The Fog by Dennis Etchison Read Free Book Online

prancing through the kitchen. It’s all right, she thought; I don’t mind. He doesn’t know what time it is. And why should he? It’s Saturday, isn’t it? A day to play. A big, sloppy tear loosed itself from the corner of her eye and was absorbed into the pillowcase. She wiped it away and lifted herself to her elbows.
    “Andy? It’s okay, honey, I’m not asleep.” Actually I died in my sleep last night and there’s no way to wake me up. There’s no reason to. But since I’m dead now, it doesn’t matter.
    He burst through the door. “Mom!”
    She rubbed the sleep out of her eyes and mussed her hair. “Are you wet? Why are you so wet, honey? What have you been—?”
    “Mom, c’mon, lookit! Look what I found.”
    “Not until you change your clothes. My God, look at you. What have you been doing, diving for pearls?”
    And then, involuntarily, she started to laugh, at his shriveled jacket and his pink cheeks and the way his hair was plastered to his forehead, his fat little hands out in front of him with a present of some sort. A cherub, she thought. A messenger boy in a harem, with a gift on a pillow for the queen mother. Thank God he’s not the cat, she thought, and laughed harder. If he were the cat, she thought, he would be bringing me the kind of treasure I can live without, thank you, like a gopher or a bird or a rat, and plopping it ceremoniously in front of me on the bed the way he used to. Then she remembered that the cat was dead, too, and the laughing wound down and stopped at last.
    “What is it, sweetheart?” she said. “What have you got? Come here, damn your hide. I love you a lot, do you know that?”
    “I kno-o-w,” he said dismally. “But lookit! First it was a gold coin, and then it turned into this neat piece of wood!”
    “Andy, I’m so tired I can’t even see straight.” It’s not your fault, she thought. “I’m dead to the world. Will you pick some flowers for the funeral? You know I love carnations.”
    “Sure, Mom, but look at it!”
    She looked at it. It was a piece of driftwood. She kissed him lightly on the lips. He managed to endure it. Must be my morning breath. “Good morning, Andrew. Did you have a good time last night?”
    “Yeah. Old Mr. Machen . . .”
    “What about him? Andy, you’re not still going up there at night to listen to his crazy ghost stories, are you? Look at me.”
    “Naw, Mom. Jeremy asked me to go with him, only I didn’t.”
    I wonder, she thought. She had never seen the man, but the children seemed to go for him in a big way. I should call him. Except that I tried that already. His number isn’t listed, and no one seems to know where he lives. I guess I could try talking to the other parents again.
    “Did you thank Mrs. Kobritz for staying?”
    “Yes, ma’am.”
    “Did she say she was coming over again tonight?”
    “Uh-huh. Mom, can I go get a Stomach Pounder and a Coke?”
    How quickly they change gears, she thought. Exit the wood to the junk pile, enter the Golden Arches. “After lunch. Did you eat your breakfast?”
    “Yeah. I’m gonna go look for another one. Maybe this time I can get the gold coin!”
    He jumped off the bed and raced out of the bedroom.
    She sat for a moment, scratching her arms and yawning, thinking about nothing. She crawled across the bed and watched Andy kicking up sand on his way back up the beach. You keep me going, kid. she thought. You and no one else.
    She got up and walked flat-footed toward the bathroom. On the way, she paused and took a closer look at the driftwood.
    There was something written on it.
    She picked it up. She smoothed her hand over the surface, pushing back layers of dirt and marm. The feel of it made her shudder. But she was curious.
    Underneath, in black, burned letters, was a single word:
    DANE.

CHAPTER FOUR
    “. . . Moving westerly at five knots. The temperature for the Antonio Bay area will be in the high sixties. High tide at three forty-six, low tide at