A Flash Fiction Short Story by Trudy Storm
Camped high in the Rocky Mountains, I was in seventh heaven and I didn’t think it could get any better that morning. A steaming coffee cup in my hand, woolen hat perched sideways on my head. My feet, begging for a warm fire, wore unlaced boots that were still frozen from their night outdoors. I pushed around cold ash in the fire pit and began to build a morning fire.
The tea kettle sang its morning tune as I felt the morning breeze begin its rush up the canyon from the valley below. I finished up my morning chores, wrapped myself in a down blanket and sat down in the nearest camp chair to watch the world and the mountain pass wake up.
Snuggled in warm down, my coffee cup still firmly attached to my hand, the fire now crackling nicely behind me, I watched through half open eyes as mist rose from the lake and begin to filter through the trees and up the canyon to the north.
What a glorious morning! I wonder where that mist ends. It looks like a river of clouds winding its way to a place known only to them.
As the morning darkness lifted I watched the mountain pass come to life. It beckoned to my creative soul and I decided to take action. I laced up my boots, put out the fire, filled my coffee cup, and placed everything but the empty tent in the car. Finally, I assigned the tent to be a guardian of the campsite and began my walk to the mist.
On the map, I saw a paved road wind up the mountain pass and then take off in a northerly direction. It appeared to be somewhat close to the mist. I knew that the mist would find that road, travel its winding path, and then dissipate into the forest.
I also thought it might be fun to go off-trail and walk the lake shore to discover the path of the mist.
Faced with a choice that would govern my day, to follow the lake shore or follow the map, my creative soul screamed, “Go see the lake!”
Decision made, I double-timed it to the edge of the lake, left my coffee cup on a large rock by the beach, and headed down the lakeside trail to the base of the pass.
A short time later I paused by the lake to watch the mist rise gently from the surface. I threw a small pebble at the reflection of the mountain in the unblemished surface of the watery canvas. Complete silence followed as the mist traced the circlets of water created by the splash.
Fascinated by being able to influence the mist, I picked up a small stick and threw it into the water. I watched small fingers of mist surround the stick, lift it and throw it back to me.
I stifled a scream and leaned over to take a closer look at the water. For a brief moment, I thought I saw a face in the water.
Lost in thought, I staggered farther down the lakeside trail. Close to the mountain pass now, I could see its beginning. My heart beat faster as I anticipated seeing the other side.
I chanced a quick look behind me and saw the mist trace the confines of the narrow path with every step I took. There was no mist in the forest or on the lake, only on the path, and just a few feet behind me. It was following me.
I tried turning around and walking towards the tendrils of mist. The mist stopped but did not move. Looking forward again, I ran as fast as I could. The mist easily kept up with me.
My heart, force-fed by adrenaline, began to beat faster. My eyes focused and I now saw the world through a tunnel as I hunted for safety from the mist. I threw a larger stick to see if the mist would slow down. The mist engulfed the stick and absorbed it completely. Its meal done, the mist flowed faster. Finally, I decided this couldn’t be real. An ill-advised illusion created by dreaming about the wonders of the mountain and lake.
My coffee cup, I need it now. It’s my shield against the world each morning, I know it can bring me back to reality.
I turned, and with a herculean effort, forced the mist out of my mind and replaced it with an image of home and ran. I ran like I never have before, back to my coffee cup on the rock by the lake. I didn’t look back.
Still at a dead run, I grabbed my coffee cup and kept going. When I reached camp, I threw the tent in the car as fast as I could and tore off down the road towards home.
Upon reaching home I pulled into the garage, got out, ran into the house, and slammed the door shut behind me. Then I locked the two locks on the door. Kitchen chairs were next. When they were stacked in front of the door I began to breathe again.
I know my home will protect me. That’s what home is, a place where you are protected from the world, right?
I walked into the living room and finally dared to look outside and down the road that I had just driven. Whew, no mist. Safe at last.
I turned around and headed for the kitchen to make more coffee. As I stood at the counter the mist began flowing through the kitchen floor behind me. Fingerlings of mist reached out and secured my ankles. My heart-rending scream must have been heard for miles as the mist dragged me into its substance.
The police and my family and friends looked for me for weeks and never found my body. I watched from the mist as they searched. As I watched, a woman with flowing red hair and the face that I saw in the water held fast by my side and watched with me.
