MRS. COLLINS GAZED out the window, her eyes narrowing slightly as she tried to see past the thick fog. The only light that penetrated through the mist what the false orange and yellow glow of the light poles... or perhaps of the houses along their shared road. It was a familiar yet oppressive view to her; the lights looked like glimmering, blurry eyes gazing back at her, studying her. The hair on the back of her neck stood on ends, a shiver accompanying the minor bumps along her skin as she looked away from those glowing eyes.
The ambient sounds of screams and screeching violins emanating from the family den fed further into her dislike of damp, foggy nights. She bit on her thumb idly, scowling as the volume of the horror movie reached beyond her tolerance. She walked out of the dining room, wiping her hands on her jeans before following the LED reflections on her freshly stained wooden floors; her footsteps echoing through the hall, “Come on guys, dinner is getting cold!”
She heard a slight groan and grunt of “Aww, damn...” from her son followed by a loving if distracted voice of her husband answering back warmly, “The movie is almost over sweetheart!”
“You told me that a half an hour ago. Can you pause the movie?” Her lips pursed together, but the scowl had faded from her eyes as she heard a soft disappointed sigh and then the welcomed click of a button silencing that infernal movie. She gently slid her socked feet against the wood as she walked towards the modest feast waiting for them in the dining room; warm butternut squash soup cooked with bacon, grilled cheese, and ham sandwiches. It may have been a sharp contrast to the tall ceilings decorated with ornamental crown molding, but it was a comforting meal. A welcomed reprieve from the cold humidity outside.
She looked out the window again, her slight frown returning, hearing the croaks of the ravens that haunted their aged neighborhood. The sight of the dense mist, glistening with the blurry glare of the lights, made her tense, her hands rubbing against her wool sleeves. She still felt that chill, her palms brushing the cream threads against her skin.
“Hey mom, are you cold?”
She nearly jumped hearing that voice, her face putting on a mask of cheer, hiding her meaningless apprehension as she turned to her son, “Oh no; though I was imagining how chilly it is outside tonight.”
“I can go turn up the thermostat if you’re too cold, dear.” Her husband stood up from his chair, forgoing the soup to stand behind his wife, rubbing her shoulders.
She wondered if her smile would be enough to hide the slight wrinkles of unease from her brow, “Darling, I’m fine-”
The chime ringing from the door silenced her as it echoed through the vaulted hallways. Her husband pulled away from her to step out of the dining room, looking towards the door, his brow furrowing slightly in confusion, “Were we expecting anyone?”
“I don’t think so?” She could not help but have that question as she walked past him towards the door. There was a video monitor beside it; a technological wonder compared to the wooden, hefty relic. She pressed the keypad below the monitor, waiting before the screen flashed from black to muted color. Her eyes narrowed as she peered closer to the screen, seeing porch illuminating... nothing. “There’s no one outside.”
Her husband moved next to her, looking at the monitor as well before shrugging, “Probably some bored teens. Come on let’s go to dinner-”
Another chime came from the door, reverberating through the house. She jumped; her heart in her throat as her husband gripped her shoulders tightly. They both looked at the monitor, still seeing no one outside of their door. “Darling...” She whispered, a tremble in her voice, “We had maintenance done, right?”
Before he could answer, their son called from the dining room, his chair leaning back at his tilted his head to gaze out the window, “Hey guys, there’s a kid outside!” He kept leaning back, his eyes focusing on the child outside, “Jesus, she doesn’t have a coat on or anything.”
Her husband, reluctantly, pried his fingers away from her shoulder, peeking out of the keyhole of the door, “Oh god. She must be freezing.”
Something felt...off. His wife could not explain the sudden shudder ripping down her spine, “Wait, but... but the monitor is not showing anything.”
He looked back at her, his eyes narrowing slightly as he frowned, “Well, the monitor is broken. I’m not leaving a kid out there. What kind of parents let their kid wander in the cold?”
“Wait-”
He opened the heavy door, a low creak resounding as it revealed the tiny thing; standing in a thin white shirt and khaki skirt. She was shivering, her dark hair sticking along her cheeks from the dampness of the heavy mist and fog. She seemed so frail; like the Little Match Girl, desperate for warmth from the uncaring and merciless cold of the outside.
Yet while her husband may have felt pity, the weight of the air caused Mrs. Collins’ knees to buckle.
Mr. Collins’ voice remained calm and warm towards the specter of the child, “Hey... hey are you okay? Where are your parents, sweetheart?”
The child’s’ voice was barely above a whisper. It held a tremble in her throat as she gripped her skirt, gaunt fingers gripping the fabric, “I’m... I’m not sure... I think... I think I’m lost. I tried to find my way home... but-but.” Her voice cracked slightly, her eyes shadowed by her damp hair, her face towards the ground, “C-Can I...call them?”
She tried to look at the little one as a representation of innocence that all children represented. Yet the goosebumps along the back of Mrs. Collins’ neck, down her spine, remained. A part of her, in the back of her mind, begged her to close and lock that door. That child must not enter their home.
However, her husband spoke first, “Of course! Come in, I’ll lend you my phone.”