When I wake up, the fog is still there. Thicker than when I arrived yesterday.

The inside of my mouth is pasty and tastes metallic, like blood. I run my tongue around and find no wounds, feel no pain. My face and hair are wet, the coat I’ve used as a blanket is covered in fine droplets. I raise myself off the hard bench and stretch. It’s not cold out here, but a chill courses through me. The air is still. No sounds of life.

Slowly, I get to my feet and leave the bus shelter. There’s no one else on the street, though any number of people could be hidden in the banks of fog that surround me. 

I turn to face the lakeshore. I can’t see or hear it, but just sense it’s there. A large body of water, deep and cold.

There are footfalls somewhere off to my right. Hard-sole shoes on pavement followed by the bright tinkle of a bell. I stuff the coat in my duffle bag and follow the sound, soon coming to a weathered kiosk with one word above the door – FERRY.

When I enter, the small brass bell above the door tinkles again. The old man sitting behind the counter is bent over a book of crossword puzzles. I see no pencil in either hand. It’s like he’s reading.

“Hi there. Um, when I came here yesterday, your colleague told me there might be a ferry running today?”

Without looking up, the old man shakes his head. “That’s not possible, son.”

“Right. The guy did say the fog was too thick yesterday, and I know it’s still pretty bad today, but—”

The old man finally raises his head. “I’m not talking about the fog. Although now you mention it, I wouldn’t go out in these conditions. Can’t see past your own nose. But what I mean is, you couldn’t have talked to someone else here yesterday. I’m the only ferryman on this side.”

“Wait, no, it was you. I asked if the ferry was running and you said the fog was too heavy. You said ‘maybe tomorrow’. Don’t you remember?”

He returns to his puzzle book. “Nope.”

“But I remember you. Your name is Lou and—”

“You seem to be a little mixed up, son. That ain’t me.” He taps the breast pocket of his overalls, where blood-red embroidered letters spell BUB.

I linger on the name, then study his face. Did Lou have that same cleft in his chin? Bub’s eyes are dark. Were Lou’s green? The man, the kiosk, they seem so familiar, but it’s suddenly a struggle to grasp any details. I look outside the office—nothing moves, not even the fog.

“Ok, Bub. You say you’re the only ferryman, fine. When is the ferry leaving?”

He peers into the mist. “I don’t think we can help you today. Fog’s too thick. Can hardly see past your own nose out there.”

“Yes, that’s what you said yesterday.”

“Already told you it wasn’t me. I’m the only ferryman on this side, and there’s no chance I could forget a stranger like you.”

I swear I see the hint of a smirk. Is this some kind of game they play with outsiders here?

“Please, Bub, it’s urgent. Don’t these ferries have equipment on board, sensors or 

something, to navigate in these conditions?”

He scoffs. “You youngsters think technology is the solution to everything, eh?”

“No, I just assumed that since you’re the ferryman, you’d be able to, you know, ferry me to the other side. Call me crazy.”

“I don’t take kindly to sarcasm, son. And you assumed wrong. Won’t be any trips made today.” He turns his attention back to the crosswords. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“But I need to go today!”

Bub sighs heavily and puts the book down. “Do you even have a valid ticket?” 

“What? No. But I’ll buy one right now if it helps get me out of here!”

“I don’t sell the tickets. I operate the ferry for any passenger with a valid ticket.”

“Fine. Where do I get the ticket?”

“Beats me.”

“You’re serious?” In response, the old ferryman offers a shrug then once again becomes engrossed in reading his crossword puzzles. “Ok then, Bub, I’ll buy a ticket from the website or something. Can you just tell me when the next ferry leaves?”

“Soon as this fog clears.”

“But when will that be? It’s been nothing but fog since I got here!”

“And when was that?” he asks.

“It was…yesterday, I think. Yeah, must’ve been.”

“How did you arrive here, son?”

I open my mouth to form an answer, then pause. “Wait, it was dark out, and there was no one around, so I bedded down in that bus shelter over there.” I point outside. “Was I on a bus?”

Bub raises his eyebrows in amusement. “Are you asking me how you got here?”

“No, I…can you just tell me how to get to the other side.”

“That’d be the ferry,” he says, with a straight face that I so badly want to punch. “Runs every day.”

“Of course it does, Bub. But not today. Because of the fog.”

He squints at where the shoreline would be. “Yes, now that you mention it, I can’t take you today. Not with all this fog.”

“You can hardly see past your own nose out there,” I reply, my rage giving way to resignation. “But maybe tomorrow?”

Bub nods gravely. “To be honest, the fog tends to linger this time of year. Might last for days. Weeks, even.”

“Weeks?”

“Could be months. Matter of fact, it’s hard to recall the last day we had without this fog.”

“What is this, fog season?”

“I guess you could say that.”

“But the ferry has to run at some point, right?”

“At some point, yes. Soon as this fog clears. Until then, it wouldn’t be safe. As you say, can hardly see past your own nose out there.”

I rest my head against the polished countertop. It feels neither warm nor cool. “Bub, when was the last time the ferry ran?”

“Can’t say as I remember, now that you ask.”

