The Ingrata

You have made sure you’ve locked the door, haven’t you? Bolted tight? Are the windows shut? I’d go check if I were you. The fog is coming.

I was eight years old when I saw them first. It was a cold night in January and the New Year’s Eve party decorations have been put in the loft for another year, the bonfire had finally stopped burning and the Christmas tree stood brown and bare in the front garden. It was that time of year when everything else had come to a sad end. The trees had shaken their last leaves and the air smelt of cold decay. The long never-ending feeling of winter darkens the streets like an unsettling blanket of snow. I lay in my bed with all the blankets my mother had given me pulled up to my chin and stared at the ceiling listening to the wind howl on the other side of my window. I remember it sounded like wails and cries of something that needed something, that ached for something. But what was wailing, I didn’t know.

I decided the intensity of it all was too much, so I freed myself from the blankets and tiptoed to my old sister’s room in the dark. The whole time feeling like something was watching me from my window, but I didn’t dare turn around and check. I smelt it first, the strong smell of cinnamon in the air. It almost made me feel sick it was so strong. As quietly as I could I pulled open their door and as I did I peeped inside.

And that’s when I saw it.

Crouched over my sister’s face as is perched itself on her bedside table was this terrifying creature. With a long, hooded cloak hiding most of its face it kept bending its head to carefully look at my sister more closely without waking her. I was so scared I couldn’t move, and the smell of cinnamon was so strong, I had to struggle not to gag. I stayed fixed to the icy spot staring, watching, thinking if I just made sure I didn’t blink and kept my eyes fixed upon it, it couldn’t make a move towards me.

It stayed there just watching for what seemed like hours. But then, a twisted hairy hand reached from inside the cloak. It looked like a human hand, but the palm was hairy, and it looked broken and bent the wrong way. It moved slowly towards my sister’s face. I was terrified about what it might do to her. When it finally got there it gently held some of her hair between its bony fingers and then proceeded to pull some small, rusty scissors from its cloak and cut some of her hair. This shocked me slightly as I wasn’t expecting it to be doing this. I must’ve let out a small sigh of relief in my surprise. But the creature must’ve heard. Its head spun so quickly I thought it might leave its shoulders and bounce around my sister’s bedroom floor. When its head was turned, its face inside the cloak was still dark so I couldn’t see anything, apart from a pair of big, bright shining eyes staring at me. They were huge, filling up almost all its face. They shined through the darkness like torches and burned into me like fire. They were also shaped like the eyes of a cat, which you probably know, when light shines into them, gleam into the night. I will never forget those eyes. They have haunted my dreams for so many years, it’s hard to remember what life was like before. I thought I was a done for once it saw me, but instead of running over to me which I thought it was going to, it pocketed my sister’s hair and the scissors, still without taking those eyes off me, and leapt from my sister’s bed out of the window into the fog. Leaving me standing paralysed.

I hadn’t realised how cold it was in her room until it finally left. I could see my breath forming into clouds in front of my face. That must’ve been what woke her up.

She asked if I’d had a nightmare, still drowsy as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. In my state of shock, I couldn’t speak, I just stayed staring at her, afraid to blink in case the creature came back suddenly and whisked me or her away. She walked over to me and the second she touched my shoulder, reality came crashing back. The smell of cinnamon still strong in the air made me feel sick. My insides twisted into a knot, my ears started ringing and the room wouldn’t stop spinning. And then I threw up all over the floor, and indeed, all over my sister.

I badly wanted to tell them what I’d seen. What had made me so frightened. But I never did. I couldn’t bring myself to. They wouldn’t believe me anyway. My mother tried to get me to tell her why I was so scared, but I didn’t say anything. Even when she asked me why I had to start sleeping with the light on again, I didn’t tell her. Even when she asked why I didn’t like walking through the fog on my own, I didn’t tell her. Not even when my sister fell ill. Not even when she started acting strange.

Not even when she disappeared.

They searched for months, but I already knew they weren’t going to find her. My parents did everything they could to try and find her again. I don’t think they ever stopped looking. The police said she’d ran away when they couldn’t find a body. My mother wouldn’t believe that. We’d always been such a close family. She hadn’t run away, she’d been taken.

I spent my adult life looking into other disappearances. Always children that would go missing in the night and leave no sign of a reason why or where they might have gone. Sometimes other people disappeared too. I heard about people who go walking in the mountains sometimes get lost and lose their way. They go missing all the time, but no one knows where they go and they are never seen again. I went all over the world to try and get some answers. I went to the Middle East where they had a creature called ‘Khatifu’, which means ‘snatchers’. I travelled to Germany, where legend says there is a horned beast called Krampus who during Christmas, punishes children who misbehave. Krampus had little beasts and creatures that helped him but they eventually moved off into the hills to come down with the fog. They called them ‘Besucher’ which means ‘visitors’. I found my own name for them. ‘Ingrata’ which translates to the ‘Unwelcome’. I found this most fitting. They might’ve had different names and stories, but they all had things in common. They all moved with the fog and when they have been somewhere, there is a sickly-sweet strong smell of cinnamon they leave behind.

But now, the hairs on the back of my neck have stood on end. The fog is here, I felt it coming. There is something watching me. I feel eyes burning into the back of my head as I write this. I knew I would need to face those eyes one more time. All I keep thinking is did I lock the window? I can’t remember now but it doesn’t matter anymore. The sweet smell of cinnamon is filling my nose. Although the smell is sweet, I know its not welcoming. The fog is here.

They’ve finally found me. The fog is here. I have a question for you before I must go.

Are you sure you locked the window?