The grass felt different under her feet, the soft tickle of the blades between her toes now almost nonexistent. As she floated across the open grassy plain, she thought back to better days, when this piece of land was rich with the sounds of children playing ball games, friends bathing in the warm summer sun, laughing and joking away while the bees buzzed around. Now this space felt cold, empty of the sounds of joy that once were, it was mid August, at least she thought it was, and yet there wasn’t a soul to be seen. The presence of a thick mist began to fill the air, the sun should be here, yet it was still so cold.

Her memory of her last visit here was hazy, was she with friends, enjoying the summer sun? No, it was a date, a first date. She tried to remember as she circled the field again, it was late evening she was sure, she remembered the smell of bbqs burning their final embers, trailing from the nearby cul-de-sac. It was hidden behind the rows of bushes and brambles that outlined the playing fields, ripe with sweet, blackberries and gooseberries. Though somehow, today, those bushes seemed wild, unkempt and unruly, as though their keepers had given up, the berries had a stench that would send the strongest stomach sick.

She carried on circling, why couldn’t she remember? She looked across the field, the mist had landed now, she strained to see other side, the row of bramble, but nothing, the mist fogged her vision along with her memories. She dared to stray from her circular walk, venturing through the mist, until it completely surrounded her. The grass felt wet below her feet as she continued journey to find the edge again, she heard a whisper, her name, lingering in the air around her, but she didn’t recognise the voice. Who was it? it was haunting, slow and snake like, it whispered again, she tried to follow it but the more she felt she was getting close, the more her feet sank into the now boggy field.

As she tried to run back to the brambles she felt an enormous sense of dread, her feet heavier with every step, she couldn’t see them for the mist but the ground became warm and sticky around her. She tried again to remember the last time she was here, and why it had changed so much, flashes of memories jumped across her minds eye, it was definitely a date, he was quiet but made her laugh. They drank wine and ate fresh strawberries on a blanket under the dusk sky, she remembered the Pinot going straight to her head, and how he stroked her flushed cheeks. As she fought with the boggy ground her sense of dread heightened, wading through she stumbled over a large heavy object, she began to kneel, straining to see the obstruction through the fog.

She got closer and began to tremble, the bog she had been wading through was filled blood. She saw it, the dress she wore that evening, ripped and saturated, she remembered. The last time she was here, was the night she died.