It’s here! The Angry House by Thomas Wrightson

 It's here! It's finally here! After the epic trilogy of its origins and development (part 1, part 2, part 3), The Angry House -- a horror audio play written by me, Thomas Wrightson -- is releasing into the world first through Alternative Stories's Spec Fic Radio Theatre; Monday 15 December (tomorrow) for their silver-tier Patreons, then everyone else on Wednesday 17 December.

This post will be updated with links to versions as they release.

Spec Fic Audio Theatre release - Wednesday 17 December 2025 - Podlink, Apple Podcasts, Amazon Music, PodBean,

Alternative Stories and Fake Realities release - Friday 19 December 2025 - Spotify, Apple Podcasts, PodLink

This audio production, produced by Alternative Stories and directed by Chris Gregory, is a Christmas chiller. In 1999, on the eve of a total eclipse, a brother goes with his sister and life partner to refurbish an old house. But as they work there, strange events suggest a hostile presence is haunting them, threatening their lives.

With a wonderful cast bringing it to life--Charlie Richards, Marie-Claire Woods, David Monteith, and Sarah Golding--this is my very first time writing for the radio format and my first production of this kind. Where things may go from here, who knows. But I know this will be a fascinating thing to have floating around for people to listen to.

Read more here!

The Angry House — The Next Stage

 I've been chronicling the progress and development process of The Angry House, a horror audio drama produced by Alternative Stories. I've already talked the OG awards, and a long behind-the-scenes where I detail the cast and recording progress as a log. Now, the climax.

The next major stage of things was selecting which of the many takes would (provisionally at least) form part of the final cut. I was more than prepared for some heated debate over which take was better or worse, and listened to each and made notes on advice from Chris Gregory. I had to bear in mind that these were the raw audio from Studio Orpheus, without sound re-balancing or positional changes or effects or anything. I had to pick from a number of bits and pieces, and sometimes there were sections of a take that didn't quite fit with the rest, so (as previously outlined) there were some bits of takes that sounded better overall and could be spliced into the whole.

When it came time for us to actually decide, I had listened through the lot and I was prepared for some measure of combat. As it turned out, only one of the takes had any kind of contention around its suitability, but Chris decided to go with my option as a working basis and see how it meshed with the rest of things as a whole. His choice...seemed off to me, which was the best metric I could give for many things. That it was 'right' or was 'off' when it came to both the emotional resonance and the flow from one scene to the next. As to the other takes, we were in united agreement over which whole takes to use, and which bits to splice in where needed.

I also learned something interesting about my writing while talking with Chris. If you read the dialogue just bald, without actors or characterisation or atmosphere, it can seem quite shallow. But because of the scenarios I've created, because of who the characters are in the context of the story, they're actually quite deep and challenging. One bit in particular, where the actor for lead character Harry Wells, Charlie Richards, had a long sentence that needed to be said quickly and with emotion after flipping immediately from a barely-controlled calm. We needed SIX TAKES to get anywhere near right. That kind of thing, a scene turning on a dime more than once, or character interactions that make things so powerful, are the place where my lines were challenging for the actors. And engaging, I hope and believe. They certainly seemed to be having a great time.

The next stage was listening to the final assembly to make sure the takes that we agreed upon were. And when you're listening back with cleaned-up audio and some added directionality, it really adds something. It wasn't the final product, but it was quite a thing. Helped by the fact that part of why I was listening through was not only to judge the takes, but to find any issues. And...there were a couple. But I'm not calling out anyone, these will happen to the most highfalutin production houses and Chris Gregory is a very busy man. It's just...don't go in expecting perfect and then getting mad about it. It doesn't help anyone and only causes problems further down the line.

To quote Chris Gregory following my initial feedback: "Well this went well!" Agreed, and relatable.

But when the final edit came in...oh boy. I think it's enough of a compliment to say that after the initial check of the redone end-to-end reel, I listen again and...just forget I was listening to an in-progress thing. The scenes flowed together well, and it just sounded like a radio play you'd hear on BBC Radio 4 or 4Extra.

---

The Angry House is set for release during December 2025 on these podcast platforms; Spec Fic Radio Theatre, Alternative Stories and Fake Realities, and Pen to Print Write On! Audio.

Enjoy a Christmas time spook fest. Are you prepared to join our characters in entering 'The Angry House'?"

My Anime Life: Blood-C

Not quite in time for Halloween, I know. But I had a more important post to put out, so instead here's a late theme-appropriate article, the second on the "My Anime Life" series. This time we look at Blood-C, the third anime project in Production I.G's Blood franchise. A collaboration between established Blood staff, and manga collective CLAMP, Blood-C became notorious in its time due to its frequent usage of graphic violence, which was censored in Japan and caused it to be banned in mainland China.

The initial set-up is deceptively simple; Saya Kisaragi is a shrine maiden for the local Shinto temple run by her father, and is something of an airhead at school. But at night, she fights monsters in the surrounding woods dubbed Elder Bairns. People in the village start falling victims to the Elder Bairns, who speak with Saya and accuse her of being a traitor to an ancient covenant. The storyline is something a hybrid between a slow J-horror style creeping dread and unease, and the more action-oriented style of earlier Blood projects. The storyline is concluded in the movie The Last Dark, where Saya is in pursuit of forces tied to the series' events.

To say Blood-C is an acquired taste would be an understatement. Its pacing is purposefully very slow and cyclical, with part of the unease coming from how different events either don't seem to impact each other, or repeat in a kind of forced normality which grotesquely contrasts against the monstrous attacks of the Elder Bairns, many modelled on pre-existing Japanese yokai. Saya's character goes from innocent and air-headed young girl to someone who could easily dice an opponent with her sword in the blink of an eye, and some bits of the lore aren't explained fully until after the series has ended. The characters are also deliberately shallow, with a late-stage twist explaining it in a way I found interesting, but likely wouldn't sit well with a lot of people. It also does became very graphic. For once, I fully understand the censorship it received, because...yikes.

This commentary also partially extends to the movie The Last Dark, which is technically very impressive, but the tone is starkly different. It can still be quite violent, and there is a lingering dread that forms part of the horror, but it feels a lot more like a retread of the original Blood: The Last Vampire than a follow-up to Blood-C. It does properly wrap up the story, and Saya gets her wishes fulfilled, but it doesn't have quite the right kind of oomph. It's something I would watch to close out the story rather than as a good story in its own right. And to enjoy the animation and music for both, which are really good.

So...what about this? I can see why Blood-C is the black sheep of the Blood franchise. It deliberately adopts a tonally dissonant approach to its narrative, has a major plot-altering twists that I personally didn't see coming first time, and a movie that shifts tone yet again and makes the two feel like the products of entirely different teams (they're not, it was again a deliberate artistic choice). Should you try it? Well, maybe, I guess. At your own risk.

The Angry House -- Its Author's Behind the Scenes

 At the invitation of Alternative Stories's Chris Gregory, I've created this behind-the-scenes article-come-production diary for 'The Angry House', an audio play in the horror genre that I wrote for the Pen to Print Awards. You've got the opening section of this story from several months ago, when The Angry House won their Audio Play Competition, with the most significant part of the award being that the play would be produced by Alternative Stories, an audio production company that you may know for Emily Inkpen's Dex Legacy project. I was sort of acting as an assistant for Chris, as well as having input as the original play's writer. I initially thought "eh, split into two articles", then I decided "nah, do a longer article after it's been recorded". That recording date was Monday 20th October 2025.

One thing that I was expecting, but turned out to be both more or less harrowing overall, was the edits that came after the script won the award. Just because it won doesn't mean it was perfect. For one thing, because of the script's inspirations in late 19th to early 20th Century pieces, I needed to update the language to be less formal and--by modern standards--stilted. After that came scheduling meetings, and after that a full hour and a half dedicated to just going through the script with Chris, reading through it, checking for anything I'd missed on a first pass, trimming out some bits that were maybe a bit too 90s. Because the play is set in 1999.

After that, there was the casting, and on my end that included listening to reels as they came in and once everyone had auditioned who would audition, it was time to make the choice. Two of the actors were the only ones to audition for those parts, and thank goodness because they were very good for those roles. The other two were a choice between four or five a piece, and it was a bit of a process narrowing it down to the final choice. We only needed four actors for the roles, as I'd deliberately wrote it to be a small cast, and I was able to get two of the actors to double up roles.

