Woman in the Mist

I had been abandoned at an orphanage, years ago, that was next to a mystifying bright green light. The green light was bright enough to shine through the wooded trees to us children. This light had appeared to me as it had appeared to several of the other children at one point or another. The caretakers, and babysitters, told stories about the green light. Their stories always warned that the green light lured strangers through their temptations. It was only through their temptations that it could exist. The high amount of disappearances only lent to the story’s validity. The fact that this green light would only appear on occasion, to certain people, made the story’s fiction. The disappearances were just assumed to be lost tourists.

I doubted these stories until another child returned to the orphanage screaming like a lunatic. He returned banging against the front doors. The sound awoke everyone in the building. It took hours before they could finally calm him down. The child refused to speak for days. He barely ate, and hardly left his room. He eventually confessed that he had gone to see the green light. His curiosity had driven him through the woods; and the light was his only guide. As he approached the light, it turned into a green mist. In that mist he could see a lavish mansion with an open door. This mansion was the same one that had invited him through his dreams.

He peeked his head inside the green mansion. The thin mist filled his nostrils with a scent of fresh cookies. Inside the mist, he witnessed a graveyard lurking this mansion. It wasn’t the graveyard that had frightened him. It was the shrill cries that sounded behind each tombstone that frightened him. Creatures crying out in pain, in remorse. The longer his head remained inside the mist, the louder the shrill cries became. He struggled to free his head from the mist’s hold. The stronger the hold the more frightened he became. Eventually, he broke free. He raced back to the orphanage without a second glance.

It was his tall tale that had made me curious. It made everyone in the orphanage curious. We began daring each other to find this green light. I decided it was worth the risk. I had walked through the woods for several hours alone. Insects attacked me, and I fell until my knees skinned. I had almost given up. I decided, at that moment, that a wild story would be better than the truth. It was then that the light had begun to shine behind me. I followed that light until it led me to a green stone path. The stone path led me to the green mist. Within this mist was an older woman. Her lovely face smiled kindly. She held out her hand to welcome me. This woman was a mother; she could have been my mother. I reached out to grab her hand.

My hand stopped as I remembered the stories and the warnings. I remembered all those disappearances. I pulled my hand away from her. Her kind face distorted into some kind of monster. Screaming, I turned to sprint back to the orphanage. I kept running as fast as my legs could carry me. I never told anyone what I’d seen that night; not even to the boy who had confessed his truth to me. I was never certain if others had ventured out to the green light. I was just glad to have grown up enough to be moved to another orphanage. I was glad to have been taken further from the green light. After a while, I forgot about the green light. It was nothing more than a myth that would surface in my dreams.

That was until a few months ago. That green light began plaguing my nightmare frequently. I saw myself creeping closer to that light. I watched as the light mutated into a mist. I could see the outline of a woman. She only ever appeared as a shadow reaching out for me. Her gentle voice carried a melodic tune. She was calling me, enticing me. I always awoke before I could accept her invitation.

As the nightmares continued, I’d come to realize that my reality held no interest for me. I had grown bored of my wife and children. The demands of a job were suffocating me. I had begun to believe that I never escaped that green light. It was a delusional denial to think that I could. I needed to find this woman in the mist. I needed her to comfort me, and to love me. It was for this reason that I returned to those woods behind the orphanage. I found myself retracing every step. I even managed to fall in the exact same places. It could’ve been the nostalgia of returning home, or the desire of the green light’s call. Either way, the path was dangerous and there was no light to guide me. I began to believe that these nightmares were the fantasies of childhood trauma.

Then the tree opened into a path. At first the path was narrow and filled with sharp branches and cobwebs. The path started to clear. I saw a few green stones lying in the path. Shortly, the green stones began connecting with one another to create a stone path. I paused as the green mist began to emerge. It wound around the trees and started filling all the empty spaces. Watching this realization of my childhood fears filled me with peaceful terror.

Then, she emerged. The woman from my nightmares; from my childhood. Only now, she did not appear so old. Her kind face was extremely delicate. Her lips curled into a kind familiar grin. She reached her hand out to me. Unlike my childhood, I did not recoil from her. This time, I let her pull me into this mist. I let her soothe me as a lover would have.

Opening my eyes, I watched as the woman dispersed. The green mist was all around me and I was alone. Looking around, I saw the jade tombstones. A green spirit floated behind each tombstone. I gradually wandered forward hoping to find the woman. The woman would not have abandoned me here.

The first tombstone I passed belonged to a woman. She was dressed in a flapper dress. Her long hair was tightly pressed into curls. She held her hands out in a pleading way as she cried out the words, “do you know me? Am I famous?” The second tombstone belonged to another woman. This woman was a haggard old grandmother grasping an aventurine mirror. She was staring at her mirrored reflection sobbing. Her hands could not stop trembling.

I came across the third tombstone. A man stood behind it. He sobbed as he stood in a pile of ruins. Staring at this man, I was able to recognize him. He was only a child when he confessed his truth to me. He had returned to the mist just as I had. The mist had lured both of us back. “I was promised a house. I was promised a home,” he cried. His cries turned into shrill screams.

I started walking backwards until I stumbled into an open plot. My legs had fallen through a man standing in the burial plot. He looked up at me with tears streaming down his face. “It won’t let me die. It won’t let me die!” Pulling myself from the burial plot, I feared that this man would pull me back down. I feared that this man would stop me from finding the woman.

Once free from the grave, I ran hoping to find an escape. I saw the woman walking in the far distance. I struggled to reach her amongst all these graves. As I came close enough to touch her, she evaporated. That was when I’d come to realize that this was my broken desire. Children did not desire like adults. Children knew not to love material possessions. Children knew to listen to danger. Children knew when to run. As I began to sob, I started to think that my family had not been so terrible after all. I had my greatest desire evaporate in this green mist.