The Fog

Grandma said the Fog wasn’t there when she was a little girl, but appeared suddenly in her young adulthood. No matter the time of day or year, the coast that our town sits on always has a thick line of fog. So much so that to enter our village requires taking a long indirect route on or over the land, even though a direct cross of the water by boat or plane would make a much shorter travel. Legend says that the Fog appeared after the pearl was stolen from the great Sea Dragon. Every morning my grandmother goes out to the shore line as if to look across the water to see if the Fog has finally cleared, despite her own eyes becoming hazy with their own type of fog. I’d heard from some of the other elderly people in town that grandma used to look along the sand for the pearl, just as many children did growing up. 

After getting my masters in marine biology, I returned to my small town by the coast. My dream has always been to solve the mystery of what lives under the fog, in the dark ocean that is constantly obscured. How did the fog and subsequent lack of light affect the plant matter and marine life? Various fish and crustaceans washed up on shore from time to time, so we know there is life out in our small piece of the ocean. The sea creatures are always slightly different from whatever species it looks like they’re supposed to resemble. As if they branched off at some point in their evolution to adapt to the Fog. At least, that’s my running theory. 

My current specimen is a small fish that washed up on shore overnight. It measures 20 cm in length and is covered in shiny orange scales, many of which have flaked off. Like many of the other fish I’ve encountered over the past year on this beach, its eyes have a thin film over them–effectively making the fish blind. Many of the fish have developed some sort of adaptation to compensate for their lack of sight. For some, the chemoreceptors in their nostrils have wildly proliferated, greatly improving their sense of smell and taste. Others developed wispy, whisker-like appendages off of their face and tail fin as a way to feel the environment directly around them. With this current specimen, I probably won’t know what adaptation it’s acquired through its species’ evolution until I can get it back to my self-made lab in my garage. 

After packing up my specimen and equipment, I make my way back towards the path at the edge of the beach that leads back into town. Just as I’m turning, I catch in the corner of my eye what looks like a clearing in the Fog and a patch of bright blue-green ocean beneath it. I fully turn to look at it and am disappointed to find that there is nothing there but Fog and dark blue ocean. I watch the spot for a moment and even pretend to half turn around, as if I could somehow catch the ocean in the act. 

My hand instinctively goes to the locket around my neck beneath my shirt, which I always finger when I’m nervous. Before my grandpa passed, he gave me his locket for safe keeping. He told me my grandma gave it to him when they got married, though I’ve never heard her mention it. My grandfather made me promise that when my grandma was old enough and starting to die, that then I could reveal the locket to her. “There’s a secret message in it that only she will understand, but I don’t want her to see it until the end.” My grandfather had passed in my last year of grad school, and my grandma’s health started to decline. I was raised by my grandparents after my mom–who was actually my grandpa’s daughter from another marriage–overdosed. After the passing of my grandpa, I fast-tracked the rest of my grad school so that I could return to care for my grandma as soon as possible. 

My first stop back in town is the bar at the farthest edge closest to the ocean. Barnacles Barrel is one of three bars in town, and happens to be the one that my grandma likes to spend most of her days at. Our routine is that at the end of my work on the beach, I come in and scoop my grandma to go home. “Hey, Chi-Chi!” The bartender calls as he always does when I walk in. My childhood nickname has become so ubiquitous around town that I’m starting to think most people don’t remember my real name. 

“Hey, Murphy. Where’s Franny?” I ask. I feel childish calling my grandma “grandma” in a bar, so I started using her first name when talking to most other people. 

Murphy’s eyes knit in confusion and he fully turns to face me and get an actual good look at me. He appears to be peering over my shoulder too, as if he were searching for something. “You mean she wasn’t down at the beach with you?” He ventures.

“What? Did she say she was going down there?” A small bit of panic begins to rise in my throat, but I try to tamp it down before I overreact.

“Yeah, like over an hour ago–maybe two. She said she wanted to watch you work.” Murphy relays. I inhale a sharp intake of breath and immediately turn on my heel to run out of the bar. My grandma can get around in her old age and poor vision, but her memory has been failing more and more over the past few months. I started walking her to the beach every morning just to make sure she didn’t accidentally get sucked in by the tide until she was ready to venture back up to the bar. 

I pound down the path, having dropped my equipment and specimen somewhere along the way. Sand immediately floods my shoes when I get to the beach. Panting desperately for air, I stand with my hands on my knees and my head down. After a few more deep inhales I raise my head to scan the beach. No sign of grandma. No sign of anything but the Fog. 