Then, on this last Monday, there was the table read. For those who've seen behind-the-scenes stuff from television or film productions, a table read is basically a run-through of the script so people can get a feel for it. In this case, it was a virtual table-read with some scenes done out of order to accommodate for one member of cast that needed to head off in a hurry. It was also a little longer than expected, as I had added some extra bits at Chris's suggestion for one of the cast members who initially had just one scene. Oh yes, the cast. What a cast it is, all Alternative Studios alumni and with notable CVs in their own right. The recordings well done by the time this goes up so I don't think it should be a bother to reveal them. The cast is;

*Charlie Richards as Harry Wells -- An actor who among other things worked on Emily Inkpen's Dex Legacy as Ren Dex, and also appeared in a recent production of The Play That Goes Wrong.

*Marie-Claire Wood as Agnes Wells -- An actor with range, with credits across multiple Alternative Story productions, feature films, television and classical theatre.

*David Monteith as Gerald Fairly -- A voice and mo-cap actor who has done extensive voice-over work across podcast, films and video games. To some he is Minister Rizet from Emily Inkpen's Wasteland, to others Neueirus from Metaphor re Fantazio or a number of voices in Baldur's Gate 3.

*Sarah Golding as Samantha Gregory -- Creator of Quirky Voices, a versatile actress with too many credits to roll off. Just...so many.

The table read went surprisingly well, and it was still a little odd hearing my words out loud from someone's lips other than mine. Or with the cast of actors I've got as simulacra in my head to bring them to life. I was braced for rough reads, fumbles, awkward moments. There weren't many, just a couple of edits that needed to be made; one based on a suggestion, and one that was a genuine mistake. There was also the question of accent, which was mostly RP (received pronunciation), but there was one Devon accent needed and some question about the kind of RP to be used. I also had to account for the fact that the actors were doing it virtually over a Zoom meetings call, so...not ideal. It wasn't a studio environment with specially-designed microphones and a sound-proof space. There were also a couple of casual interactions that were just funny and broke the ice a bit.

With that cast, and joined by the production crew including Chris and myself, we gathered together at Orpheus Studios in London. After, of course, slightly losing my way. Cities always do that, it's always one door further back or further on than I think it must be. The rest of this article is more in the line of a journal or diary. So...enjoy.

(The events of the day during recording start at time codes.)

Cast and Crew at Tea

10:30-ish; At the studio. At this moment, the actors are warming up. The likes of "pepperoni macaroni" and lip burbles are emanating from the green room. I struggle not to burst into unseemly fits of laughter. The sound engineer Richard Campbell is setting up, and the studio is preparing to enter into the realm of "oh help I'm really going to be listening to my dialogue being recorded". The set-up is a large soundproof room with four mics and two booths. The first scene recorded is Scene 3, with Charlie and David. Marie-Claire is a little late, due to other commitments. Edits were required due to some issues related to repetition of some phrases or some odd wording.

11:02: Marie-Claire has manifested during the second take. The takes are going quite well so far, with some adjustments and talk with the actors to get the right tone for scenes. After a time between scenes where we chatted in the green room, we dived into the first scene. Some stumbles, but otherwise some good chemistry appearing to help get the scene on point with the different character interactions. Always important. Golding also doubled-up the voice of another bit part, which was a huge help. After the scene was completed, we completed some isolated parts for a smaller part that book-ended some scenes. Genuinely moving.

12:15: The beginning of another session with lots of stuff. A scene with a lot of dialogue, including some bits of humour that I was afraid would sound better on the page. Turns out, they sound great. It sounds strange in a way, without the sound effects or anything else, but there is a feeling of it coming together. Also, some questions about pronunciations. And then....LUNCH! (or rather, lunch, which wasn't that great in my case, because eating out for me is like spinning a semi-rigged roulette wheel)

Sound engineer
Richard "Orpheus" Campbell.
Image courtesy of
Chris Gregory,
Alternative Stories.

14:11: Back onto scene recording, an emotional scene now and struggling to keep my head straight after the phenomenon of lunch. This one needed some more fine tuning for the script, specifically some word choices so that the actors could have the dialogue flow better. This bit is really showing how much smaller inflections and additions from the actors can make the scene fully come alive. Also the scene in particular is a pretty pivotal and emotional one, so we needed to do an extra take to get as much of it down as possible. And then David had to do some extra bits for a smaller part.

15:24: Next was a very long two-hander between Sarah and Charlie. It's a long and narratively-important scene, and also one with some pretty intense content. Sarah is a great actress, and Charlie was coping very well with a pretty chunky sequence. And yet more pronunciation. Also some small adjustments needed, one in particular at Charlie's suggestion. It's the one that went the best at the table read last Monday, so as expected this went fairly smoothly.

16:24: After a tea break once the scene was completed, we headed into another scene that was a three-hander. It seemed to go fine overall, although the names of some of the characters did somehow derail a performance or two--plus the banter--into the cursed realm of She-Who-Will-Not-Be-Named-Ever-More. Overall, it's been going well. Only two scenes left to go; the two final ones obviously.

16:44: The penultimate scene, which has a prolonged period of one person both narrating a scene and being part of it, and this one went so incredibly smoothly. The only one that didn't need three takes, only two. And this was the one scene at the table read we didn't have the time and facilities to go through in full. Moving forward, we hit the final scene, where all the actors came together to perform in one crescendo. We were all feeling a little tired and quite relieved. I got the chance to set the opening fear factor of the scene (on a scale of 1 to 10, a solid 6). The first run went well, although there was some adjustment to tone and wording needed. That seems to be the running theme. Once the big scene was completed, and a b-roll for the final section was recorded, we moved onto Charlie's final narration. He got it first take essentially, but we took a second for the sake of safety.

Recording wrapped up bang on 17:30.

There was of course a nice post-wrapping meet-up at a local pub, where I spent some time with them hearing stories and enjoying the vibes, but I'm not usually someone who stays out late. And I needed food. So I regretfully bowed out, but not because I didn't want to stick around despite being with this small collection of people since around 10 AM that day. It's no exaggeration to say I loved my time during this recording, working with these actors, and I look forward to both the rest of the production cycle, and potentially working with these cast and crew on something again. If the opportunity ever arises.

Lessons I've learned during this session that I shall take forward.

*I have an ear for general mood, but Chris beats me hands down when it comes to particular inflections and line-to-line needs.

*I have a knack of creating complicated sentences and long stretches of dialogue that can easily trip actors up, but that they also love getting used to.

*I must prepare to clarify pronunciations for words that I might think "Really? That needed clarification?"

*Editing on the fly is a necessity up to even this stage when everything's recorded.

*Adlibs aren't dead, and in fact can and will pop up in unexpected places to often enlivening effect.

*Actors in the green room and the pub, and the recording box, have a filthy sense of humour. More please.

*It's never one and done, even if the first take was so good it might as well be. A second is always taken. Sometimes it can run to 4+, or bits of a scene may be re-recorded in isolation.

*Having visited London three times in ten months for various reason, I'm decided: I don't like London that much compared to Oxford or Bristol. I just don't vibe with it.

*I really love being part of a diverse group of people, be that based on ethnicity, background or sexuality.

Thanks to everyone. And here's to the next phase, for all of us.

Cast and writer after recording; 17:40, 20 October 2025, Orpheus Studio in London. From left to right; Sarah Golding, David Monteith, Thomas Wrightson (me), Charlie Richards, Marie-Claire Wood. Image courtesy of Chris Gregory, Alternative Stories.

Short story – Night at Shujuki; Part 4

 There was a prolonged pause after my outburst. I didn’t know what else to say, but for whatever reason I knew it was the right thing to say. Gouta stopped as he was reaching up towards the noose, looking hard at me.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean what I say. Someone else was there who can tell Akira’s side of things. Then maybe we’ll know for sure. Please, don’t act rashly.”

Gouta slowly turned towards me. He still looked like the same kind old sensei, and that made this whole situation worse. But behind his glasses, behind his eyes, there was a horrible impassive glint. The cessation of feeling, or perhaps a feeling so strong it eclipsed everything else. Letting go of Takahiro’s chair and walking up to stand right in front of me, he smiled.

