CHAPTER TWO: GREGORY
Before the mist claimed the streets of Windermere, before the village became a place where children’s laughter was but an echo, Windermere was a village full of life. A place where the world moved slowly, each day carrying the same simple rhythms. The villagers knew one another, and though their lives were modest, they were content in their familiarity. It was a place where the seasons passed gently, where each shift in the wind brought with it new hopes, new beginnings.
Gregory, the innkeeper’s son, had been a quiet but curious boy. He was never the kind to run wild with the other children, but there was a kindness about him—a gentleness that made him endearing to those who knew him. His world revolved around the inn, "The King's Heart," which stood like a bastion at the centre of the village. From dawn until dusk, he would watch the comings and goings of travellers, merchants, and weary souls seeking shelter. It was a small world, but to Gregory, it felt vast, filled with stories he could only dream of being part of the village of Windermere was a place where time seemed to move in slow motion, where nothing extraordinary ever happened—and no one ever expected it to. But in the months before the children began to disappear, there had been a subtle shift in the air, like the distant rumble of thunder long before the storm arrives.
There were five children in Windermere who vanished, one after the other, and Gregory had known each of them in his own quiet way. He had seen them grow up, playing in the fields or running through the village streets. And though Gregory had never joined their games, he had always watched from the sidelines, his eyes wide with fascination.
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*The Tale of Emily White:*
Emily White was the first to disappear. She had been the brightest, most vibrant of the children. At seven years old, she was a spark of energy wherever she went, her blonde curls bouncing as she darted through the village with a perpetual smile on her face. Emily had a voice like the morning lark, singing to herself as she skipped down the cobblestone paths.
She would often come to "The King's Heart" with her mother, tugging at Gregory’s sleeve as he shyly served the guests. “Come play with us, Gregory!” she’d say, her voice insistent but always kind. Gregory would look to his father, who would wave him away with a gruff nod, allowing him to join the children, but Gregory never took her offer. He’d smile and shake his head, watching as she ran out the door, her laughter trailing behind her like a ribbon caught in the wind.
Emily had no fear of the mist. In fact, she loved it. “It’s like walking in a dream,” she told Gregory once. “Everything looks so different. Like the whole world is hiding something, just waiting for you to find it.”
It was this fearless curiosity that led her into the woods that day, the day she vanished. Gregory had watched her from the window, the fog rolling in thick and fast as Emily, her small form barely visible, skipped toward the edge of the village. She had turned back to wave at him, her smile bright as ever.
That was the last time anyone saw her.
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*The Tale of Thomas and Lily Ashford:*
Thomas and Lily Ashford were twins, born into a family of farmers. They were quiet, reserved children, but when they were together, there was a bond between them that was almost magical. They moved through the village like shadows, always hand-in-hand, speaking in soft voices only they seemed to understand.
Their father, a tall, serious man with calloused hands, would often bring them to the inn on market days. Gregory remembered the way they sat in the corner of the room, their eyes following every movement, every conversation, as if they were trying to decipher some secret language only the adults spoke.
Unlike Emily, Thomas and Lily never invited Gregory to play. They were content in their own company, their world a small, unbreakable circle. And yet, Gregory felt a connection to them. They were like him in a way—watchers, observers of life rather than participants.
It was on a foggy afternoon that they too vanished. Their father had sent them to the well at the edge of the village to fetch water. They never returned. The bucket was found lying on its side, water spilled onto the earth, but no sign of the twins.
The villagers searched for them, calling their names into the mist, but there was nothing. It was as though they had simply stepped out of existence, leaving only a void behind.
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*The Tale of Michael Brookes:*
Michael Brookes was the oldest of the missing children, at eleven years old. He was a tall, gangly boy, always getting into mischief, always finding ways to make the other children laugh. He had a wild streak that the villagers tolerated with fondness, his energy infectious, his grin impossible to resist.
Gregory had admired Michael from afar. He was everything Gregory was not—brave, bold, fearless. Michael was the leader of the children, the one who organized games of hide and seek in the woods, the one who dared them to venture deeper into the mist than anyone else.
It was during one of these games that Michael disappeared. He had challenged the others to follow him into the woods, to see how far they could go before the mist swallowed them whole. The others had hesitated, but not Michael. He had run ahead, his laughter echoing through the trees, daring them to catch up.
When the others finally followed, there was no sign of Michael. They called for him, searched the woods, but it was as though he had been consumed by the mist itself.
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*The Tale of Alice Green:*
Alice Green was the last to disappear. She was a quiet, delicate child with dark hair and wide, solemn eyes. She had always been a bit of an outsider, more comfortable with her books than with the other children. Gregory had felt a strange kinship with her, though they had never spoken more than a few words to each other.Alice would come to the inn with her grandmother, a frail old woman who rarely spoke but always greeted Gregory with a kind smile. While her grandmother sat by the fire, Alice would sit by the window, reading her books, her eyes flicking up occasionally to watch the world outside.
One evening, just as the mist began to creep in, Alice had left the inn, her book tucked under her arm. Gregory had watched her go, a strange sense of foreboding settling over him. She had walked toward the woods, her small figure slowly fading into the fog.
That night, she didn’t return.
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Windermere had changed after the disappearances. The village, once filled with the innocent sounds of children playing, had become silent, haunted. The mist, once merely a part of the landscape, had become something more—something alive, something that watched and waited. The villagers no longer ventured out after dusk, and those who did speak of the missing children did so only in whispers, as though their voices might summon whatever dark force had taken them.
Gregory had changed too. He had always been quiet, but now his silence was different. It was as though something had been taken from him, something vital. He no longer looked out the window with curiosity, no longer watched the comings and goings of the village with interest. His eyes were hollow, his face pale. The inn, once a place of warmth and life, had become a place of shadows and fear.
The innkeeper and his wife tried to bring Gregory back to life, tried to coax words from him, tried to make him smile. But Gregory was lost, locked in some distant place, unreachable.And yet, there was one thing that lingered in Gregory’s mind, one thing that kept him awake at night. It was the song—the lullaby that had come from the mist on the night Alice disappeared. He had heard it, faint but clear, a melody that seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at once. A voice, soft and haunting, singing a song that tugged at his heart, a song that made him feel both comforted and terrified.
It was that song that haunted his dreams, that song that played in his mind whenever he closed his eyes. And though he had never told anyone, not even his parents, Gregory knew that the song was the key to everything.
The children were not gone.
They were simply... elsewhere.