I remember Mistweave as a quiet, dusky place. It was the kind of small town where everyone knew everyone else, if only to keep an eye on them to save their own hides.

Not that I could fault them for that. Out here, it was better to be suspicious then dead.

...

“Morning, Harold!”
“Morning, Irene! Say, did you see Cathy’s aubergines at the garden fair last week?” 
“ooh simply unnatural! Such a size! I tell you, the night before, I heard this horrible scream from her shed and I swear it sounded just like that Issie Jenkins girl who went missing last spring...”

...

You might think the folks round here were harmless enough. But you'd be wrong. These seemingly friendly, welcoming people all had their secrets and their shames.

 Behind those warm smiles were cruel jaws and shrewd minds waiting to crack you in two...

...

I experienced it firsthand the night I arrived on my grandmother’s doorstep. 

The dewey mist clung to my skin with a chill that curdled in my bones. I shuffled awkwardly in my scuffed shoes, only just reaching the doorbell from my tippytoes. The hollow sound resounded through the dark halls of my grandmother's house for the third eternity.  

“Oh what a sweet little girl you are pip!" cooed a voice through the cold. A motherly figured emerged from the mists, all pastel smiles that smelt faintly of fresh bread and cammomile tea. "What an unusual hour to wander into our little town, hm?" 

I caught my breath. A rescuer!

"So tell me, little one, what realm of nightmares did you spawn from?"

A gaunt hand curled around my shoulders as my blood iced over. I jerked away but her fingers clawed into my flesh as she held me fast and peered at me with those heartless eyes.

"You can tell aunty Irene, I’m already onto you anyway, dearie. My underclothes are made of steel, so don’t you try nothing now, or they’ll burn your little faehands right down to your festering core, won’t they now? hmm?"

*bang*

[A figure cast against the sudden light in the hallway.]

Grandma: “Damn you, blasted woman! Can't keep out of other people's buisness, can you? Get away from my niece or I’ll tell the whole town about what you’re really up to during your little ”weaving wednesdays." She quoted with her fingers, and at that Irene steeled her jaw, her pale skin betraying her lingering fear.

With an obstinant flourish the claws were gone and I was falling back into the bushes, a pair of warm arms steadying me as my grandmother hurried me behind her legs and into the light of the doorway. 

Irene: "I’d like to see you try, Gladys! You’re lucky I left a pie in the oven and have to return home to check on it! Damn woman, don't think I'm not onto you and your witchy ways!" Her voice drifted away on the rolling fogs as her form receded into the night.

We both lingered on the doorstep for a moment, staring after her, the shadows flitting in the spaces beyond the gas streetlights. They clung to cobbled street corners and nestled under eaves, pressing in on us, and soon I found myself inching into the hallway as I felt suddenly suffocated by this alien place.

I wanted to go home.

I wanted my mother.

I didn't want to be here, not for another second, not for one accursed moment...

A sharp voice cut through my growing discontent.

"well then." she turned to me, "Pip, is it?"

I nodded at her, wide-eyed and dumbstruck. The pause between us lengthened to miles.

Snippets of distant conversation rocked on the breeze. The fog coveted secrets, it clung to them, it shifted and smothered and tossed them around like a current to a sea of unsuspecting ears.

Irene: I’m telling you, that Gladys lady is a witch! Why do you think she stays cooped up in that old creepy place all day instead of mingling with us good folk? I tell you, she’ll be slandering my good name next! Just you wait!"

Grandmother sighed. She looked at me once more, and for a rare moment her stern visage softened to something tenderly familliar.

"You have her eyes," said the stranger I'd never known, as she invited me into her home that chilly, lonely night.