“Go ahead. Tell me.”

I screwed up my courage and recited the words. “Yami-yami-bake, Yami-yami-Lycoris, Yami-yami-yomi.”

For a second, nothing happened. Then the candles went out, leaving only moonlight to illuminate the scene. And behind him and Takahiro, there she was. The black-clothed miko with the blood-red eyes. Gouta turned, even Takahiro twisted round to stare at the figure. There was a prolonged pause, then a voice came. No mouth movements were visible, making me think more and more that this was some terrible mask being worn.

“I come to deliver truth. The truth you would obscure, Tatsumi Gouta.”

Gouto seemed to falter for several seconds. “I... You... What is this? Some kind of prank? What are you doing here? Get out!”

He reached out, then something flung him back and he landed at my feet. I hadn’t seen a movement except a very slight drifting forward, as if moved by a slight wind. The miko raised her long-sleeved arm and I heard the snap of a finger. The restraints on my chair fell away, but not onto the floor. They simply vanished. I heard some commotion outside, and hard on the door opening Yukari, Souhei and Rumiko burst in. They paused in the middle of...some action, staring at the black miko.

Takahiro came up next to me. “Is this what you saw outside?”

“Yes. And...what I saw on the roof of the building when Akira and Hisawa died. I saw her, saw... Who are you?”

The apparition cocked her head on one side, at the same time reaching up to touch the ugly noose with one hand. She didn’t actually touch it, but the rope vanished noose and all. She looked around at the six of us, then I saw the noh mask twitch and rise into a smile.

“I hold no name. But I have seen much. I have seen, watched, observed and recorded since a time before people inhabited this land. And I know what happened upon that day. I shall take you back, to see what truly occurred.”

She raised her hands and clapped them together. Was that a bell I heard somewhere? Or the hum of something like a great drum? A machine? The scene vaguely shifted and became...familiar. There was a golden gleam of late afternoon across everything, the scenery was shifted into position for school break, there were a couple of students in a corner... Surely they were Koichi and Daisuke from the third year... I went over to them instinctively, but as I reached out, my hand simply passed through them. The voice of the miko came again, this time from the doorway.

“This is memory. Nothing is changeable. Come. See.”

Was I imagining all this? Was Takahiro being murdered right this minute while I was lost in a delusion. I went towards the miko, and felt the others follow. Even Gouto, though everyone did their best to keep their distance from him. I was out in the corridor, and there was no sign of the miko. I wondered briefly what was about to happen. Then it did. I saw a young man with close-cut hair walking quickly down from somewhere, probably the toilets, and heading for the stairs. It was Akira.

I ran after him, but without warning Takahiro overtook me. I was then able to see his parkour abilities as he went round the corner and was ahead of me up the stairs by a good distance. The others were panting behind as I took the steps three at a time. We finally reached the top, and Takahiro and I went to where the roof door was standing...open? That didn’t make sense. The reports I remembered said it had been closed when Gouto found it.

We were all soon out on the roof, the memory of its pristine surface filling me with the kind of longing nostalgia that couldn’t be ignored. My heart pounded for a long moment, and then I saw the two of them standing a good distance from the edge. Akira, looking drawn and urgent, and Hisawa looking on the verge of some emotional outburst. They were in the same clothes I’d seen them wearing that day, the day they... I watched, with the others, as they quietly argued.

“But I’m telling you, Akira-kun, the answer is no.”

“But... Sensei, I can’t deny these feelings any longer.”

“You’re talking like a pre-schooler.”

“But I mean it. I mean, I thought I could care like this for Takahiro, but I don’t feel anything for him. Not really. I love you, Sensei. I love you, I love you—”

“Akira-kun, please think about this. No, get away.”

The teacher abruptly pushed the student away, but then a voice shouted from behind me and the others. “Hey! What’s going on here?”

I turned. It had been Gouto’s voice breaking across the scene, but Gouto shrugged, as puzzled as the rest of us were. Then another Gouto appeared, the Gouto of memory, the Gouto that had gone up and found them. His voice broke past me.

“What the hell’s going on here? Shiki-chan, what are you doing?”

Hisawa-sensei turned to face Gouto. “This isn’t your business, Onii-san. I can handle this without your help.”

“Are you sure? I’ve been worried about you all day. You’re sure there isn’t anything that needs my—”

“Nothing needs your personal touch.” Hisawa-sensei’s voice grew harsh. “I can handle my own battles, Onii-san.  I don’t need your constant monitoring of my life anymore, I’m not a child.”

“You behave like one sometimes. Like with this...boy.”

“You... I...”

“Come on!”

The memory Gouto reached out for his sister, who seemed to draw away instinctively. But as Gouto pressed forward, bringing them closer to the edge, Akira stepped between them and pushed him away.

“Just a minute, Gouto-sensei. I can explain.”

“Get out of the way!”

Gouto tried pushing Akira aside, but he resisted. I heard the real Gouto’s voice behind me raised in protest.

“No! That’s not what happened! I...! I didn’t...!”

The miko’s voice came again. “Watch. And learn.”

I continued to watch. The memory Gouto was struggling with Akira, then Hisawa-sensei tried breaking in. With an inarticulate snap he pushed randomly back. Both were caught in the shove, and a scream came from Hisawa’s lips. The same scream we’d heard that day. I saw the memory Gouto rush forward, grasping futily at the pair as they tipped over the edge and began to fall. There was no sound then, save for the thudding far below, the muffled sound of breaking bones.

There was a silence. I felt suddenly sick. Gouto slowly slumped to his knees. And we were abruptly back in the present, the moon shining overhead and the dilapidated building cold and real under our feet. I sensed the miko, but I didn’t turn to see where she must be standing directly behind us, somewhere she could see us all but we couldn’t see her.

“You see now? In your rage and fury, your wish to protect your little sister from everything, you threw away their lives. But in the heat of the moment, you forgot that ever happened. All you remembered was a falling couple, and an idea that a wrong had been committed.”

Gouto reached out towards the edge. “That... I never... How could... How could I have...done that?”

I spoke suddenly. “They knew. That’s why...they all left. Somehow, they knew what happened, but never spoke of it. A boy fell in love with a woman, and the brother killed both the sister and her lover. People must’ve thought this place was cursed. So they abandoned it rather than confront the truth.”

The miko’s voice came again. “The memory is revealed. The truth set right. No more die for this. My function is fulfilled.”

Function? I turned, but the miko was gone from where I assumed she’d been. I looked round everyone. Takahiro looked sick, Rumiko was shuddering with a strange combination of shock and rage, Yukari stared blankly at Gouto, Souhei seemed like he was about to be sick. We all stood in silence as Gouto broke down into tears. I didn’t care what happened now, what might or might not happen to Gouto. I just wanted to get away from this dead town.

“Souhei, can your car take five?” He nodded vaguely. “Good. I don’t want to spend a minute longer than necessary in this place.”

We all left. Gouto remained on the roof. The journey back through the abandoned and dilapidated school wasn’t easy for any of us. We all packed ourselves into Souhei’s car and got away from that place as fast as possible. We ended up at a quiet spot on the road out of town. There we settled and caught our breath. We were very silent, almost too silent. Looking at each of us, I wondered if this would be the stray that broke the back of our friendship. Then, of all people, Rumiko spoke.

“I’d...like to keep in touch with you all. If that’s okay.”

We started talking again. In a more subdued tone, but it was still talking. And I sensed something there, a spark that I hadn’t heard before. Slowly, surely, the energy seemed to return.

There isn’t much more I wanted to tell. We did end up staying in touch this time. Takahiro’s still abroad, got to competing at Olympic levels. He’s got a boyfriend, and they’re visiting Japan again next week. Rumiko’s still going strong with her modelling career, and there’s talk of a film role. Yukari’s still a doctor, but she seems less...stiff than she had been. And Souhei and I are still in our careers, and closer than ever. Funny how that horrible situation seemed to draw us closer together.

As for Gouto, I didn’t hear anything more about him for another three months. Then I got a report of a ‘former teacher from Shujuki High School’ who was found in his home in Tokyo. He’d hanged himself in his bathroom, and it was found that entire apartment was covered in scrawling writing saying ‘sorry’. I don’t feel much sympathy, but I can only hope death gave him some kind of peace. The truth he lived with those last few months must’ve been worse than his delusions.

