Fiction

The Folk of The Fog – Knox Visnak

The forests and brushland surrounding San Marcos and its river are somehow always filled with a dense fog which occludes even the most observant survivor. Though a peculiar phenomenon, the main culprit is simply a beast. It is known by many names, but I fondly call them Folk Of The Fog.

Many perplexing amalgams inhabit this once functional city. Many of the encounters I have experienced with these scorned creatures of nature have been brief and unrevealing. Unfortunately, it’s a similar story with the folk, completely occluded by the mist that shadows them. But once upon the dawn of a beautiful morning — the murders had yet to caw their chilling rebuke toward the sun and the pleasant perfume of petrichor filled the air — I met a doe within the murky cloud. It was astonishing. The doe stood in defiance of my dangerous presence, I gazed upon the unexplored beast, its appearance was almost the same as deer from before the apocalypse. It had a winding bush of antlers and what appeared to be fangs protruding from its mouth. It quickly turned tail and ran the moment I reached out to it.

I tried to tail them in secret, but the fog grew ever harsher. Soon I lost the doe in my vain pursuit. I clambered out into a clearing, heat radiated around my body and my breathing was anything but steady. Suddenly I saw its eyes peek through that serene mist. Another pair appeared, then another. Within seconds the only thing I could see were scattered glowing dots that speckled the misted stretch of forest in front of me. The intensity of their gaze was intimidating and with all the sense left in my mind I very quickly decided to retreat. The group emanated a threat which already shook me to my core, and I for one did not wish to familiarize myself with it any further. Though I pity the fellow who encounters these folk and don’t have the sense to exercise great caution.

Submarine – Brynn Gardner

Enter: a tiny thing, roaming around the floor of the ocean. What all does she know?

Through her window she sees: nothing. Paint, poured lazily over a canvas. Space, as pure as the space above or the space between particles of an atom.

Through her engine she feels: sand, maybe. Or maybe everything. The dust from the corners of your eye and the crumbs from a child’s granola bars and the shards of a submarine that just couldn’t make it and the lingering heavyset smoke of an asteroid that first touched our planet sixty-six million years ago.

Through her sensors she hears: life. Quiet and immovable. Someone mutters to her right, someone lashes around a prey. Someone worms around the sand and someone exhales a deep, rattling sigh of sulfide. Even here, she decides, even here where the abyssopelagic zone meets the nothing, someone lives.

Judas – Kaila Adams

It wasn’t my idea to go clubbing tonight. I thought I’d come around when I got there, but I remained unimpressed. Any other Friday night I would enjoy the illusion of music under a shit ton of bass. Don’t judge, the thrill of legal partying is still fresh. There was just something about tonight that made each note feel like a targeted attack against my brain. That’s what we call a migraine.

I came here with my roommate and her boyfriend. I was standing next to the couple as they sat on barstools slurring “cute” love stories and inside jokes. I ordered another shot, I couldn’t tolerate third-wheeling sober.

When the current low-quality club remix ended another one began, except this time it was of a song I knew was on my roommate’s playlist. The couple sprung up from their chairs so fast that Alex (my roommate) almost fell. She poked her foot around trying to find a spot on the ground that would satisfy her balance, and was not currently occupied by my foot. All that to say Alex’s comically heavy platform heels landed on my foot once or twice.

That was it. Any last ounce of motivation I had to stick it out left my soul. I took a shot, grabbed my jacket, and left.

Once again I was reminded how ill-advised this trip was when a gust of wind hit my bare legs. Luckily my apartment was only seven lights and a right turn away, and I made it through the first two without being stopped. My luck ran out when at the third light I was met with the little yellow hand, and a stumbling drunk couple who decided to use me as their personal GPS.

“Are you going to Driskills?” she asked?

“No,” I said.

“Do you know where it’s at?”

“Take a right at the next ligh-”

“Thanks.”

I nodded, clearly very thrilled to be responsible for the safety of a wasted pair who could barely stop themselves from flailing into oncoming traffic. A few seconds later the hand turned to the blue walking signal. When we got to the other side I pointed the girl in the direction of the Driskills bar, then continued my trek.

I made it past three more lights before I got stopped again. Only one more light, a right, and then I was home. I fiddled my hand around in my pockets looking for my apartment keycard and room key, but I couldn’t find it by touch alone. I slowed my pace so I could manually sort through my key ring. By the time I got to the light, there were only three seconds left on the blue walking man. I didn’t want to risk falling or losing a twenty, so I stayed back.

A few seconds later a man approached. He stopped a few feet behind me, fully illuminated by the street light. I took a mental note of what he was wearing, and identifiable features, as I do for all men in public. He was wearing a blue shirt covered partially by a brown corduroy jacket, fresh jeans, and brown dress shoes. He kept to himself which was a much-needed refresher from all the drunk people I’d been around prior. He walked up to the pole and pressed the big silver button.

