Young Writers Society

Ming wakes up to fog. It is heavy as a flood, an endless sea of white nothing, and obscures everything past the tiny half-sphere that makes up her camp. Even the foot of her sleeping bag looks faded.

Ever since parting ways with Petro, Ming has trekked downhill. She supposes it’s only natural that here, far below the cliffs and the hills, there would be fog. And what better place for a lighthouse than a foggy shore?

She packs without hurry, taking her time as she rolls up her sleeping bag and stomps out the tiny fire she’d lit last night. She hopes the fog will burn off as the morning goes on, but it doesn’t. Her surroundings remain the same dull white as they were when she awoke.

It is only when she’s done packing that she hears the noises.

From somewhere in the nothing, something pants. It’s a fast pant, not a sound a human would make, and it starts and stops at random intervals. Narrowing her eyes, Ming glances behind her, but sees nothing.

When she turns back around, she sees a tiny bobbing light in the fog up ahead. Instinctively, she tightens her grip on her backpack straps.

“Hello?” she calls.

The panting quickens. Ming holds her breath, eyes on the little light. Her feet are frozen to the ground, and the cold stiffens her muscles.

The light bobs closer, and the panting grows louder. Ming takes a step back. There isn’t supposed to be anything dangerous for at least a week’s walk beyond the village, but maybe some predator got overlooked. The people in the village don’t travel much, after all.

Trying to control her breath, Ming reaches into a side pocket of her bag and pulls out her knife.

And then the creature emerges, and Ming is so surprised she almost drops her weapon.

The thing in front of her is barely half her height on all fours. Maybe that’s big, but at least it doesn’t look like it could kill her. Its gold eyes glitter in the fog, and its long, furry snout ends in a black nose that might almost be adorable. Its tongue hangs out, and it pants with a happy, hopeful grin. A long tuft of fur pokes up from the center of its head and ends in an orb of golden light.

It barks, and Ming steps back.

“Uhh, whoa there?” she tries. “Whatever you are.”

The creature jogs up to her, still grinning, and pushes its face into her hip. Then it looks up at her adoringly, nostrils flaring.

Ming lets out a strangled laugh. This is so weird. She’s going to die. Someone please come find her corpse and bury her under a tree. “What do you want?” she manages to ask.

The creature pushes its nose further into her hip. Ming wonders what on earth it’s up to, and then remembers that she has food in that pocket.

Ohhh.

Slowly, hoping to all gods that this thing isn’t a biter, she reaches into her pocket, fishes out a slice of dried meat, and holds it out to the creature.

With polite delicacy—Ming doesn’t feel its wet tongue or sharp teeth—the creature takes the slice of meat and snaps it up. It lets out a bark, and then trots ahead, stopping several feet away to wait for her.

It’s apparently going the same direction she is, so she follows.

Before long, the dirt path widens into a huge strip of black rock. The fog lessens somewhat so that Ming can see almost fifteen feet instead of five, and this allows her an occasional glimpse of the grass beyond the road. She wonders if she’s out of the trees or not The creature trots ahead sometimes, racing back and forth along the path like a rambunctious child impatiently waiting for a parent to catch up.

Their footsteps crunch on the black rock, and the ever-changing rhythm carries Ming through the monotony of walking through fog. She hardly notices the passage of time, stopping only to eat when she’s hungry, though she can’t tell if that’s at noon or not. When the sun begins to set, it turns the fog an eerie yellow, and Ming feels like she’s walking through something noxious.

And then, as soon as darkness begins to settle in, something up ahead bursts into light.

The fog vanishes as quickly as a snuffed candle flame, leaving behind a surreal landscape with a black sky and bright green grass. Rolling hills tumble over a short ledge to meet the ocean. In the strange light, the water runs the entire spectrum from baby blue to near-black navy, and its waves crest with white foam that glitters like a rain of diamonds.

Ming looks up towards the light and shades her eyes. The lighthouse is just up ahead.

It’s an odd building. Its walls are too perfect to be real; Ming has never seen mud so shiny, plaster so smooth, or any other material that could make that strange, glossy white. It rises up from the ground on a base that looks too small, and stands strong and thin against the ocean winds. At its very top, a too-heavy cage is silhouetted against the light source, caging whatever strange, magic thing creates all that light.

