Estimated reading time — 12 minutes

The blaring of my alarm jolted me awake. 2:45 a.m. sharp. This ungodly hour had become routine—I’m getting married soon, and every extra hour of overtime mattered. Two hours a day might not seem like much, but it adds up fast. I silenced the alarm and moved through my usual morning ritual: brushed my teeth, washed my hair, and slicked it back with gel. Everything felt ordinary until I stepped outside. That’s when I saw it—the fog. Not the thin, fleeting mist you’d expect, but a dense, suffocating fog so thick I couldn’t even see the edge of my backyard. It wasn’t just fog—it was something out of Silent Hill.

The dense fog made me uneasy; visibility was practically nonexistent. Still, it was 3 a.m., and I convinced myself it would be fine. I stepped outside and walked to my car, its silhouette barely visible through the mist. Sliding into the driver’s seat, I started the engine. That’s when it hit me—a strange, gnawing sensation, like I was being watched. I froze for a moment, scanning the yard and the surrounding haze. Nothing. Just the fog, thick and impenetrable. I shook it off, blaming the discomfort on my usual unease with the dark, and started on my way.

The drive wasn’t easy. I had to crawl along, straining to make out the faint lines on the road. Anything farther than a few feet ahead was swallowed by the fog. Luckily, most of the drive was along quiet side roads, with hardly any traffic to worry about. The Christmas lights and decorations lining the houses helped guide my way, like Rudolph leading a sleigh through the haze. But every so often, I’d catch something out of the corner of my eye—a flickering light, briefly obscured by a fleeting movement, as if something had darted across the road. Maybe a stray deer, I thought. They were common enough around here, but something about the way it moved didn’t sit right with me. I gripped the wheel tighter and kept going, trying to push the thought aside.

The static on the radio grew louder, suffocating the faint melody that had been my only solace. I fiddled with the dial, but nothing helped—the music faded completely, leaving only the crackling hiss. The fog seemed heavier now, pressing down on me like a weight, and I felt the ache in my leg from an old injury flare up, sharper and more persistent with every mile. That feeling—the one that I was being watched—kept creeping in, stronger than before. Every flicker of light in the distance felt like a signal, a warning that whatever was out there was closing in.

The heater in my car must have died. No matter how high I cranked it, the chill seeped into the cabin, biting at my fingers and face. It was freezing, impossibly cold, and every breath I took felt thin and strained.

I tried to rationalize it all—the cold, the static, the lights. I told myself it was just my mind playing tricks on me, that I was letting the fog and the darkness get to me. But deep down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it wasn’t just paranoia. The fog seemed alive, mocking me, and every flicker of movement out there felt like laughter—silent and cruel. The static, the cold, the weight of the fog—it all felt like a message. It was coming for me, and there was no place I could run.

Finally, as panic and claustrophobia began to take hold, I drove into a clear pocket of air where the fog suddenly disappeared. Living in a hilly area, I’d seen these pockets before, but never had they felt so welcoming. I stopped the car but just before I opened the door, something slammed onto the roof of the car with a heavy, jarring thud. My breath caught in my throat as the noise echoed through the stillness. For a moment, I froze, gripping the steering wheel, heart pounding. “A tree branch,” I whispered to myself, though I knew there were no trees close enough to the road to hit the car.

The difference in the air was startling. The pocket felt fresh, clean—free of the suffocating weight I’d been enduring. It wasn’t as cold here, and for the first time in what felt like forever, I didn’t feel trapped. Even the static on the radio had cleared, and music softly drifted from the speakers. I opened the door and stumbled out, dropping to my knees as I gasped for air, the oppressive weight of the fog momentarily lifted.