We never went back to Shujuki, and it became a true ghost town. The railways stopped going there, cars stopped visiting, the last few remnants of residents round its centre moved away or died. I do wonder about the miko and whether I should visit the shrine to pay thanks. But no. Not again. Never again. Never will I go to that town again. There’s nothing left for me there.

Short story – Night at Shujuki; Part 3

I woke up to find the moon shining in through the windows, the room mostly in darkness, and my arms secured to one of the chairs. I felt rope pinching into my arms and legs, and a cool metal I assumed was handcuffs securing each wrist to one of the chair legs. As my vision cleared and clarified, I slowly took in the surrounding scene. All the others were there, and all secured to chairs on either side. Save one.

Sitting in the sixth chair opposite the five of us, Gouto was staring through his glasses, the scene lit by a pair of candles. Their flickering light picked out the piled-up school desks, the podium, the table now in front of him holding that fragmented message...and the newly-produced noose suspended through a hole punched into the ceiling.

The others were also coming round, and Rumiko quickly started to struggle against her bonds. “Hey... What...? What’s going on?!” She saw Gouto. “Hey, Sensei, what’s happening? What are you...” Her eyes travelled up, and she saw the noose. “Oh...my God.”

Takahiro pulled against his restraints, but I saw it was useless. Even with his strength, he couldn’t break out of steel cuffs. Souhei pulled hard with his legs.

“S...sensei... Please...let us...out...”

Yukari didn’t struggle, but looked coldly at Gouto. “I probably should’ve known one of us was responsible for this, but I didn’t expect you to be the one, Gouto-sensei. Nor did I expect you to be so dramatic.”

She too glanced up at the noose. Souhei and Takahiro saw it too, and both looked slightly sick. Rumiko was starting to blubber.

“Go home... I want to go home...”

Gouto-sensei adjusted his glasses and spoke with the same kind of detached tone I recognised from his lectures. “Students, for here and now you still are, something happened here ten years ago. Two deaths, without rhyme or reason. My sister, and your friend, both fell to their deaths from the school rooftop. Today, here and now, we shall discover why that happened.”

I looked hard at him. “What do you mean?”

“I spoke with Akira’s parents recently. They told me something very interesting. One of you, and I don’t know who, is responsible for their deaths. But I know one of you helped create this tragedy. And so, upon learning the full truth, the one who holds the guilt for this act shall be subject to the fate they deserve.”

He slowly pointed up towards the noose. I felt a cold fist gripping my stomach, and Rumiko burst out in a near-hysterical shriek.

“You’re insane! Let us out of here, we can’t tell you anything!”

“Shut up!” Yukari snapped at Rumiko, who was shocked into silence. “We can’t reason with him, so we should play along.”

Gouto looked coldly at her. “How sensible of you, regardless of the language. So very sensible. Perhaps you could begin, Yukari, by telling us about Akira’s meeting with you the day before he died.”

I looked at Yukari, who seemed to be thinking through what to say. I hadn’t known she had met up with Akira that day. She kept her eyes steadily on Gouto as she spoke, as if to hypnotise him with her words.

“I suppose Akira’s parents told you about that? Well, it’s true. The last time I saw Akira was, as you seem to know, the day before the accident. I was coming home from school as he asked me to walk with him. I didn’t know what was going to happen, what might be about to happen.”

“So care to tell us exactly what happened?”

“It’s been...so long.” She closed her eyes in reflection, then opened them rapidly and continued staring at Gouto. “He was in love with two people. A teacher at the school, and a student. I didn’t say anything, but then he asked me directly. He asked me...what he should do. When I told him, that he should make a decision before the beginning of the next school year, he seemed put out. He left, and that’s the last time I saw him alive.”

There was a prolonged silence. Then Gouto approached rapidly and heaved at Yukari’s chair. He pulled her out of the room, and I heard another door being opened and a shuffling sound. Then he re-entered. Rumiko tried to shuffle away in her chair.

“What’ve you done to Yukari?”

“Just left her in the other room. She’s of no further use. Now, Souhei... Didn’t you meet up with Akira on that day too? I’d heard you two liked to bond over the latest computer games.”

Souhei looked abruptly ashamed, as if he’d been slapped in the face. Souhei, for the longest time in high school, was the butt of the joke when it came to his appearance and his hobbies. He was a good student in grade terms, and incredible when it came to technical stuff in college, but that part of him... It was nothing to be ashamed of, loving games and being a trifle introverted, but it was an easy thing to target in Japan even then.

“Well... He...came round to see me...that evening. He wanted me to...give him an opinion... He was...in a state. Said he didn’t know...what to do.” His old stammer was asserting itself. “I met him...outside... He seemed in a...state... Didn’t want to say...anything in front of...the rest of us... I didn’t know...what he was talking about until he...said he’d gotten himself...involved with someone...at school. Like, really involved. I told him...he should talk to them. And come tell us about it...when we met up after the end of...term. I seriously...asked him to come...and play a game with me... He said ‘no’. Didn’t feel like...wasting time.” Souhei choked on a sob. “My God, I didn’t... I wasn’t to know that...”

Gouto got up abruptly and dragged Souhei’s chair from the room. I felt decidedly uncomfortable now. We were down to three, and the image of that noose still swung slightly in a breeze coming from...somewhere. I had no idea where. Gouto reappeared and reseated himself. Then he looked directly at me.

“Sai... You’re not here to tell a story, you’re here to witness everything. Because you didn’t see Akira all that week.”

“How can you know that?” Gouto didn’t respond, and I suddenly felt sick. “I always wondered about... That shape I saw on a corner sometimes, I didn’t pay any attention as I wasn’t ever molested, but...”

There aren’t any words to really describe in the moment what I felt. Now, looking back, I felt violated and betrayed. My kind and considerate ‘Gouto-sensei’, the ‘odd lingerer’ I’d seen during my high school years, one and the same? There’s no going back from that kind of revelation, no turning away from what that means. He instead turned to Rumiko.

“Instead, you... You said something on the day of Akira’s funeral, didn’t you? Something about impossible love. Why don’t you elaborate for us?”

It felt more and more like the horrible parody of a class. Rumiko frowned for a while, then seemed to become almost self-assured.

“What do you want to know?”

“What was he like the last time you met him? And when was that?”

“It was...on my way to school. We met up and walked together for quite some distance. He was in a bit of a state. Yes, I’d even say distraught.”

“And?”

“Well... Why shouldn’t he have been distraught? I’m quite sure he was on the brink of despair. We loved each other, so—”

“Stop lying.”

Gouta’s cold words made Rumiko’s hackles rise. “What did you say?”

“You heard me perfectly well. Let’s face it, Rumiko. No-one ever cared for you in the slightest. You were pleasant to be around, but the only long-lasting attachment you’ve ever had is to your make-up kit.”

She looked as if he’d stabbed her in the heart. For a moment, she was completely silent, then she began shaking. But not with sadness or sobbing, with a kind of long-bottled fury.

“No matter...what I did. I could never hold anyone. I did my best to look popular, to be pretty and trendy, but it never worked. They always went for Yukari, or Sai, or hell that little bitch Chisato. Why did no-one love me?!”

“Please keep to the point.”

I wanted to hit him. Rumiko also seemed to want to hit something, but restrained herself and kept on talking.

“I tried...to get him to say he loved me that day. He was looking so distracted and forlorn. I said that last night I’d dreamed of him. I had, really I had. In the end, I asked him straight out, did he wanted me? And he said... He said... He said he’d rather have the scarred Oiwa than me. I didn’t hold anything for him. And he said that if I still wanted him as a friend... I asked him right then, who was he seeing? Who had he been with? He didn’t tell me, but I guessed at last. My God, I guessed.”

“And who had he been with?”

Rumiko shook her head. “I can’t. I can’t tell you.”

Takahiro burst out suddenly. “I can.”

Gouto looked at him. “Yes? Why?”

“Because...he’d been with me. In my house. My room... My bed. Rumiko doesn’t like to admit she’s wrong about guys and which way they swing. She’s never been able to get it right.”