Ming must look at it for too long, because she feels the creature nudge her forward.

“Okay, okay!” she says, startled. She fumbles the first few steps, then finds her footing when the creature runs ahead of her.

They gallop across the grassy hillsides until they reach the base of the tower. Up close, the lighthouse walls are just as perfect as they were from afar, and Ming reaches out to touch them. Under her fingertips, the walls are cold, like stone, and dry as bones.

Maybe it’s made out of polished bone, she thinks. A very big bone.

There isn’t anything outside the tower for Ming to take as proof of her journey, so she circles the base until she finds a small door. It’s just as odd as the rest of the tower, clearly made of metal, but a lot more metal than Ming has ever seen all in one place. And she’s fairly sure that here by the ocean, the door would rust, but it still shines like it was polished yesterday.

She opens it without trouble. As she steps in, the creature races ahead of her, running to sniff at the base of a spidery metal staircase. Long, black shadows shimmer on the walls and floors, cast by the bright light filtering down from the top of the tower.

Bits of sparkling rubble lay scattered in tiny clumps around the floor, but Ming ignores them. She heads for the staircase and runs her fingers along the railing as she climbs. The creature follows her, its short claws clattering on the steps.

As they walk up, the inside grows brighter and brighter. Ming can’t see the glow of the creature’s little head-orb anymore, and the metal on the stairs grows dull, unable to reflect all the light shining down on them. The walls turn pure, unknowable white.

And then they reach the top. The stairs emerge onto a wide balcony smothered in light, and Ming immediately turns away from the great light source inside the tower. She peeks over the balcony rail, admiring how well-lit the surroundings are while the creature’s pattering steps send vibrations through the metal floor.

She still needs something to take home though, preferably something interesting. She walks around the perimeter of the balcony, her eyes sweeping the floor, resting on each little pile of junk, but nothing catches her interest.

Wagging its fluffy tail, the creature wanders around with her, its nose pressed to the ground. It sniffs at a pile of rubble near a podium covered in odd markings, panting in excitement. And then something in the air changes

It feels like time forgets how to move. The creature’s little light bauble clinks against the podium, and something acidic bursts into the air, tickling at Ming’s nose and jittering along her skin. The gentle rustling of grass far below slows down. The markings on the podium flash, and the metal shimmers, splitting down the middle the reveal an opening

The creature lifts its head, startled, and barks. Time starts moving again. Ming shakes herself free of the jittery energy in the air and runs to kneel by the creature. She peers into the new hole in the podium and finds yet another pile of rubble.

This pile is different. Instead of random solid bits, the pile is immaculately placed in the shape of a pyramid. The pieces that make it up are all exactly the same: tiny rectangles littered with the same strange markings that are on the podium.

Ming reaches in and grabs two before shoving them in her pockets. She wonders for a moment if she’s set off a trap, but nothing atop the lighthouse changes. The light keeps shining, the grass keeps rustling, and the sea keeps roaring.

She scratches the creature’s head as she stands up, then peers over the balcony once more, looking out the way she’d come. She spots the path where it disappears from the tower’s sphere of light and snakes into the darkness. Somewhere further up, a constellation of firelight dots the ground.

Ming narrows her eyes. She can’t see the horizon or the upward slope of the hills she came from. She has no idea how far away those lights are.

The creature barks, and Ming stares at the little bauble over its head. She looks back to the lights on the ground far away. They move slowly, in a processional formation, like a pack of animals on the hunt.

“Oh!” she exclaims. “Oh, I get it now!” She smiles at the creature and ruffles its fur. “You must be an anglerdog. I knew you all traveled in packs, but nobody thought to tell me what you looked like.”

Grinning open-mouthed, the anglerdog wags its tail, as if congratulating Ming on making the connection.

“You really ought to go back to them,” she tells it. “I’m sure your pack is worried about you.”

The dog only stays where it is, still wagging its tail and grinning. It butts its nose against Ming’s leg, pushing her towards the staircase, and she complies with its demands.

As she descends the stairs, she fingers the little metal bits in her pocket and smiles. She’ll return the dog to its pack, and then she’ll return to her own people. And there, she can figure out what to do with her new souvenirs.