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When she had calmed down enough, she retrieved the object to find that it was a diary. Blowing dust from the cover she carried it down into the bedroom, pushed the loft ladder out of the way and closed the hatch with the pole.

Lying on the bed, she opened the diary and began to read.

April 17th

Thought it was about time I started writing about what’s going on, as I can’t always remember things. Fog has been here for 3 months now. Woke up one morning and there it was. Damned strange.

Damn arthritis is playing up as well so it’s hard to write too much.

Don’t reckon much to the food rations. Had better in the War. Unless it’s just me, they taste a bit funny. Can’t complain though. Not when it’s free and I only get a pension to live on. They’ve even got dog food for Samson, which smells better than the food I get, so perhaps I should eat that instead?

April 19th

Fog is still here. Heard some scientist giving a half-baked explanation for it. Bullshit with a capital B. They say we can’t leave the village, as though we’re under house arrest! They’ve even got guards posted to stop us. I didn’t fight for my country to be stopped from leaving my village.

Stopped smoking today. After fifty years, just like that. Didn’t even realise I wanted to stop!

Funny, but when the wind blows right, you can sometimes hear a funny humming sound in the fog. Some folks have started saying that there’s ghosts in there. Stupid buggers. There’s always a rational explanation.

April 25th

Not for the first time, I wanted to contact my relatives on the other side (think of the fog as a veil between this world and the next, the real world and the make believe, perhaps there are ghosts in the fog, or are we the ghosts?) but
they
wouldn’t let me. Said they hadn’t got the resources. Why are all the damn phones dead? I’m beginning to hate this damn fog.

June 4th

We had a village meeting to discuss the fog today (or was it yesterday?) that was attended by Drake who couldn’t answer any of our questions. Funny bugger. He’s always mooching around. He’s no scientist though, that’s for sure. Couldn’t answer
diddly
squat. (Some of us are planning a great escape, so I’d better start hiding this diary. Mr Jones wants to build an escape tunnel! Silly old bugger).

Arthritis hardly playing up at all today.

I took Samson for a walk, but he ran away, hiding from me.
 

July 15th

I can even throw sticks for Samson now without any pain. Doc says it’s ‘very encouraging’. More like a bloody miracle if you ask me. But I’m not the only one. Other people have noticed improvements in their health as well. Perhaps it’s the fog? Perhaps it’s not so bad after all!

August 22nd

Noticed the landlord, George has stopped using his walking sticks. He says he has never felt so good. Perhaps the fog does have restorative powers? Damned strange. Not that I’m complaining.

Mr Jones, Grace Hopkins and Robert Hunter lead the escape committee. I think the plan is for everyone to make a mad dash for it. Divide and conquer.

September 7th

Felt peculiar today. Had to lie down. Even Samson noticed, as I was pretty off-hand with him. Poor dog didn’t know what he’d done wrong when I started shouting at him. Have to make it up to him and give him a good long walk (it’s funny, but I can’t remember what I was shouting at him for!).

Escape committee has been disbanded. Mr Jones has disappeared. Folks say he made a dash for it on his own, but everyone’s now too scared of the ghosts in the fog to follow suit.

October 21st

Took Samson for a walk this morning, but only I came back! Samson ran into the fog, chasing a damned rabbit. I called him, but he didn’t come back. I heard a yelp. It was Samson. Following the sound, I eventually found him. DEAD. Some bastard had shot him clean through the head. Too upset and angry to write any more today.

October 28th

Went to ask the so-called scientists what the bloody hell was going on. They fobbed me off with excuses. They tried to tell me it was most probably an accident, caused by someone with a shotgun. I know the difference between shotgun wounds and bullet wounds as I saw enough during the war. This was a bullet wound. A man called Moon seems to be in charge. I’ll get bloody answers if it kills me. Buried Samson today.

After the burial, I walked to the fog; damned if I didn’t see one of them ghosts, white as a sheet, just standing there, watching me. Put the willies up me, that’s for sure.

November 3rd

Moon is still ‘unavailable’. Bullshit. He’s just avoiding me. Damned fog. I keep forgetting things. Putting things down and then can’t find them. Old age I suppose! And then there was old Bob. I saw him yesterday. Wouldn’t be a problem, but he’s been dead for three years, I think ...????

December 16th

Rages are getting worse. Samson cowers when I walk in the room. But isn’t Samson dead? Asked Bob about it, but he doesn’t say much!

Damn it. What’s wrong with me?

January 8th

I had an argument with Ms Woods in the general store today. Could have killed the silly old tart. Funny though, because I can’t remember what it was about!

