Lost in the Fog

As kids, we all had irrational fears. The list of things I was afraid of was rather long.

Freshwater sharks. Bigfoot in the woods at the end of the road. The toothy tubeworms that lived under my bed (the ones that would bite me if I moved too close to the edge).

Of course, most of these fears were imagined. Monsters I had wholly conjured up in my mind. But one of them was based on something visual in the real world.

In the guestroom at my grandparents’ house there hung an old painting of a little girl holding a parasol. She terrified me. She always seemed to be looking at me, and judging by her blank expression, she had plans of murdering me while I slept.

I begged my parents and grandparents to let me sleep somewhere else. They didn’t listen.

Growing up, I would think back on that painting, and at each remembrance, it would twist into something creepier and creepier until it was more fitting for a haunted house than a guestroom.

I’ve revisited the painting after a long time away, and now as an adult, I don’t think it’s that bad. Even so, the fear of what I thought the painting to be inspired a short piece I wrote a while back.

In my World Building Workshop course, I give my students an assignment with peculiar rules:

• Write a piece that has exactly 207 words. No more, no less.
• Your piece must be entitled “Lost in the Fog.”

After years of assigning this task (it’s focus being how rules can push us to be more creative), I thought it high time I give a swing at it. So I followed the rules and used the painting as inspiration.

Here’s how it went…

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Lost in the Fog

“Daddy,” his daughter peeped. “I’m scared.”

“What are you scared of?” Hank asked, rifling through his suitcase.

“That,” she said pointing to the painting over her bed.

Within the frame, there was a little girl with a parasol, foggy hills in the background. It kept with the Victorian style of the room—yellowed wallpaper and porcelain lamps. That was old hotels for you.

Hank had to admit, the painting did look creepy. Maybe the girl was too pale, her expression too knowing.

“It’s alright, sweetie,” Hank said, turning from those watchful eyes. “Get some rest.”

In the bathroom, Hank washed his face. It had been a long day on the road. Time to sleep.

When he came out, his daughter wasn’t in bed.

“Katherine?”

No answer.

“It’s not time for hide-and-seek.”

He looked under the bed, in the closet. Nothing. She couldn’t have left. The door was locked from inside.

Then he noticed the painting. The girl with the parasol was gone. It was now a scene of foggy countryside.

But what was that in the background? Two figures walking in the distance. Two girls.

“Katherine!” he cried.

Fumbling with glasses, he came in for a closer look. But the girls were gone. Lost in the fog.

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What were you afraid of as a kid?

Please share your stories and memories in the comments below.