The bells were ringing in the fog, clanking and clanking much more than they do on a sunny day. I could hear voices and men at work, but I could see no one. Beyond the boats is just the wide open ocean. I know it’s there because it kept whispering sweet nothings in the ears of the sailors and anyone on the shore, including me. “Come to me,” it said over and over. I put my hands over my ears so I wouldn’t get tempted, but the magic caught me anyhow.
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| Beware the fog magic. |
It would be so easy to just go a little further. Just a little bit more into the fog. Surely there’s a light over there? Or another boat? Isn’t that the shore? Has a man gone overboard out there? I thought I heard something. Maybe I should just go a little further. Visible tendrils of the fog wrap all around
my head and turn my already out-of-control hair into a massive mane of
curls. Surely, anyone who saw me
materialize out of the fog would think I was the Medusa come to tempt them to
go just a bit further out to sea and then to look at me so I could turn them
into stone. And perhaps for that moment
in time I was the Medusa.
Don’t fall for it.
It’s the same magic that the Will-o’-the-wisp uses. You’ve seen the ghost lights in the night
over the bogs? I have. They call to you. The further you go to reach them, the more
they recede. Beware of these elemental
spirits, these ghost candles, these sweet nothings in the fog. They’ll lead you to your demise, whether it
be Will and his lantern or the fog and her Medusa. My advice is to stay in the harbor today.