There was a long pause, with Rumiko staring aghast at Takahiro. Then Gouto rose and dragged Rumiko’s chair from the room. She started screaming and struggling, but the noise soon ceased. And I heard Yukari’s voice raised in a snapping tone. I was still looking at Takahiro as Gouto entered again and sat down.

“This...is new. Perhaps you could tell us what happened, Takahiro-kun?”

Takahiro squared his shoulders and stared directly into Gouto’s eyes. “Akira didn’t just like the ladies. He saw right through me, saw that I liked guys. When we got together the first time, it was...great. Wonderful. That’s why we stuck together despite us being so different. Him being such a serious student, me being...anything but most of the time. When we were in that friend group, it was...wonderful. Until Rumiko started hitting on him. He didn’t know what to do, he was so confused. Because he was already seeing someone, though he didn’t tell me who.”

“You’re telling the truth about that.”

“I... He came to me that night, must’ve been soon after he met Yukari and Souhei. My parents were away, so I could let him stay the night. He...said he didn’t know who to love. He was caught between two impossible loves. Two unthinkable loves. One of them was me, and... He wanted me to...show...whether mine was the one he wanted the most. So I took him to bed, and we...”

He let the sentence finally tail off. A sudden vague thought flashed through my mind. Bara, the rose and the genre. He reminded me of the physicality used in those works, though there the resemblance surely ended. There was a heart, a soul. He continued speaking with a subdued tone.

“He wanted something more... I tried to give it to him, but it was no use. He was sure. He wanted to go back to the school and make sure the other knew. I told him that if that’s what he felt, that was fine.”

“And the other party was?”

“You must’ve known. All along.”

“Say it. Out loud, right now.”

“Shiki Hisawa. His other love, the one he loved from afar as it were, was Shiki Hisawa, the PE teacher. Your half-sister.”

There was a prolonged pause. For some reason, I wasn’t surprised. Not in the slightest. I always imagined Akira capable of doing something silly, and this fit right in with the easy-going atmosphere the town had seemed to foster. Takahiro pressed on.

“I tried to see him the following day, tried to keep myself normal, but... And then the accident happened.”

“Not accident. Never accident.” He suddenly glared at Takahiro. “You killed him as surely as if you’d pushed those two off the edge. You made him confront my sister that day, confront her on the roof. There’s no way she’d have been up there if not for him. No way, no way.” Why was he suddenly repeating everything? “Now... I think that’s it. That’s over. The truth is known. And judgement shall be delivered for my sister’s life.”

“What?!”

“Must I spell it out? You are the witness. Every execution has witnesses.”

He grabbed Takahiro and started to drag the chair towards the noose. My mind rebelled against this. It was impossible, unthinkable, insane. Gouto was planning on lynching someone for...encouraging the following of one’s heart? The words of that strange apparition flashed into my mind.

“Wait! You can’t do anything yet! There’s one story you haven’t heard!”

Gouto paused, turned. “And who’s is that? Yours?”

“No.” I sighed. “Akira’s.”

Next, the final curtain...

Short story – Night at Shujuki; Part 2

Over ten years went by. I managed to get into a good art college, intending to pursue my plans on becoming a freelance artist. I heard eventually that the old school was closed down, though nothing else happened. Then, as if that had marked the beginning of the end, the town had slowly died. People drifted away, the remaining old people died, and it was soon an obscure little ghost town. The railway still ran there, there were properties for sale there, but no-one wanted to live there.

The five of us—Yukari, Rumiko, Souhei, Takahiro and myself—stayed roughly in contact with each other, though we did drift a little. Takahiro went overseas and seemed to get into competitive combat sports, Yukari and Rumiko just stopped communicating after a while, with Yukari becoming a doctor and Rumiko a model. Souhei ended up going into programming for a software outsourcing company, and kept in contact with me.

The announcement voice appeared overhead, starting me from a prolonged bout of reminiscence. “Yaso-Shujuki. Yaso-Shujuki.”

I was almost at Shujuki’s train station. We passed through a short tunnel, and the train’s harsh electric lights threw my face into relief against the window. It had been a week since I received the letter, asking me to come back to Shujuki. How old-fashioned it was in these days of emails and texts and tweets, getting a bit of ‘snail mail’. I had reminded me of who I was back then, that eager and somewhat plump twin-tailed girl with enthusiastic dreams and a big mouth.

The woman looking back at me was tall, rather thin, a thin and reserved mouth curving up into an ironic smile. Her hair was now in a single pigtail down the back, and she wore a black sweater top and plain trousers that could pass muster in the more casual kind of Japanese company. She worked as a freelance artist, and got good money for her work. Enough to live in a small, comfortable apartment in one of Osaka’s suburban wards. Not enough that she wanted to get married yet, she’d leave that for a little later when she could afford longer breaks.

I wondered how that commission I’d created for Square Enix was getting along? It should be almost there now, almost ready to assault the eyes of customers from gaming magazines across the country. It had been a big spread, and there were some rumours of offers coming from overseas. But the letter had chased all those thoughts from my mind. It had been an impossible letter, an unthinkable letter, a letter without rhyme of reason. It had been from Akira. Or at least, the writing on the outside, and the stuck-on message inside. A message to please come back to Shujuki High School on a certain date.

I did wonder. But at the same time, I wondered what was the worse that could happen in a place I knew so well? Even abandoned, what was there to fear? I kept telling myself that as I disembarked onto the platform and looked around me. The same little station, the same clear and clean air. Even the sound of my boots on the concrete evoked a fuzzy nostalgia. As I left the station, my overnight bag slung over my shoulder, I heard a car horn blare. Puzzled, I turned to look. Someone was getting out, a plump man in a suit with close-cropped hair that reminded me briefly of... But no, it was Souhei.

“Hi.” He waved. “Need a lift?”

I frowned. “Souhei? What are you doing here?”

“Probably the same thing you are. A letter that shouldn’t exist?”

I started, flushed. “Yes... Yes, I got a letter. In Akira’s handwriting.”

“Yeah, so did Rumiko. She contacted me out of the blue, wanted to know if it was some kind of trick.”

“Rumiko’s here too?”

“She rode down with me. I think Takahiro and Yukari are here.”

Goodness, a regular reunion. I got into the passenger seat, and looked round the town as we took the short drive from the station to the school. I was always expecting to see figures on the pavements, other cars, lights in the houses...

“The place looks dead.”

“No-one I know lives here anymore.” Souhei sighed. “Ever since poor Akira’s accident, the place just seemed to...die off. Not even the old folk wanted to stay.”

“You kept in contact?”

“As much as I could. A programmer’s life isn’t an easy one. What about you? How’s your art these days?”

“You’ll be seeing it in a couple of weeks... All over Japan.”

“Good for you. You know, regardless of the circumstances, I’m really looking forward to seeing the others.”

“Me too.”

There was the truth. The whole and honest truth. But I’d also wanted to see how the town had changed, and seeing it so utterly unchanged yet so completely dead was more than uncomfortable. It was terrifying.

We reached the gate of the school, which was...open? Why was the gate open? The others were waiting there, and even after ten years I recognised them. Though they had changed to fit with their ages and professions. Rumiko had on a fashionable outfit and a tactfully made-up face, and for whatever reason had dyed her hair a chestnut shade. Yukari looked what she was, the prim and proper business woman. Takahiro wore a tracksuit and chunky trainers, and wow he’d put on muscle in ten years. Not the bulging kind, but the sort you get by doing gymnastics and martial arts. He’d also grown his hair out into a short ponytail.

Takahiro came over and hugged me, and he smelled of overseas. “Great to see you again, Sai. Come on.”

I was led over to the others. Rumiko put on something like a stage smile and embraced me with that same glomping energy, though it felt like she was putting on a performance or something. Yukari was more reserved, but her handshake and formal greeting seemed to have more heart. Despite these odd sensations, I was glad to see all of them. They all seemed to have lived, just as I had, without letting Akira’s death weigh on them.

“So, why d’you all come here?”

“My question,” Rumiko seemed to be side-stepping the question, “is what this gate’s doing open. This place should be closed.”

Yukari looked hard at it. “Someone probably opened it before we came. And...that’s got me a little worried... Who’s that?”

We all turned as the new car drew up and a middle-aged man emerged. He wore casual clothes, his hair was unkept, and he looked almost weary, but I recognised him at once. I spoke before any of the others.