When I finally stood, I took a moment to look around. I knew exactly where I was—I’d driven this route almost every day for years. The single streetlight overhead bathed the road in warm yellow light, illuminating the nearby houses adorned with colorful Christmas lights and towering Santa inflatables. Behind me, an open field stretched into the dark, its ownership a mystery I’d never bothered to solve.
As Jingle Bell Rock played on the radio, grounding me in something familiar, I laughed to myself, though my voice was shaky. I’d let my imagination run wild. Of course, there was nothing out there! Just fog, some bad weather, and my own paranoia getting the better of me.

I decided to stretch my legs for a moment and took a quick walk up the road to get a closer look at some of the decorations. Christmas lights and music had always been a comfort to me, a little reminder of joy in the darkest hours. Taking out my phone, I snapped a picture of the brightly decorated homes. “My fiancée would love these,” I thought, smiling faintly. Glancing at the screen, I saw the time: 4:00 a.m. How was that possible? Had I really been driving for an hour and barely made it a quarter of the way? That didn’t make sense—I wasn’t driving that slowly. Was I?
It was then that I saw… it.

Standing just at the edge of the fog was a figure. Tall, gaunt, and impossibly thin, it loomed in the middle of the road. I couldn’t make out its features—only its silhouette, sharp and unearthly, illuminated by the streetlights. It stood completely still, and I couldn’t tell if it was watching me or waiting for something. My breath caught as I realized the fog was moving again, creeping forward like a living thing, dissolving the safety of the clear air and inching toward me. My pocket of calm was no longer safe.

I started running as fast as I could, the cold searing into my bones and the pain in my leg flaring like never before. The silence was overwhelming—an oppressive, deafening void that seemed to consume everything around me. Within the fog, the absence of sound became louder than anything I’d ever experienced, as though the world itself had been smothered. It dulled my senses, disorienting me, and before I realized it, the fog had swallowed me whole.

I could barely see my hands in front of my face. Without the protection of the car, I was completely exposed to the oppressive fog, its weight pressing down on me like a suffocating blanket. As I blindly ran, something cold and unyielding clamped onto my calf. I fell hard, slamming into the ground, the burning pain shooting up my leg so intensely it felt like my flesh was roasting over an open flame. Rolling onto my back, I froze in terror as I saw it.

The creature dragged itself forward, each movement slow and deliberate, its clawed hand raking across the ground with a sickening scrape. It was all skin and bones, impossibly gaunt, with empty, hollow sockets where eyes should have been. Yet, somehow, it was staring into me, through me, as if it could see every part of my soul. Its twisted, crazed smile stretched unnaturally wide, its lips cracked and peeling, exposing jagged teeth.

The panic that had gripped me earlier returned in full force. I thrashed and screamed, my mind clouded with terror. With every ounce of strength I had, I kicked its grinning mouth with my free leg. The impact was solid, and for a brief moment, I thought I’d hurt it. But instead of reacting in pain, it let go and retreated into the fog, its twisted silhouette disappearing in seconds. As it vanished, I heard it—a guttural, mocking laugh that sent shivers down my spine. It wasn’t retreating because it was hurt. It was amused.

I stumbled to my feet, desperate to find my car. My sense of direction was gone; the fog had turned everything into a swirling, disorienting abyss. The pain in my leg had changed, spreading into a numbing cold that only made running harder. Each step sent sharp, agonizing jolts through my spine, and the air felt impossibly thick, every breath a struggle. I shouted into the emptiness, my voice cracking as I tried to stay grounded, to stop myself from succumbing to the panic.

Then, through the haze, I saw it—the faint glow of my car’s headlights. Relief flooded me as my fingers brushed against the cold metal. I yanked the door open and climbed in, slamming it shut and locking it, as if that would somehow keep the monster away. My hands trembled as I rolled up my pant leg to look at the wound. What I saw wasn’t a burn, as I’d thought, but frostbite—unnatural and blue, the edges sharp and wrong, like something carved by the cold itself.

Swallowing my rising panic, I gripped the wheel with trembling hands and started the car. I knew where I was now, and there was a straightaway up ahead. A few turns, and I could floor it. Deer, other drivers—it didn’t matter. All I knew was I had to get away.

