Last Tea Shop

“Hello? Is anyone there?”

The old man looked around, blinking in the fog. How long ago had he gotten lost? He had been wandering for some time now, and he didn’t recognize anything. He should have; he knew these forests like the back of his hand. Nevertheless, he had completely lost track of where he was. His cabin should be near, shouldn’t it?

Again, he was sure he had seen movement out of the corner of his eye. He turned, peering into the fog. “Hello?”

Nothing. He was alone.

He kept climbing the steep path, (surely, his cabin wasn’t this high up, was it?) searching for some tree or rock that he recognized. Periodically a shape tickled his memory and he found himself turning on his heel, left or right, only for the shadow to vanish into the mist.

He wasn’t frightened — he had survived in the woods for weeks on end without flint or knife before — but he was confused. He wasn’t even thirsty, yet he had been walking for what felt like days…

Ild looked up at the sudden rapping at her door. It was fast and shook the whole cabin, so strong were the blows. Ild set aside her knitting with a huff and pulled herself out of her chair. “Yes, yes, hold yer horses! I only got so wide a stride, you know…”

The door opened to a terrified face, a man with pale skin and hollow cheeks. His wrinkles quivered as his head jerked back and forth, gasping for breath as he cast horrified glances behind him.

Ild knew what was scaring him. She had known since the shadowed mists had poured down the mountainside.

“Well, you’d best come inside, then,” she said, pulling the tall old man through the doorway. “Don’t you worry your head about it. The voices never harmed nobody, and they certainly ain’t going to start with somethin’ as tough and scrawny as you.”

The man wiped his forehead and sank heavily into the offered chair. The wood creaked loudly as he tipped forward, his head landing in his hands as he gasped for breath.

Ild hurried to the open windows and covered the openings with squares of fabric. “Not much for curtains,” she explained as she worked, “but they’ll keep out the worst of it.” She clicked her tongue as she adjusted the fabric. “Shadow mists, eh? Nasty bit o’ business, that. Been running a long time, I’ll bet. I was expecting you days ago.”

The purple fog rolled in like a flood. It curled up the side of the mountain, falling over itself in a crawling tide. The dark bruised color of the mists blanketed the river in shadows, until the entire river was hidden from view.

Ild gave a sharp sniff as she looked out the window. “Tough one coming in,” she muttered to the small squeaker on her shoulder. “Lost something, I’ll warrant. May not even know what. You think he’ll stop by?”

The tiny mouse nuzzled Ild’s withered cheek, jiggling her loose jowls with a gentle squeak. The tiny whiskers tickled and caught her own as Ild gave a gentle sigh. “Well, I’d better put the kettle on.”