pure blissful quiet and a sense of safety were the only two things surrounding me. I looked around and saw nothing, heard nothing. I was left unafraid and walked through the mist trying to find my way, but instead I found the river bank. Just like I had done on the foggiest days, I sat down and watched the river and the gentle waves of cold swirling around. (again, a still silence, like they’re right in that moment; they seem unbothered by their next sentence)
I think that’s why it took some time for me to see the bodies, slowly floating down the river. Bloated, like they had been in the water for days. When I was able to finally catch a glimpse of the bodies face, I stood up shocked. Even though the bluish tint had spread across it, I could still recognize the face of one of the people who had been at the party. Their mouth gaping, they looked at me with unseeing glassy eyes, hair splayed out and their hands stretching towards me.
I can’t tell you why I stepped into the water, why I felt compelled to pull them out by their stretched hand and get them to the river bank. I still know the feeling of their cold, wet skin under my fingers. I still think about how it felt, just like I imagined the condensation clinging to my skin would. It is water after all. (their voice takes on an unrecognizable tone)
That’s how they found me. Apparently, I was in “shock” (they use air quotes, it’s funny to them), my lips and fingers were blue and cold. According to official statements I had been missing for a few days, I was starved and had hypothermia. They told me I must have been returning from the party and a couple people were coming along with me, but the fog was too dense and we lost our way. (obvious mocking tone of voice)
We must have wound up at the river and due to us being drunk, we fell in or decided to go swimming, I really cannot remember what it was supposed to be. Point is, there was some rain or flood or other weird phenomenon and everyone else drowned except for me. They still haven’t found the other bodies except for the one I pulled out.
I’ll tell you a secret. (they whisper the next words, they’re grinning widely) They’re still in the fog… alone. They stretch their hands to find anyone that wouldn’t make them feel all alone, oh so forsaken. Honestly, it’s kind of funny, the story they made up, but I know full well what happened. The fog helped me and I helped the fog. (the words are slow and deliberate)
It ATE them.
They drowned on land.
At first, I didn’t put it together but I understand now. (they pause for a second and chuckle in an unhinged way, they laugh it off and their features change into a big smile that feels genuine)
It’s quite clever. I didn’t know it back then but it wouldn’t have hurt me. It wanted me to help it and in exchange it gave me all the peace I could wish for, no one to hurt me, no one to judge. Quite the deal if you ask me. (they take a moment to think)
Mhh, I thought I had more to say, but I suppose that’s it then.
They stand up, there are visible damp spots and marks where they sat/leaned on. Their footsteps are quiet and again leave wet prints on the floor. No one stops them, as there was no one present while they gave the statement. The smell of river water is still present. The Archivist enters the room sometime later and is confused as to why everything is wet and the recorder is still running. He yells into the hallway.
Martin, did you let a wet dog into the archives?!