“Gouto-sensei?”

Gouto-sensei frowned. “Toshikiro?” He looked over all of us. “Suou, Ishin, Hishima, Taito... What are you all doing here?”

Rumiko countered with her own question, again seemingly avoiding something. “Come to that, what are you doing here?”

In reply, he pulled out a familiar-looking letter. That was it, no further point in trying to avoid the issue. We all produced ours as if on a signal. And then I sensed it. Turning abruptly, I saw it for the slightest moment, standing on top of the school building at the corner nearest where Hisawa-sensei and Akira had met their end. A woman in an all-black miko robe, with something there that made me sure she was looking directly at me.

Takahiro spoke. “Sai, what’s wrong?”

I started back to reality. “It’s...nothing. Thought I saw something.”

Rumiko spoke. “Geez, you think... Is there some grounds behind this place being haunted?”

Souhei looked at her. “H...haunted?”

Gouto-sensei spoke before Rumiko could answer. “It’s an old story. Apparently there used to be a lord’s castle in this area, with that shrine adjoining it. People round here used to say that Nobunaga Oda destroyed it during his campaigns.”

“But...” Yukari frowned, thinking it through. “I didn’t think Oda campaigned in this area.”

“Probably didn’t. It’s probably just a myth. So shall we go in? I found the place unlocked, and I went to get some supplies just in case.”

We all agreed in silence. Passing through that gate, I thought I saw vague ghosts of memories, odd echoes of those high school days when I’d walk through at the start and end of each day after the half-mile walk from my house. We approached as a body, almost as if each was afraid to get close alone. The front door of the school was open, and passing into the front hall we all saw it. A sign hung where a message board had once been, directing ‘visitors’ to Classroom 3-A. Our old classroom. Rumiko shuffled audibly.

“We’re...gonna be okay, right?”

“As long as we stay together, we should be.”

It was the best I could come up with. I ended up leading the way up those stairs. It felt almost naughty going up in my boots rather than changing into school shoes or sandals. But the place was so dilapidated that those feelings soon evaporated. There was no sign of vandalism, just a total abandonment that left me feeling cold and unwelcome in that place. Takahiro trotted up beside me as we reached the third floor and turned towards our classroom. He spoke quietly.

“No sign of anyone else. But...is it me or has the floor been swept.”

I looked, and replied with equal quiet. “It does look like someone brushed the place before we came, yes.”

“I see. Well...”

Without warning, he trotted up to the wall and performed some strange...parkour, I think? He seemed to skitter along the wall briefly. There was a giggle from Rumiko, and he smiled.

“Side effect of gymnastics. I got into free running. Gotta say, I’ve always wanted to do that here. And...my friends would probably not be happy. You’re not supposed to show off in parkour.”

I heard Gouto-sensei laugh, and saw Yukari sigh and shake her head. She always was the serious one. We entered Classroom 3-A with trepidation, and I saw reason to be worried. There were six chairs arranged there in a circle around a table, almost like some freaky student council meeting abandoned to time. I approached, looked round, but there was no indication of what to do next.

“So what now?”

Souhei’s question crystallised our actions. I pulled out my letter and opened its enclosure at last. For a second, I struggled to understand. Along the edge of the paper was what seemed to be a broken piece of text, an incomplete sentence. The others were also opening their enclosures, and Rumiko snorted.

“What the hell? It’s just a scribble?”

A thought struck me. “Bring them here. Let’s see what I can do.”

They all brought their pieces of paper, and my artist’s eye quickly saw the pattern. In a few seconds, I’d arranged them. Six pieces of paper with one sentence written across their overlapping faces.

‘Wash the blood from your hands, and say what you saw.’

There was a long pause as we all took the sentence in. Then Yukari snorted.

“Well that’s a poor prank to play. All this way for nothing.”

“Agreed.” Gouto-sensei reached into his bag. “You all look parched. Shall we have a drink before we go? Not the best circumstances, but...”

He left the sentence unfinished. For whatever reason, we all agreed. We each had a bottle of juice, just like the old days. I took the orange and sipped. I knew there would be another train leaving in a few hours, but maybe I could get a lift back to civilization with Souhei or Gouto-sensei. This place was beyond unsettling now with the sun sinking over it. It was...well...

“Whew, it must’ve been a day.” Rumiko had been talking to Souhei about her modelling. “I...feel kinda sleepy. I think I’ll need to use one of...these...chairs.”

She slumped into the chair, Souhei barely stopping her from sliding onto the floor. Then he also started to wobble.

“Oh boy... My head...”

Yukari frowned, looked around. “Everything...so fuzzy...”

Takahiro was leaning on the table, struggling to stay upright. I looked round, feeling my head growing dizzy and uncertain. Gouto-sensei was...leaving the room? What was happening. And... Oh no. There it was again, this time right in front of the teacher’s podium. The black-clothed miko, and this time I saw her face clearly. A cold face like a noh mask, with blood red eyes. Her mouth opened, and I heard words echoing in my ears.

“With these words, call me. Yami-yami-bake, Yami-yami-Lycoris, Yami-yami-yomi. Call when needed. I shall come. This record must be correct.”

I then slumped. My vision whirled together into a blurring mass, all sound dulled and faded, and I slumped to the floor.

Next, a terrible scene...

Short story – The Village; Part 2

A folder was handed to me, emblazoned with the legend 'TOP SECRET: Report on Beira Incident'. I looked at the secret service man who had brought it to my offices in the Ministry of Defence.

"Is this the report I was told to expect?"

"Yes."

I looked at it with the kind of expression I reserved for the most useless pieces of information. There were assumedly words printed on the pages, but all save a few meaningless verbs were lost under a spray of blotting ink and pen markers which turned it into something more indecipherable than Linear A. I looked at the man again.

"This redaction makes my job impossible. Or was that the intention?"

"We wanted to ensure you had as little as possible, given the circumstances."

"Well, you've certainly given me that. A few words. Some bylines. Nothing much to go upon."

"That's the report we've needed to prepare for the main authorities. The one you will receive is the uncensored report. I wish we could release it, for the sake of the soldiers' families, but..."

I raised an eyebrow. "But?"

"But we have no way of telling them what happened to most. Because... Well, read the report and judge for yourself."

Another folder was handed to me. This time, the text was intact. I looked up in an attempt to continue the conversation, but the man had gone. Looking down at the report, I skimmed through it quickly. There were enough phrases there which made me pause and wonder if this whole thing was some elaborate practical joke. But then I turned to the summation page, which covered the major events and a condensed version of the details.

'Royal Marine special forces teams Zeta and Explorer were sent in turn to the Scottish village of Beira after contact was lost with it when a thick fog descended on the region. Civilian forces entering the area also vanished, prompting this response. Contact was lost with Teams Zeta and Explorer, and within three hours of Team Explorer entering the region, the fog dispersed.

Upon investigation by official military and special forces, they found evidence that the residents of Beira had been abducted by an unknown third party. There were no signs of landing craft, aircraft, or land vehicles that could have been used for extraction. While local farm animals and pets were alive and generally unharmed, barring the period of time left without supervision from the people of the village, all residents had disappeared. There were also signs of Teams Alpha and Explorer being present, but also being removed from the area by the same unknown means. Some elements, such as gas beings being left on in some houses and cars being left running, indicate a lack of warning. There are also some signs of force including broken windows, and some signs of blood identified as human in larger areas or areas near the roadways leading away from Beira, indicating an attempt to escape.

The one survivor of this incident is a Private Helen Twotrees, who was discovered near the public house. She showed signs of human blood spatter across her, and an unknown substance that behaved similarly to blood but was unidentifiable. Her weapon was with her, and had been emptied. Used ammunition near her indicate what appears to have been a concentrated bout of fighting with some hostile force. Her mental state is described as catatonic, with only one or two phrases being gotten from her since she was found. These words have been reported as 'eyes in the fog' and 'life stealers'. She had not responded to questioning from doctors, or her superiors.'

After this, there was little worth repeating. No clues had been found, no further evidence, and no identifiable remains such as bodies or even body parts beyond some suspicious elements identified vaguely as 'viscera'. The surviving pets of the village had been taken in by the local RSPCA branches, and exhibited signs of nervous fright. Helen Twotrees was in care at a military hospital in Yorkshire, and had shown no improvement. The incident was being treated as a tragic incident due to some kind of spillage. Thankfully the village was isolated from most of the rest of the surrounding country, so not as drastic as it might have been.