“Grandma!” I shout, the wind partially carrying my voice. My head swivels, scanning the beach. “Grandma! Where are you?!” I go further down the beach and closer to the water. “Franny!” I start to scream desperately. 

Out of the corner of my eye again I see a patch of bright blue-green. I quickly turn and am stunned to see this time that the patch doesn’t disappear. There is no Fog over and around this patch of bright ocean. I feel my hand reach for my locket again, thumbing over the intricate pattern on the front of the case. Slowly, I move closer to the strange spot of ocean, my eyes fixed on it and unblinking as if it will disappear the moment I look away. 

As I approach, I notice that bubbles are brimming to the surface and something lies just beneath. Only a few feet away now, I recognize the fan of gray hair and the orange shawl of my grandmother. “Grandma!” I scream, immediately running into the water. I reach her and put my arms around her and start pulling her out. As I’m dragging her to shore I can hear myself screaming at her to say something to me, but she remains limp and cold in my hands.

I set her down just past the water’s reach. She has a slight blue tinge to her lips. “Grandma! Franny! Wake up!” I shout in her face as I shake her. With my ear pressed to her chest, I can hear a faint heartbeat but no breath. With a sharp inhale, I press my mouth to hers and release the puff of air. I do this two more times, but nothing changes.

Out of breath after repeatedly trying to resuscitate my grandma, I sit back on my heels while looking down at my frail grandmother. Tears have been streaming down my face and splashed onto my grandma’s cheeks. I realize my left hand is tightly grasped around my locket for comfort. 

I decide to open it. 

Inside, there is a small note and a small, shiny white ball. On closer inspection, it appears to be a pearl. I transfer the pearl to my other hand and use my free hand to unfold the note. 

Franny,

I’m sorry I took this from you all these years ago. I wanted nothing more than to be with you forever, and I knew that as long as you didn’t have your pearl, you would have to stay here on land with me. I hope one day you can find it in yourself to forgive me. 

Love,

Jeremiah

After reading through the note three more times, I open my other hand to stare at the pearl in my palm. Carefully, I peel open my grandma’s cold fingers and put the pearl in her hand. I hold her hand closed with both of mine and let my head drop as I begin to sob. 

A burst of warmth surges through me and my arm shoots up to cover my eyes and face as blinding light envelops my grandmother. I have to scramble backwards because of the heat, my eyes still squeezed shut. I feel sand kick up around me and get in my shoes and pants.

 I’m unsure if I no longer feel the heat because I moved far enough away or because it dissipated, but there’s no longer white from behind my eyelids so I risk opening my eyes again.

My grandma is gone. In her place is a large, blue-green serpentine form. Its scales glisten under the sun in a way that looks like waves traveling down its length. The eyes are deep blue with slit pupils and its mouth hangs agape, showing off its sharp fangs. The serpent slithers towards me before rearing its head up, making itself at least three times my height. It flares its nostrils as it looks down at me and I feel my body go very still. All I can hear is my blood rushing and the waves crashing into the shore only a few feet away. I can feel myself start to tremble as I hold the gaze of the giant creature in front of me. Then the serpent bows its head before turning away toward the sea. 

As it slithers into the water, the Fog above and around it evaporates. Even after it’s completely submerged, the Fog overhead disappears. Slowly, the Fog leaves the ocean’s surface entirely, as if blown aside by a gentle breeze. 

Below, the blue-green water is stunning. As I wade in knee-deep, I look out ahead of me and realize I can see into the water at the sea life below. A massive coral reef is merely only a hundred or so feet from the shore. Schools of colorful fish dance around the underwater plant life. Large coral in yellows, reds, and oranges line the sea surface interspersed with green and yellow plants. Fish from as small as my fingernail to as large as my torso drift around the reef, some lazily and some with quick precise motion. 

It’s beautiful. 

In the distance, I hear other townsfolk coming down to the beachfront. Kids are whooping and shouting for their parents to come see. It sounds like a big commotion as more people are gathering around to rush down to the shore. Many of the older residents cry out with joy at seeing the clear ocean for the first time since they were children. Tears fill my eyes and begin to streak down my face as I look out over the water with a huge smile. 

As if carried on the wind, I hear my grandma’s voice one last time. “Thank you, Chi-Chi.”