The Prince of Mist (Niebla 1)

*

Their new home was spread over two floors, stood some fifty metres from the edge of the beach, and was surrounded by a garden with a white fence that was badly in need of a fresh coat of paint. The house itself was built of wood and, with the exception of its dark roof, was also painted white and seemed to be in a reasonably good state, considering its proximity to the sea and the wear and tear the damp, salty wind must have inflicted on it.

As they drove towards the house, Maximilian Carver told his family that it had been built in 1924 for a prestigious surgeon from the city, Dr Richard Fleischmann, and his wife, Eva, to serve as their seaside home during the summer months. At the time, the whole project had seemed a bit strange to the local population. The Fleischmanns were a solitary couple with no children, and mostly kept to themselves. Despite this, and because nothing much ever happened in the town, the local gossips latched onto this news and quickly reached a consensus that the couple were probably trying to leave something behind. Bad memories, most likely. The kind that follow you no matter how far you go. On his

first visit, Dr Fleischmann had made it clear that the builders and all the building materials were to come directly from the city. Such a whim practically trebled the cost of the house, but the surgeon seemed to have plenty of money to pay for such expense. City folk, the locals thought; they think money can buy everything.

Throughout the winter of 1923 the locals eyed the endless coming and going of workers and trucks with mild suspicion, while day by day the skeleton of the house at the end of the beach slowly began to rise. Finally, the following spring, the decorators gave the house one last lick of paint and a few weeks later the couple moved in for the summer. Whatever bad memories had been trailing them, the house by the beach seemed to be the lucky charm that changed the Fleischmanns’ fortunes. The surgeon’s wife, who, again according to confidential information shared only by the local gossips, had been unable to conceive a child as a result of an accident she’d suffered some years earlier, became pregnant that first year. And on 23 June 1925, assisted by her husband, she gave birth to a son, whom they named Jacob.

The local legend was that little Jacob was a blessing from heaven and his arrival transformed the bitter, solitary nature of the Fleischmanns. Soon the doctor and his wife began to make friends among the townspeople and they became popular with their neighbours during the happy years they spent in their house by the sea. That is, until the tragedy of 1932. In June of that year, early one morning, Jacob drowned while playing on the beach near his home.

All the joy the couple had discovered through their beloved son was gone forever. During the winter of 1932, Fleischmann’s health deteriorated and soon his doctors knew he would not live to see the next summer. A year later, the widow’s lawyers put the house up for sale. It remained empty and without a buyer, forgotten at the end of the beach.

This was how, quite by chance, Maximilian Carver had come to hear of its existence. The watchmaker was on his way back from a trip to buy equipment and tools for his workshop when he spent the night in the town. While he was dining in the small local hotel he struck up a conversation with the owner and told him that he’d always longed to live in a small town like that one. The hotel owner told him about the house and Maximilian decided to delay his return so that he could have a look at it the following day. On the way back to the city, he chewed over figures and the possibility of opening a watchmaker’s shop in the town. It took him eight months to announce the move to his family, but at the bottom of his heart he had made up his mind the moment he saw the house by the beach.

*

In time, the memories of that first day would come back to Max as a peculiar collection of random images. To begin with, as soon as the vans stopped outside the house and Robin and Philip had started to unload the luggage, Mr Carver managed to trip over an old bucket, propelling himself at dizzying speed onto the white fence and knocking down at least four metres of it.

‘Are you all right, dear?’ asked his wife.

‘Never better,’ he replied, his right foot still trapped in the bucket. ‘It’s a sign of good luck.’

‘I knew he was going to say that,’ muttered Alicia.

Mrs Carver shot her a warning look.

The two porters carried the luggage as far as the front porch and, apparently considering their mission accomplished, vanished in an instant, leaving the family to do the honours of dragging the trunks up the stairs.

‘Another good omen,’ Alicia commented dryly.

When Maximilian Carver solemnly opened the front door, a musty smell wafted out through the opening like a ghost that had been trapped between the walls for many years. Inside, a thin haze of dust hovered in the faint light that filtered through the blinds in slanting razors of gold.

‘My God,’ Max’s mother muttered to herself, as she estimated the tons of dust that would have to be removed.

‘Isn’t it marvellous?’ Maximilian Carver said hurriedly. ‘I told you so.’

Max exchanged a look with his sister Alicia, while Irina gazed open-mouthed at the interior of the house. Before anyone could utter another word, Irina’s cat jumped out of her arms and charged inside with a loud meow.

‘At least somebody likes it,’ Max heard Alicia grumble.

A second later, following the cat’s example, Maximilian Carver stepped into the family’s new home.

The first thing Mrs Carver instructed them to do was open all the doors and windows to air the house. When that had been done, the whole family spent a few hours making their new home habitable. With the precision of a specialised task force, each member attacked a specific job. Alicia was in charge of bedrooms and beds. Irina, duster in hand, knocked down castles of dust, and Max, following her trail, was in charge of sweeping them up. Their mother busied herself distributing the suitcases and made a mental note of all the jobs that would have to be done. Mr Carver devoted all his efforts to ensuring that water pipes, electricity and other mechanical devices were back in working order after years of neglect – which did not turn out to be an easy undertaking.

At last, the whole family gathered on the porch and sat on the steps of their new home for a well-deserved rest, gazing at the silver hue that was settling over the sea as the afternoon came to an end.

‘That’s enough for one day,’ Maximilian Carver announced. He was covered in soot and other mysterious residues.

‘It will take us a couple of weeks to get the house in shape,’ Mrs Carver added. ‘At the very least.’

‘There are spiders upstairs,’ Alicia said. ‘They’re enormous.’

‘Spiders? Wow!’ cried Irina. ‘What did they look like?’

‘They looked just like you,’ replied Alicia.

‘Let’s have a peaceful evening, please,’ their mother interrupted them, rubbing the bridge of her nose. ‘Don’t worry about the spiders, Alicia. Max will kill them.’