“What do you mean? You say you’re the only ferryman, which you’re not, but who else would know if not you?”

“That’s a fair question, but I can’t recall the last trip I made across the water. Or back for that matter.”

“So if I can’t get across with a ferry—”

“Not today. What with this fog. Maybe tomorrow.”

“Stop saying that! If the fog never goes away, the ferry will never run, and I’ll never get out of here!”

“Sounds mighty dramatic when you put it that way.”

“Yes, it does, Bub! And if you can’t help, how the hell am I supposed to get to the other side?”

He pauses, thoughtfully rubbing his stubbled chin. “Could catch the bus. Probably takes quite some time to go all the way around by land, but it’d get you there.”

“Great. When’s the next bus?”

“Don’t ask me, I’m just the ferryman.”

I take a deep breath to calm my desperate urge to strangle him. “Let me put it this way, Bub—do you ever see the bus come through here?”

“Hmmm. I’d say the bus hasn’t been ‘round for a while. Maybe years.”

“Oh my god! So, there’s no more bus service?”

“Now that you ask, it sure seems that way.”

I sink down to the floor, on the verge of tears.

Bub leans over the counter to look down at me. “Don’t give up so easy, son. Maybe you could hitch a ride with an accommodating motorist. I hear some drivers enjoy the company and conversation. Keeps them alert on long drives. And the road from here to the other side must be loooooong.”

“So, you’ve made the drive?”

“Oh no, not me. Can’t leave this place. Someone needs to run the ferry.”

“Of course.” I pull myself up and lean against the window. “Bub, how can I hitch a ride when there hasn’t been a single car on that road the whole time I’ve been here.”

“Well, I’m not surprised folks are staying off the road, what with this fog and all.”

I give in and let a fit of laughter overtake me. It sounds uncanny, muffled by the room, the fog. I pick up my duffle bag. “Fine, I’ll walk it then.”

“Oh, you don’t want to do that, son.”

“Like hell I don’t. I need to get to the other side, or at least get out of this town before I lose what’s left of my mind.”

“Just slow down for a minute. Walking is not a good idea.”

“I get it, Bub. The road is long. But I’ve got good shoes, and I can buy some food and water along the way. I’ll be fine.”

His eyes grow darker. “No. You won’t.”

I laugh again, but it doesn’t feel funny. None of this does. “Since you won’t take me, walking seems to be my only option. Maybe out there a car will pick me up.”

“All alone out there, on foot,” Bub’s voice drops to a whisper, “you won’t stand a chance.”

“What are you talking about, old man?! One way or another, I’m getting to the other side and you can’t scare me off!”

I turn and yank the door handle too hard. The bell jangles wildly and I lurch toward the sidewalk. Standing there alone, I realize it has grown dim outside. How long was I in there talking to him? Along the road, there are no signs or other clues as to which way I should go. Visibility is no better than ten feet in any direction. I’m suddenly seized by the notion there are watchful eyes in the fog. 

“Don’t be stupid,” I whisper. “Bub’s just in your head. This whole place is.” Peering into the silent wall of grey that surrounds me, suddenly I’m not so sure. I could swear there’s a presence—something ancient, hungry, patient. 

When I scurry back into the kiosk, Bub looks up and smiles. “Hello, you. Forget something?”

“Actually, yeah,” I say. “This is kind of embarrassing, but you know what? It turns out I do have a valid ticket.”

Bub takes a long moment to size me up. Just as I’m about to admit my lie, his furrowed brow gives way to a broad grin. “Why didn’t you say so before?”

“Sorry. I, um, bought it a while ago so it must’ve slipped my mind. I’m a little off today.”

“You’re more than a little off, son, I’ll give you that.” He closes his puzzle book and comes out from behind the counter. “But, since you’ve got a valid ticket, we can leave right away.”

“Wait, you’re not just trying to mess with me?”

Bub looks genuinely puzzled. “Now, why would I do that?”

“So, the fog’s not a problem?”

“Oh no. I’ve got all sorts of technology on board to help us get across in any conditions. You youngsters don’t know the first thing about boats, do you? Give me a minute to fire up the engine and we’ll be underway in no time.”

* * *

The fog persists for our entire crossing. When we reach the far shore, it is dark. Bub lowers the gate, and I step onto the dock.

“I hope you get where you’re going, son.”

“Thanks.” I look around and can make out the shape of one or two buildings, but they are dark. There is no one else in sight. “Do you know a place here to stay for the night?”

He offers a kindly smile but shakes his head. “You’re on your own, I’m afraid.” He shuts the gate with a heavy clank and walks back into the wheelhouse. The boat pulls away and is soon swallowed by the fog.

I turn away from the black water. Under a streetlamp near the ferry office stands a bus shelter. It’ll have to do. I stretch out on the bench inside, put the duffle bag under my head, and use my coat as a blanket. I’m sure this fog will let up soon enough and I’ll be on my way. Maybe tomorrow.

The Other Side was written in response to a story prompt: https://reedsy.com/creative-writing-prompts/short-story/set-your-story-in-a-place-where-the-weather-never-/