February 1st

That damned fog. Going stir crazy cooped up in this village. Woke up with blood on my hands today. No idea where it came from.

April 17th

There’s a man hiding in the old farmhouse. Scruffy bugger, I call him the Raggedy man. I think he’s scared of something (perhaps I imagined it, but he looked as though he was scared of me).

April 18th

Grace Hopkins is dead. Folk say she was murdered. Some say the ghosts killed her. Did I used to have arthritis? I can’t remember. What’s wrong with me?

May 16th

The vicar came to see me today. He wanted to talk. Preach more like. I punched him. Am I damned now? Forgive me Father, for I have
twatted
a man of the cloth.
Fuckerfuckerfuckermother
. Says he forgives me my sins. What sins?

May 23rd

What’s wrong with everyone?

Raggedy man spoke to me today. He says he knows what’s going on, and then he ran off! Damned strange as I didn’t know anything was going on! Is it?

May 26th

Samson’s dead. I killed him, didn’t I? No. They killed him. Didn’t they? Who are they? Them? It?

June 9th

Vicar’s wife died today. I saw her die. I killed her. We killed her. They killed her. It killed her. Can’t remember properly. Is she dead?
 
Can’t find Samson. Where’s Samson?

June 12th

Raggedy man knows.

There were no more entries after June. Chase read the diary again, but it still didn’t make any sense. First the dog was dead, and then it wasn’t. Then there were people dying or disappearing. What did it mean? Was it someone playing a joke? Or was it the ravings of a lunatic? She found neither option very appealing. Perhaps the author was mad and had been locked away – but what if he came back! The last entry was only a month ago. She shivered and went downstairs to lock the doors; made a mental note to ask Adam if he knew who had resided in the house previously. And where they were now.

When she entered the lounge, her breath hitched in her throat: there was someone at the window, peering in. She only caught a glimpse of them, the image burned on her retina like a photographic negative before whoever it was ducked out of the way. Expecting a knock at the door, she waited, but no one called. She thought of the diary; thought of the Raggedy man. Hadn’t she also seen something in the fog? But it couldn’t have been a ghost, because she knew there was no such thing.

Cautiously she peered out of the window, but she couldn’t see anyone. Even though she had only just checked them, she checked the doors again, and the windows. She wasn’t going to go outside to check if anyone was there. Perhaps she had only imagined it, her imagination fuelled by the diary and its peculiar entries, but she wasn’t going to take the risk.

She yanked the curtains across, feeling too exposed in the window.

An uneasy feeling settled over her and she wished her phone was working so she could call someone, just to hear the reassurance of a friendly voice. She felt like a stranger in a strange land as she read the diary again.
The vicar’s wife dead, murdered?

A helicopter flew low overhead, the noise reverberating through the house. Peeking through the curtain, Chase watched it disappear over the fog. The damned fog, wasn’t that what the author of the diary had called it. She was beginning to agree.

Letting the curtain fall back, she shook her head.

The reference to the old farmhouse must be the one that Jane and she had found, on the far side of the hill. That was where the Raggedy man lived.
The Raggedy man knows.
Knows what? She wished Jane was here. Even more she wished Mat was here. There was too much going on; her mind was in a spin, the world spiralling out of control. She suddenly felt sick. Knowing that she wouldn’t be able to make it to the bathroom, she rushed into the kitchen and threw up in the sink.

CHAPTER 11

Although her stomach still felt uneasy, Chase recovered. Once or twice she thought she heard a faint humming sound in the distance, like a swarm of angry bees, but she put it down to her imagination, which was now running riot. She wished she’d never found that damn diary. Was beginning to wish she hadn’t accompanied Drake out here.

She also wished that Adam was coming here rather than meeting her in the pub because she was still wary of venturing outside. Whether there was someone lurking outside was now irrelevant; her mind assured her there was.

It was now
6.45 p.m.
She didn’t like being late for dates (she suddenly realised that’s what it was, a date, and she blushed, glad that no one was around to see), but she didn’t know whether she could pluck up the courage to leave the house.

She had already got ready to go out, but now she wondered whether a short, black skirt and a tight halter-top were appropriate, especially as she wasn’t wearing a bra. It might give Adam the wrong idea. Should she really be showing so much flesh? After all, this wasn’t the city. People seemed more conservative in the country and they might think she dressed like a tart. She didn’t want to give the wrong impression, but she did look good, so eventually she decided to stick with what she was wearing, and to hell with what people thought.