Arata made an attempt to get on with school the following days, but his mind kept drifting back to the talk he had with Mei and to the horrifying encounter in the alley. The mist was not as if permanently settled over the town of Umigawa, but it seemed to hang low over the town like a shroud, with the whispers louder, more insistent, as if trying to haul him in.
As if he used to play truant during classes, he could find himself gaping at the fog curl and twist almost as if it were alive. It happened to be one of those glances that Sora nudged him back into reality with. "Hey, earth to Arata. You've been spacing out a lot lately. Are you okay??""
Arata blinked and turned towards her. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just.tired, I guess.".
Sora raised an eyebrow, unconvinced. "I heard you've been spending time with Mei. That girl is. well, she's kind of weird. You should be careful."
"What do you mean?" Arata asked, curious.
Sora blinked, as if she somehow made sure there was no one around to hear her. "I don't know her all that well, but there are rumors about her. They say she's connected to the fog somehow, like she knows things she shouldn't. People in this town don't talk about it much, but … they're scared of her."
Arata furrowed his brow. "She doesn't seem dangerous. Just… mysterious."
Perhaps," Sora ventured, her voice uncertain. "Still, you should be cautious. The mist can play tricks on a mind, showing things that aren't there. If you are not careful, it may take you to places you don't want to go.
Later that afternoon, Arata again wandered through the town streets, unable to shake a feeling of foreboding that had settled on him. He knew to avoid trouble, but something Mei spoke of-the fog and shadows-ticked his interest. Too many questions were still unsolved, and he was tired of living in the dark.
He walked, of course, to the old part of town, close to the deserted lighthouse that stood up against the cliffs. The building was a black silhouette against the gray sky, with dark eyes? windows very lifeless. Arata had heard stories about the lighthouse, that it had been closed down years ago because of successive terrible accidents. Some said it was haunted; others claimed it was cursed, but no one went near it anymore.
He stood there, looking up at the tower, but for an instant he felt a queer cold. The fog seemed to grow up about him and then all became silent. The distant hum of the sea, the rustle of leaves in the wind-all swallowed up in the mist left just an impenetrable, suffocating stillness.
And then, he heard it. A faint voice, far away, almost just a whisper. So soft, almost gentle, yet there was something gratingly unpleasant about the sound, something unsettling as if the voice were actually speaking directly into his ear. "Help me…"
The blood left Arata's heart in an instant. He turned to see a source in the voice. There was no one there. Fog churned thick and impenetrable curled around him like something alive.
"Who's there?" he yelled, his voice shaking a little. "Show yourself!"
There was no answer, but the whispering continued-a growing din, more urgent now. "Help me… please…"
Arata, for no reason he could see or understand, felt an uncanny compulsion to follow the voice he couldn't hear into the fog deeper. It was as if something inside him somehow compelled him forward, nudging and directing his steps. He paused, his head rolling over the memory of Mei's warnings. But the question ended his hesitation, and he stepped forward, then again, going deeper toward the old lighthouse.
He drew closer and the mist parted to reveal a dim, flickering light in one of the upper windows. The view made him shiver. The lighthouse had been closed for years, but someone-or something-was inside.
"Arata…
He stood there, his name echoing through the mist, carried by a voice that sounded achingly familiar. He didn't know where he had heard it, but there was this sense of familiarity, as though he'd heard it before. "Who are you?" he whispered, his breath forming small clouds in the chilly air. "Come to me…
Now his voice was soft, almost tender, and his heart seemed to ache with every sound. Without thinking, he moved forward, a little crunching of gravel with every step. The fog deepened to envelop him. The world around him grew darker and darker until there was nothing left but the lighthouse and the dark, deep, endless mist.
He reached the bottom of the lighthouse and put a hand out on the rusty door. It was cold and the metal slick with moisture, but he hesitated there a moment, his mind screaming at him to turn back. Yet again the voice called out to him, soft and insistent, and he pushed open the door.
The interior was dark, the air thick with dust and the smell of damp wood. Arata stepped inside, his eyes struggling to adjust to the gloom. Above him, the narrow spiral staircase led up to the top of the lighthouse into the shadows.
As he made his way up the stairs, the voice seemed louder, clearer. Was it a woman or something else? She sounded highly seductive and sultry but something was just not right with it. It was almost. mechanical, like a record played repeatedly and repeatedly.
"Help me… Arata… please…"
Up the stair he climbed; and at last arrived in a small, round room, the walls of which were lined with some old equipment, badly broken, and some sort of mechanical light bulb hung from the ceiling, so the room stood before him with an eerie glow. In the middle of the room stood a figure, covered in mist, with her back to him.
"Hello?" Arata said, his voice barely louder than a whisper.
The figure did not stir. For a second, he even thought she hadn't heard him, but then slowly turned around and Arata felt his blood freeze.
It was a female figure, but the fog smudged out details of her features. He could see her eyes-only dark and hollow. A faint sad smile played on her lips, and something about her gave him an impression of ghostliness-a feeling as if she is not alive in the first place, yet he could see her very clearly, just steps from him.
"Who are you?" Arata asked, his voice shaking.
"I am… a memory," she repeated, her voice hauntingly soft. An echo of the past.
And before the man could get another word in his mouth, the room slanted, and the walls liquefied into a churning vortex of mist and shadow. Arata stumbled, trying to regain his balance, but the world around him was changing, warping like a distorted dream. Images flashed before his eyes: an old photograph, a broken pocket watch, a pair of hands reaching out, desperate and pleading.
Then he saw her. The same woman from his vision on the beach, pale and gaunt face, wide eyes full of fear. She was standing at the edge of a cliff, fog swirling about her, her great, racking cries shaking through her hands clutching at her chest as if it had been ripped from her very body.
"Help me," she whispered through the wind. "Please…"
Arata stretched out a hand to grab her; his hand flowed through her as if she weren't really there. "What's going on?" he asked, cracking a quivering voice. "What do you want from me?"
"Save me." the woman's voice echoed, fading into the mist. "Before it's too late.".
And then the world rushed back into focus. Arata was alone in the dark, empty room at the top of the lighthouse. The fog peeled away, and that stillness, that awful silence, was broken only by the distant smash of waves pounding against the shore.
He stepped back, his head reeling with it. What had he just witnessed? An illusion, or something else? He didn't know, but of this he was certain: what was happening in Umigawa was far from over.
He walked down the stairs, all the confusion and the fear jumbled in his head as he looked for Mei. Maybe she could tell him something about the woman in the mist. Perhaps she could help clear up those strange visions that kept making their appearances, the whispers, the shadows.
But subconsciously, he couldn't help but feel that he was being watched. That someone or something was very closely eyeing him out, waiting for the perfect moment to pounce.
And as he stepped out into the fog, he heard the faintest whisper, barely more than a breath, carried on the wind: "Don't trust her…