“Don’t walk.”

I pointed at the cars flying through the intersection.

“My bad, I’ve had one too many beers tonight,” he said as he took a sip from a freshly opened corona.

“Been there” I replied.

He nodded.

“You a student here?”

“Yeah… you?”

“Grad student.”

I nod.

“What major?” I asked.

“Psychology.”

“Nice.”

The blue walking man appeared, and we both crossed the street. His steps were a lot bigger than mine, probably because he was a lot taller, so naturally he caught up to me.

“Yourself?”

“Hm?”

“Your major?”

“Oh, Premed.”

He nodded. I turned to look at him. He was staring off into the distance like he had a thought on the tip of his tongue. Like he was about to reply with an intelligent quip, but couldn’t quite come up with one good enough. Who knows I’m not the psychologist here.

“You got something to say?” I said.

He chuckled.

“I was just thinking.”

“Psychologically evaluating me?”

“Thinking about what the outfit I’m wearing says about me?” I laugh.

“No, but If I had to guess… not well thought out.”

“Ouch,” I said.

We reached the next intersection. He clicked the silver button again.

“Don’t walk”

I put my hands in my pockets and stretched my arms.

“You were right. This was not my best idea,” I said.

He looked over at me with this confused puppy dog face. I burst into laughter.

“What?” he said.

“Your face”

“You look all…”

I took a closer look at his face. He had a slight stubble, very uneven. His brows were bushy and coarse, and his eyes looked tired. Not tired because it was almost one am, tired like… he had seen a lot. I mean he was a few years older. Twenty-three… twenty-four maybe. Even for a twenty-four year old his dark circles were awfully… dark.

“What, I look all what?”

“All confused,” I said.

“Wouldn’t think a smart med student would go clubbing in 20 degrees.”

“Yeah well you learn something new every day,” I said in a flat tone.

The blue walking man appeared once again. I started walking at a slightly faster pace. My apartment building’s entrance was just a right turn away.

“What’s the rush?” he asked with a smile on his face? One creased by smile lines.

“Migraine. It’s why I left.”

I had officially made it across the street. He was a few steps behind but caught up. He reached for my hand, but I swatted his away.

“Don’t touch me.”

He put his hands up in defeat.

“Sorry, I thought we had something goin’ here.”

“Well you were wrong,” I said.

He nodded, taking a sip from his beer. This was the second sip I’d seen him take, and his beer looked hardly touched. Not very enthusiastic for a drunk. I looked up at him. I was staring straight at those smile lines, and the slight stubble. Our gazes met. Those eyes… those tired eyes.

My intoxication hit me in the face. I’d only taken two shots and wasn’t a lightweight. I should not have been feeling woozy, but for some reason I was. I took a step back, but my heel folded under my weight. I quickly readjusted so as to not fall down. The man reached for my side. I looked back up at him.

“You’re not drunk are you?”

“You’re not a grad student…”

His eyes lit up. The corners of his mouth rose in a circular motion, and his bottom lip dropped. He slid his tongue across the top row of his teeth, once again presumably lost for words. Like he couldn’t quite find the perfect one-liner that would double my fear twofold, and take his internal pleasure to a new height that this pathetic man had surely never felt before.

“Just as smart as I suspected…”

I made a run for it. I screamed out. Just then I became acutely aware that there weren’t many people out. Twenty degrees is enough to keep most Texans indoors. I positioned individual keys between my fingers with one hand, and grabbed onto the traffic pole with the other, using it to make a quick right turn. I quickened my pace. My breath was heavy, but his was heavier. His gasps for air sounded mere steps away. I approached the apartment complex and readied my key card. I put my arm all the way out, directly to the sensor. The sliding doors slowly began to open. I squeezed in and booked it to the stairs.

The man wasn’t as slim and grunted when he was forced to wait a bit to get in. I opened the stairwell doors and placed my feet on each step with precision and speed. The man flung the stair doors open. I was halfway up a flight already. He took two steps at a time but my lead allowed me to reach the second floor first. I burst through the hall. 202, 204, 206, 208! I grabbed my room key from between my fingers, jammed it in, and began fidgeting with the door. The man made it up the stairs but it was too late, I felt the lock click open. I pulled out my key, and turned into my room, flipping the lock on the inside.

I put my ear to the door, hearing a skid. I slowly raised myself up as far as I could to look out the peephole. There was an eerie familiarity, looking out at my neighbor’s apartment like I do when someone simply knocks on the door. I slowed my breath to match the silence outside my door. After a few excruciating breaths I used the rest of my energy to reclaim my position at the peephole, and there in the hallway was the same hardly touched beer, and a small knife.

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