I drove as fast as I could, gripping the wheel so tightly my knuckles ached. All I had to do was go straight. Just keep going. The air blasted from the vents, impossibly cold, even though I had turned it off. It chilled me to the bone, seeping into my skin. The radio hissed with static, no matter how many times I shut it off. It always came back on, the sound crawling under my skin, burrowing into my head. Sometimes it felt like I wasn’t hearing it from the speakers at all but from somewhere inside my own mind. The monster’s guttural laugh echoed over the static, mocking me, tormenting me. It was savoring my fear.

Then, cutting through the chaos, I heard a voice. Clear, calm, and achingly familiar. My fiancée’s voice. “What’s happened?” she asked softly. “Are you okay?” For a brief moment, I thought she was there, right next to me in the passenger seat. But when I turned, all I saw was the empty leather seat. My mind raced—I must have accidentally called her when I took that picture of the decorations, right? I fumbled for my phone, but the screen still read 4:00 a.m., impossibly frozen. Time wasn’t moving.

That’s when I saw it—someone in the middle of the road. I slammed on the brakes and slowed down, my heart racing. The figure moved awkwardly, like a puppet on strings, jerky and unnatural. I squinted, trying to make sense of what I was seeing. As I got closer, its proportions came into focus, and my stomach twisted. Its limbs were all wrong, as if someone who had never seen a human tried to piece one together from vague descriptions. A cheap, uncanny imitation.

The moment I realized it wasn’t human, its head snapped toward me, those hollow, lifeless eyes staring straight into mine. My chest tightened as I watched it dissipate into the fog, vanishing like it had never existed.

I barely had time to process when I heard my fiancée’s laugh. My heart leapt—but it twisted, distorted, morphing into that same guttural, mocking laugh of the monster. She had never been here. I had never called her. It was toying with me.

Panic surged through me. I slammed on the accelerator, the engine roaring in protest, my old car struggling to keep up. The road seemed to narrow, the fog closing in like walls, suffocating and unrelenting. My eyes darted around wildly, searching for any sign of escape. I glanced in the rearview mirror—and froze.
It was there. Sitting in the back seat. Its gaunt, hollow sockets stared directly into mine through the reflection, a twisted grin spreading across its face. My blood ran cold as I whipped around, but the back seat was empty. That menacing, guttural laugh filled the car, reverberating in my skull, drowning out even the static.

My car couldn’t handle the stress I was putting it through. The engine sputtered and coughed, the dashboard lights flickering like a dying heartbeat, and the headlights dimmed to a faint glow. Finally, with one last groan, it rolled to a stop. “No, no, no!” I shouted, slamming my hands against the wheel. I begged, cursed, and pleaded with the car to keep going, but it was done. It was over.

Then I heard it—hysterical laughter, echoing through the fog. The monster hadn’t planned this, I could tell, but it didn’t matter. My desperation was too funny, too perfect for it to ignore.

Tears burned at the edges of my eyes. I was so afraid, so utterly helpless. I didn’t even know exactly where I was anymore. The monster was savoring every second of my panic, feeding off it, and I was ready to give up. This thing was going to kill me, or eat me, or worse—trap me in its suffocating fog world forever. I swallowed hard, my chest tightening as I braced myself for the end.

And then I saw it. Just on the edge of the fog, glowing faintly through the haze—the light of the sign bearing my employer’s name.

Relief surged through me like a bolt of lightning. I wasn’t lost. I knew exactly where I was, and safety was just up the road—not far at all. My heart raced as I grabbed my badge, clutching it like a talisman. I tried to hype myself up for the mad dash to the building, but my confidence wavered. Even if my leg weren’t throbbing with pain, I knew it was faster than me.

