Night Time Story: The Child in The Fog
The town knew the story well.
Every full moon, as the fog rolled in thick and heavy, a child would appear at the edge of the woods.
A boy, no older than ten, standing still. Waiting.
His clothes were always the same—old-fashioned, like he had stepped out of another time. His hair never moved in the wind. His face was always pale, always empty.
And no matter how many people tried, no one could ever reach him.
One night, Miriam decided to try.
She had grown up hearing the stories, had seen the boy herself on nights when the moon was high.
But unlike the others, she didn’t just stand and stare.
She stepped forward.
The fog curled around her ankles, thick and damp. The boy didn’t move.
“Miriam, don’t,” her brother warned from the doorstep. But she ignored him.
Step by step, she walked toward the child.
She was closer than anyone had ever been. Close enough to see his eyes.
They were not empty.
They were pleading.
Miriam reached out. Just a little further—
The fog swirled violently. A gust of wind knocked her back.
And the boy was gone.
The next morning, the townspeople found something strange at the edge of the woods.
A single shoe.
Old. Worn. Too small for anyone in town.
They buried it beneath the oak tree at the town square, just as their ancestors had done before them.
No one knew why.
But the next full moon, the boy was there again.
Waiting.
By Elias Fairstone
