the Mist Beings come to life, Ms. Connors?” Thomson asked, slightly tilting his head to the side.
Something in the way he asked the question poked my curiosity.
“Mist creatures have Mist sex and make Mist babies?” I said, having no real clue. So much mystery was kept around those beings, despite the Mist having been around for nearly fifteen years now.
He chuckled and shook his head with an amused expression on his ruggedly handsome face.
“Have you noticed how familiar they look?” he asked, not providing the answer to his original question.
I took a moment before answering, reviewing in my mind the appearance of the monsters I had seen. However, the Walkers all looked similar, aside from their size.
“Well, they aren’t creatures found on Earth,” I said carefully. “But they do remind me of chimeras created by matching parts of Earth creatures with parts of fantasy creatures, like that Cthulhu praying mantis that hypnotized me.”
He nodded, visibly pleased with my answer.
“Even in that strange mishmash, what are the odds that creatures evolving in a completely different parallel universe would develop in such identical, easily recognizable parts?” he further asked with an unnerving intensity.
I hesitated and nervously licked my lips. “Honestly, I have no idea. One of the conspiracy theories lurking around claims that the portals between our world and theirs had opened in the past and that DNA cross-contamination occurred, which would explain those similarities. I mean, you guys have been fairly quick at removing the ash statues of the Beasts that fail to get back to their world through the portals when the Mist recedes. But there are tons of pictures of Beasts circulating on the net. So…”
I shrugged as my voice trailed off, feeling like a freak conspiracy theorist.
Thomson nodded slowly, a neutral expression on his face. His blue gaze boring into mine made me squirm on my chair.
“And what other theories have you heard?” he asked.
“Oh, the other one is completely cuckoo,” I said with a derisive snort. “Apparently, the Mist is the dream world, and the Mist Beasts are our dreams and nightmares.”
I’d expected him to chuckle with me. Instead, he held my gaze unwaveringly and without the tiniest sliver of humor on his face.
“That is insane. Right?” I asked, refusing to believe what his body language was telling me.
“It is not,” Thomson said in a very serious tone. “The first theory you mentioned is partially true in that the human mind is a doorway into the Mist. The Mist itself is the realm where dreams are born and normally die when we stop dreaming about them. But sometimes, those dreams thrive and become self-aware.”
I shook my head in denial. That was just too crazy, even though it echoed the wildest claims from those conspiracy theory websites.
“I know how it sounds, but it’s the truth. That’s why we never bothered cracking down on those conspiracy websites,” Thomson said as if he’d just read my mind. “Their telling the truth only convinces the majority of the population that they’ve got a few screws loose. But in reality, they often help us figure out what is actually going on since the people who actually interacted with Mistwalkers are usually too afraid to speak to the government, but not to those guys.”
Yeah, I could see that. When my ex had tried to kill me, I had not wanted to contact the official number for incidents related to the Mist. I’d been afraid they’d make me disappear to avoid terrifying the population. But with Jared’s shriveled up remains lying on my front lawn, I’d had no choice but to contact the authorities.
“But… How?” I asked, confused and still struggling to believe any of this.
“Every time you fall asleep and dream, it creates a Spark—an ethereal version of whatever being or creature you've imagined,” Thomson explained. “Like that seahorse fairy you saw earlier. It likely stems from the dream of a child, but is already forgotten. We know this by how translucent and mostly apathetic it behaves. In a few hours, maybe even up to a few days, that seahorse will fade away unless it is eaten by another Mist creature. And then, you have others like Zain that are the result of recurring dreams—in your case, of recurring nightmares.”
I shuddered, my eyes widening at the undeniable truth of his last words. I hadn’t known the name of the dark figure that used to lurk in my darkest dreams before I began therapy, but it had undeniably been a Mistwalker.
“You see, the Walkers