I paused for long consideration. It was an interesting report to say the least, and borderline unpublishable. After all, who would believe someone left a catatonic mess? It was something to be avoided for anyone. Helen Twotrees might recover and add to the story, but it was entirely possible she might never recover. And what of the others? Viscera, and discarded weapons, was all that had been found. And who, or what, had attacked Beira? Who or what had left the village deserted and upended? And an awkward final question came to mind. Could it happen again? And if so, where?

I looked at the weather. Unusual fog was being reported around Morecambe Bay. But then, fog often happened around Morecambe Bay these days. But then, why am I sending you this? Perhaps you should turn on the news and find that out for yourself.

Short story – The Village; Part 1

 “Your mission is to head out to Beira. It’s a fishing village on the end of the peninsular which borders Loch Cailisport in the Argyll and Brute area of Scotland. We’ve received reports that an thick unseasonal fog has settled over the area. Civilian forces have sent in teams, but none have returned. Upon investigation of the outer area, we’ve found remains that suggest foul play. We’ve kept this under wraps to avoid alarming the public. You’re to enter the fog and determine its source. You’re to withdraw immediately if anyone is attacked by anything, and we’ll take further measures.”

That was the brief we were given, and as soldiers we followed the order to the letter, as soldiers did. As the vehicle – an Army Land Rover – trundled along, I checked over my AK47 to calm my nerves as we headed along the single-track road which led to Beira. It eventually lost its appeal and I glanced around at the squad I had become a part of. Four other privates including the driver, a Corporal, and a Lieutenant, all sent out from a forward base five miles from the fog boundary. They were a wide selection, but I was still the only woman in the group. It made me feel isolated, cut off even as the fog would cut us off from the outside world.

“So you’re scared?”

I glanced up. Private Guss Ferguson was a native of Scotland with a thick Glasgow accent, and was the most charismatic among us. I smiled.

“Wouldn’t you be? You’ve read the reports.”

“Eh, it’s all bull, ain’t it. Just some freak fog.”

“We don’t know that.” Lieutenant Jack Wight spoke in his upper crust accent. “It’s been deemed a serious matter. We’ve been ordered to investigate it.”

“I don’t get it.” the black-skinned cockney-voiced Private Daniel Cook. “There’re local troops, aren’t there? Berets and things. Why can’t they take a look.”

“Because we’ve the ones they chose.” said Adah Laghari, a man who looked and spoke like many another British Indian. “Stop complaining. We’re nearly there anyway.”

“Can it, you lot.” said the Corporal, a Londoner with a biting tone. “I’ll make it an order if I have to. That goes for you too, Simmons.”

The driver, Private Simmons, nodded. I turned back to my weapon, brushing a slight fall of dust from the barrel. I again wondered what had qualified me for this mission. I was just another soldier, like any other. A mere Royal Marine Private Helen Twotrees, no-one special. The others were no different from what I could tell.

We’re just soldiers, she thought to herself. Nothing more, nothing less. Just soldiers doing a job.

“We’ll be keeping in contact with the Land Rover via radio. We’ll radio in the moment anything happens. Understood?”

“Understood!” the reply was united.

The Land Rover stopped abruptly, and the Lieutenant gave the order to move out. We did, the doors opening and allowing we six to leave, with the Lieutenant ordering Simmons to wait for us and act as a radio relay for our field reports, and to call in if we hadn’t reappeared from the fog within two hours. To be honest, I hadn’t expected the fog to be quite as bad as it was. Standing in front of it in the high noon summer sunshine, the fog was an impenetrable pale wall. Standing in front of that fog, I could feel the chill.

“Radio text. 1.2.3. Call.”

We each called a number from one to six, and all radios tested green. We readied ourselves – the Corporal and Lieutenant in front and us Privates behind – and began moving forward into the fog. After everyone else had gone in, I hung back for a second, unsure of what to do or say. But I gritted my teeth and pushed forward into the barrier of cold vapour. I muttered the words under my breath.

“We’re just soldiers. Nothing more, nothing less. Just soldiers doing a job.”

Beira sits inside a natural harbour with steep slopes bordering it, and the fog had collected in that bowl as normal fog collects inside fields to eventually spill onto paths and roads. But this fog was different – its pale surface rippled and clung to everything, and nothing was inside. Walking into it was like walking into a pond, but instead of water coming up over our faces, it was cold and damp air that clung to me as if it was trying to pull me back. Inside the fog, we could only see a couple of feet in front of us, making a potential ambush both possible and dangerously likely to succeed. I was just keeping Cook and Laghari in clear view, with everyone else having turned into dark grey shadows.

While bright sunlight had dominated above, the light was turned to a dull grey. I had a vague impression of hedges on either side, the asphalt road surface beneath my feet, the utter deadening of sound a thick fog creates. Within a few paces, I heard a voice from up ahead.

“Switch to infrared.”

We did so, and I clearly saw five forms in front of me as we made our way down the hill. We already had our guns ready at the Lieutenant’s order, and as we descended the steep road, I tried not to envisioned anything that might leap from the fog to attack us, or who might be lining up an infrared sniper scope on our skulls. We eventually reached the edges of the village, coming to see the typical Scottish fishing cottages – slate roofs and stone walls with rough weather gardens around them. The road showed the wear of the weather, and I even saw scraps of lichen and moss along its centre, denoting a lack of traffic. We expected someone to appear before us, but no-one came.

As we came to the foot of the slope, any trace of houses vanished from either side as if we had passed into an open space, then a dark shape loomed in the distance. As we approached, we saw it was a fountain in the middle of the village square. There was no water flowing, making its sea monster motif seem out of place. Grass was also growing around its edge. The Lieutenant made a signal, and we formed a perimeter round the fountain. The Corporal then set up the portable radio and began trying to raise the Land Rover and its direct feed to Command.

“Hello. Team Zeta calling Command, do you copy?” a hiss of white noise filled the air, then he tried again. “Team Zeta calling Command. We have entered red zone. Do you copy?”

There wasn’t any reply. Only a continual burst of static. The Corporal tried retuning the radio, then spoke into the mike again. Again, there was no reply. Again the radio was adjusted, and again no reply came. I switched on my own radio, then winced as white noise stabbed into my ear.

“Sir, my radio’s not working either.”

The Corporal looked up in surprise, then we all checked our radios. None of them were working, all blanketed by constant white noise. Cook looked unsettled.

“It’s this damned fog. It’s blocking our signal.”

“Rubbish.” snapped Guss. “Fog doesn’t mess with radio signals like this. The truck’s barely a mile away by my reckoning.”

“Alright, you two, knock it off.” snapped the Lieutenant. “We’ve got a job here, and we’re sticking to it. We’ve got a two hour window if we can’t send a message outside this fog. That’s plenty of time. Cook and Laghari will search the town. Ferguson and Twotrees, you go check the harbour area. I’ll stay here with Wight and keep trying to raise Command.”

We all acknowledged the order with the usual ‘Sir, yes sir’, then moved off. Walking with Guss, I didn’t know what to expect. Walking through the fog, listening to the dead silence around us, it felt like walking around a padded cell. We were using the main street, and we soon came to the harbour. The fog was just as thick here as it was at the heart of the village, and as we looked out across the natural harbour and its human embellishments, we heard the gentle lapping of waves on a cobbled shore, oddly hollow without the talk of people and call of seagulls.

“Ever been here?” I asked.

Guss shook his head. “Neh. I’ve never been here before. Never heard of Beirn before I got the mission. Doesn’t look that impressive.”

“Doesn’t indeed. Hey, what’s that?”

“What’s what?”

“That.”

I pointed further down the harbour road. There, appearing as if from nowhere, was a figure. Their dark clothing made them appear like a living shadow in the gloom, and their shifting gait suggested something inhuman. I felt a terrible tension for a moment, but then relaxed when I saw it was only an old woman in black, wearing a wide-brimmed hat complete with veil. Clearly in mourning. Guss approached.

“Excuse me, Ma’am, we’re investigating–”

“Have you seen my son?”

Guss frowned. “Your son?”

