Chapter 1: The Arrival
The rattling train pulled into the small, desolate station of Umigawa. Arata sat by the window, eyes dull and empty, staring out at the thick fog that had shrouded the town. The mist was nothing he'd ever seen—is was thick, almost suffocating, as if it were alive, creeping and curling around the train like ghostly fingers. The other passengers filed out and away as if they didn't like the oppressive silence. Arata took a deep breath, grabbed his bag, and stepped off the train.
The cold wind hit him at once, nipping at his exposed skin, but he barely winced. The shiver wasn't just from the weather; it seemed to settle into his bones, leaving an hollow, empty feeling. It was complete due to the emptiness which also emerged inside of him. Grief over losing his parents in a fatal car crash just a few months back was yet very fresh, even though he tried so hard to hide it. Still, it lingered as always inside that shadow trailing behind him.
Arata! A voice cut through the mist and his thoughts, calling out his name. He turned to see a familiar, in this otherwise cold and unfriendly town, figure rushing toward him with a warm smile. His aunt, Hana, was a small woman with very kind, wide-set eyes and a gentle demeanor that made him feel safe when it seemed no one else could even for a moment.
"Welcome to Umigawa," she said, pulling him into a hug. "I know this isn't what you expected, but I'm glad you're here."
Arata forced a smile and nodded slightly. "Thanks, Aunt Hana."
Together they walked over to her old, rusty car, parked haphazardly at the edge of the station. The streets of Umigawa are deserted, with few people wandering about, bundled in coats, their faces hidden behind scarves. On their drive around town, Arata found old, worn buildings, cracked roads, and the way the fog seems to cling low, as if it had permanently settled over the town. Not city life; full of hustle and bustle like his own, but then again, nothing in his life was quite the same.
They came to Hana's small little house that bordered the town. Dark and twisting, the trees here looked more like skeletal hands. Inside, it was warm, filled with tea scents and the soft glow of electric lights. As small as it was, Hana had managed to make it feel home-like. In one corner, a fireplace crackled; in it, a warm fire burned away.
You must be so exhausted," she said, turning him toward his bedroom. "Sleep. We'll discuss this in the morning.".
Arata nodded, his mind too hazy to argue. He flopped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling. Sleep was a long time in coming, as memories of his parents assaulted his mind—happy memories, painful ones, and the last, heartbreaking image of the wreckage. The sound of metal crunching, the smell of smoke… he squeezed his eyes shut, trying to push it all away. Eventually, he drifted into a fitful sleep, tormented by nightmares that wouldn't let go.
The next morning, Arata awoke to the patter of rain droplets beating against the window. Dazed and clumsy, he got out of bed and peeked outside. The fog seemed there once again, heavy and deep, obscuring everything beyond a few meters. He wondered how people could live like this, surrounded by such gloom all the time.
Hana was downstairs making breakfast. She made a big show of going all the way to greet him with a bright smile, one that tried to keep at bay the storm clouds looming over them both. "Good morning, Arata. Hungry? I made pancakes-your favorite."
"I appreciate this," he said in a low voice, forcing a minimalistic rise of his mouth. At least she tried, even though for him, nothing tasted good.
They sat there in silence, the sound of occasional clinking of cutlery being the only voice in the room. Hana began to clear her throat after a while, hesitated before she spoke. "I know it's not easy for you… and this town isn't exactly exciting, but I hope you will try for it."
"I will," Arata replied, though he wasn't sure he really believed it himself.
He decided to go for a walk around the town after breakfast. Hana cautioned him not to go too far; he had to get his head together. Venturing out, the fog seemed to cling on to him, muzzling the sounds of the earth as if his own ears were submerged in the cool gray waters, with only his eyes popping out to look up and see. The streets were vacant; the shops shut, and the persons passed fast, heads down, like they didn't want anyone to actually look at them. It was spooky, made him think that he passed through some ghost town.
On his way, he saw an old man smoking a pipe, seated on a bench. Old fellow lifted his eyes, squinting them and looked at Arata. "New in town, eh?" his voice raspy.
"Yeah," Arata said not knowing what to say next.
The old man nodded, took a long drag from his pipe. "Watch yourself around here, kid. The fog. it's not natural. Brings whispers, visions. things that aren't real. Best to stay away from it."
Arata felt a chill run down his spine. "What do you mean?"
But the old man just shook his head, muttering to himself. "Just a warning. Take it or leave it.".
Arata walked on, his mind filled with the words spoken by his man; though he didn't believe in superstitious things, there was something emanating from the way he said them, making him feel uncomfortable, and he only kept moving down the street, walking and resonating in empty streets with his footsteps.
In the end, he had ended up by the seaside, where the fog was even thicker. He could hardly hear the waves crashing against the rocks in the tight clutches of dense mist. He there stood staring into the sea when he thought to catch a faint whisper so soft that he nearly missed it.
"Arata…"
He froze, his heart leaping out of his chest. He spun round, but no one. The fog swirled before him, playing pranks with shapes and shadows so that he was never quite sure what to believe. He took a backward step, thinking furiously. Had he imagined it? Was he just tired?
In hardly enough time to think about it, he heard footsteps drawing closer. He turned and saw a figure emerging from the fog—a girl around his age, long dark hair, and pale complexion. Wearing a white dress, deep eyes seemed distant, as if looking right through him.
"You shouldn't be here," she said softly, almost whispering.
Arata blinked slightly, taken aback. "I… I was just exploring.".
She shifted her head in the dimness, taking in everything about him. "The fog doesn't like strangers. It can be dangerous." After a pause, she said, "I'm Mei."
"I'm Arata," he told her, unsure of what to say next. He felt something strange about her, but he couldn't place it.
Mei's lips curved up slightly, down a sad little smile. "You should go back. The fog… it can show you things. Things you don't want to see.".
Arata felt his spine shiver. "What do you mean?" he asked.
She didn't even bother answering him. She turned her back and stepped out into the fog, disappearing with each step. And Arata stood there for a moment, thinking. He wanted to run after her, ask her the rest, but something just wouldn't let him.
Eventually he turned and trudged off in the direction of home, his mind a jumble of confusion and unease. He felt the sensation that the fog was watching him, following him, whispering secrets that he shouldn't hear.
That night he slept, lying in his bed, thinking of Mei. Something she was, there could be nothing sensible or coherent about it, something that she did not explain. Who was she? How had she warned him of the fog? And what was it that made him sense she was concealing something?
Sleep was slow in coming, but when it did, with it came those strange, disturbing dreams. He was standing in the fog, with the whispers growing louder and more insistent, echoing all around him. Shadows danced at the edge of his vision and he could see faces-familiar, twisted and distorted. His parents, smiling at him, their eyes empty and hollow.
"Arata…"
They whispered, blending with the fog: "Come to us…"
He opened his eyes, his heart pounding in his chest, his body slick with the sweat of a nightmare. The room was pitch dark, but the moonlight pouring through the blinds and curtains left the shadows dancing on the walls. He could still hear the whispers - distant and faint, but audible, like an echo that refused to fade.
Arata sat up, trying to calm his racing heart. He had no idea what was occurring in this place, but gradually he was coming to the conclusion that it was more than mere superstition. The fog, the whispers, the strange girl with the name Mei. something didn't add up here, something which he simply could not fathom.
And for the first time since he had arrived he felt a flicker of something other than grief—fear.
But beneath that fear, buried deep, was something else. Curiosity. A need to know the truth. Because if there was one thing he had learned from his parents being taken away, it was the fact that anything unknown was so much scarier than he ever could imagine.
And as he reclined again, his ears drinking in the deadening silence of the night, he made a decision. He was going to know what was going on in Umigawa, cost what it might.
He did not know it yet, but the fog had already started closing in on him, its whispers growing louder and its secrets slowly unraveling.