“Yes.” the woman’s voice was weedy. “My son. He’s supposed to meet me here. I’ve been waiting nearly fifteen minutes.”

“I’m sure we can help find him.” I said. “Shall we ask around?”

A long silence, then the old woman replied. “There’s no-one else in the village. It’s strange, but true. No-one else here.”

“No-one?” Guss didn’t sound convinced.

“No-one. Not these past few days. Since the fog settled.”

This made me take notice. According to our brief, the fog had been settled over the town for nearly four weeks prior to our arrival. Even the most generous contraction couldn’t bring that down to ‘a few days’ for anyone with an unfettered sense of time. Guss spoke.

“You’d best come with us. You’ll be safer.”

Guss reached out and gently took the old lady’s arm, but then a noise came from above us that made us look up in alarm. It was like the cawing of a raven, but harsher and fuller – almost as if it came from a human. Our eyes were barely away for a moment, but when we looked again the old lady had vanished. We looked around, but no dark shape could be seen going into the fog.

“Well that’s weird for a start.” said Guss. “Come on, I don’t think we should be lingering here any longer.”

The two of us went back the way we came, and found the Lieutenant and Corporal still working on the radio. It remained dead.

“Anything?” asked the Lieutenant.

We reported our findings, including the woman and the noise we heard. The Corporal wasn’t impressed, hinting that the fog had played tricks on us. When Cook and Laghari returned, they also reported hearing the sound from the harbour direction, and had also encountered someone – a little girl in a black dress skipping down the lane. Laghari had tried talking to her, but she just said she was ‘looking for Nanna’ and skipped on despite their protests. It was then that the Corporal swore and slapped the radio set.

“It’s useless. Too much white noise. Dead as Bin Laden.”

It was Cook that spoke. “So what do we do? Go back?”

The Lieutenant's voice snapped. “No, we’re staying and doing our job. We’re soldiers, and we’ve got a job to do. We’ve got to find out what’s going on in this town, and that’s what we’re gonna do.”

“Can you hear something?”

This came from me. During the Lieutenant’s impassioned reply, I’d been hearing a background noise. Like a hum, or a distant engine. The Lieutenant looked angry at first, but then he started listening too. We all listened, and the noise grew until we all identified it as an engine. Cook looked nervous.

“Where the hell’s that coming from?”

“Up the hill.” Guss pointed. “It’s coming from the road.”

Before anyone spoke, the radio suddenly exploded with noise.

“–repeat, I’m under attack! I can’t shake them off! They just appeared out of the fog! Calling Explorer Team, I’m under attack, repeat under–!”

It was Simmons, sounding panicked. The Lieutenant rushed to the radio at once.

“Hello, this is Lieutenant Wight. Can you hear–!”

“Oh God! Oh God! They’re all over me! I can’t shake them.”

“What? What’s happening? Private Simmons, report!”

“God help me!”

The radio was once more consumed in static. Everyone looked at each other, then the roar of the engine began louder, and the twin beams of powerful headlamps stabbed through the surrounding fog. As we watched, the Land Rover barrelled across the square and went at full speed towards one of the surrounding houses. I caught a glimpse of scratches in its paintwork before it became a flying blur in the fog. The Lieutenant shouted, but it was too late. The Land Rover crashed into the front of a shop, smashing the window glass and catapulting forward into the serving area. Guss, Cook and myself rushed over quickly followed by the Lieutenant, while the Corporal and Laghari stayed behind.

When we found Simmons, he was in bad shape. The air bag had deployed upon crashing, but he was still bloodied and battered, and as we got him out of the vehicle with all possible care, we feared internal injuries. The Lieutenant ordered us to administer first aid while one of us would go back on foot to warn Command and get an immediate evacuation. Cook was chosen as the one to go back, and he immediately set off at a jog towards the road. After ten anxious minutes, we had the unconscious Simmons comfortable, but he was still breathing irregularly. Out of all of us, Laghari was one with medical training, and diagnosed internal injuries that might be fatal if not treated.

We waited, waited, waited. We expected any moment for Cook to reappear out of nowhere with troops, or to be inside a convoy ready to take us out of the fog. But no sounds came, either of footfalls or vehicle engines. Finally, we heard something from behind us. I turned, listened, heard the approach of booted feet going at a jog. We all waited, and soon a dark figure appeared from the fog. It was Cook. The Lieutenant stepped forward.

“Cook, what the hell are you doing back here?”

Cook stumbled to a halt, looked round the five of us, then blanched. “Doing back here? I haven’t stopped heading out of this fog, Sir.”

“That’s impossible. You went that way, towards the slope. Now you’ve come back from the the harbour area.”

Something struck me, and I ran off. I heard the Lieutenant shouting after me as I vanished into the fog, but I didn’t falter. I ran forward with all speed, felt grass, asphalt, cobbles under my feet. I soon saw dim shadows on either side as vague structures appeared from out of the fog. After a few minutes running, I found myself back on familiar ground, and as I came out into the village square, where the others waited.

“Private Twotrees, what the hell are you up to?!” snapped the Lieutenant.

“Sorry, Sir. I wanted to test something. I tried the same thing Cook tried. I took the road out of the village, but it’s as if I was looped back into the village.”

“But that’s impossible.” said Guss. “There’s only one road down, and no turn-offs leading back to the village from it. You both should’ve come upon the slope and left the village.”

The Corporal pinched the bridge of his nose. “Looks like we’re trapped. The radio’s out, our comms are out, the Land Rover’s out, and we can’t leave. Looks grim.”

“There’s something else, sir.” said Laghari. “When we picked up Simmons on the radio, we heard him shouting about being attacked.”

“Attacked by what?” said Cook. “Monsters? Zombies? Some trashy serial killer from a slasher flick? What?”

“Let’s look at the Land Rover and see.”

So we did, with Guss and Laghari staying with Simmons. We looked at the Land Rover, and between the damage caused by the crash there were other marks. Thin scratches in the paintwork as if something had clawed at the metal trying to get inside. Several of the windows were still intact, and even they showed scuff marks and the signs of scratching on the surface of the glass. It was unsettling, but the Lieutenant passed it off as damage from the crash. It was possible, I’ll admit, but it didn’t fit in with either Simmons’ cries over the radio or the fact that we now seemed trapped here.

“What is it?”

We all started. Laghari was standing just outside. The Lieutenant frowned.

“What is it, Laghari?”

“Eh? Didn’t you call for me, sir?”

We all froze, then dashed back to the fountain. Both Guss and Simmons had vanished, and the Lieutenant laid into Laghari for this seeming dereliction of duty on their parts. Laghari’s defence was that he had heard the Lieutenant’s voice calling for him, and that Guss had agreed to remain on guard. A few seconds later, we heard someone approaching, and Guss all but stumbled out of the fog into my arms. I helped him over to the fountain edge where he sat, and I saw the slight welt on his head that showed he had been struck.

Like Laghari, he claimed to have been lured away by a voice, but this time it was the voice of a child in danger, screaming for help nearby. It seemed just a metre away, so he had gone into the fog. Within seconds, he was lost, and then felt something hard like a stick or cane strike the back of his head. The Lieutenant wasn’t impressed, but before he could reprimand Guss, we were all struck dumb by a cry from overhead. It wasn’t a human cry, but a piercing scream or croak from the sky above us that had barely anything human in it.

Everyone whirled around, uncertain which way to look. The cry seemed to come from everywhere, and I didn’t know what to do myself. Finally, a great wind rushed around us and we all turned to see some large form descending from the fog.

It was a bird, at least in terms of having a body and two wings, but otherwise unlike any bird I’d ever seen in book, on television, or in real life. Its body was covered in ragged feathers, its wings twisted out and extended to twice its body length, its tail flared like a demented peafowl, its eyes glowed like fire, and its beak split into four points as it shrieked once again. We all stumbled back, and that was when Guss saw what the creature was clutching in its taloned foot. Simmons, limp in its grasp, blood oozing from a deep wound in his back.

“Simmons!”

Guss’ yell only served to make the creature shriek at us again, then it extended its wings and took to the air with a single beat, vanishing into the fog-laden sky. Guss rushed forward to where Simmons had been left on the ground, but after a few seconds he rose to his feet, shaking his head. Simmons was dead...