Then I remembered—the baseball bat in the back seat. I’d left it there after a game not too long ago. It wasn’t much, but it was something. Grabbing it, I felt a small flicker of hope ignite in my chest. If I was going down, I wasn’t going down quietly. I was going down swinging.

I threw open the car door and ran as hard as my body would allow, clutching the baseball bat like it was the only thing tethering me to reality. My legs screamed in protest, my injured calf sending sharp bursts of pain up my spine with every step. I ran and ran, gasping for air, but no matter how far I pushed myself, it felt like I wasn’t getting any closer. The sign and the building loomed at the edge of the fog, taunting me, always just out of reach.

Behind me, the sound of laughter erupted again—louder this time, echoing through the fog. Then came the footsteps. A stampede of them, pounding the ground, so close it felt like they were right on my heels. I pushed harder, tears stinging my eyes as I gasped for breath. My chest felt like it might explode, but I didn’t dare stop.

I glanced over my shoulder—and saw nothing. The footsteps stopped instantly, leaving me surrounded by the deafening silence all over again. My heart pounded against my ribs, each beat echoing in the void. Shadows darted at the corners of my vision, faster than I could track, and the laughter grew louder, more chaotic. It wasn’t one laugh anymore; it was many—ten, maybe twenty voices, all laughing at once, overlapping in a grotesque, mocking symphony that made my skin crawl.

Then, just like before, I saw it. Standing at the edge of the fog, its silhouette starkly illuminated by the glowing sign of my workplace behind it. It stood like a sentry, motionless, blocking my path. But now, with the light behind it, I realized just how massive it truly was—far taller than I’d imagined, its twisted, gaunt frame stretching impossibly high.

The fog thickened around us as it took its first dreadful step forward. Each step was slow, deliberate, and with every movement, its mocking laughter grew louder, echoing off the walls of my mind. My hands tightened around the baseball bat, the wood slick with sweat. This was it. Now or never. Do or die.
I stood my ground, trembling but resolute, as it approached. When it came close, I stared directly into its hollow, lifeless eyes. The laughter stopped abruptly, replaced by an eerie, unnatural silence. It tilted its head, examining me. It knew something was different this time. I wasn’t like the others it had taken. I wouldn’t go down as easily as it expected.

It loomed over me, at least two heads taller, its skeletal frame grotesque in the dim light. Three long claws extended from each hand, jagged and sharp as kitchen knives—the very claws that had left frostbite on my leg. My heart pounded, but I refused to back down. I steeled myself, gripping the bat tighter. If it wanted me, it would have to fight for me.

I swung the bat with every ounce of strength I had, aiming for its head. The wood connected with a sickening crack. It grunted in pain, staggering back a step, clearly caught off guard. For the first time, I saw it falter. Just behind it, barely 100 feet away, I saw the door to the building—the final stretch to safety.
Without hesitation, I bolted past the creature as it stumbled, its roar of rage splitting the air. The sound was more than a scream—it was fury incarnate, primal and deafening. My legs burned, my chest heaved, but I pushed myself forward, the door within reach.

I slammed my badge against the scanner, praying it would work. The small beep felt like salvation, and the click of the lock releasing was the sweetest sound I’d ever heard. I yanked the door open, threw myself inside, and slammed it shut behind me.

The hallway lights flickered on, illuminating the safety of the interior. My heart still pounded as I turned to look through the glass window. There it was, standing just outside, its frame trembling with fury. It couldn’t follow me. Somehow, just like the car, the building was a barrier it couldn’t cross. That’s why it had been trying so hard to lure me out, why it was ecstatic when my car broke down.

It couldn’t get me here, and it knew it. But as I stared into those hollow eyes, I knew this wasn’t over.
I raced into the office, sweat dripping down my face and my chest heaving with every breath. Just as I thought I was safe, I ran straight into my coworker—an older man who always came in as early as I did. He stopped me, concern etched across his face. “What happened to you? Why are you late? And… you look like hell.”

I froze, unsure of how to respond. He’d never believe me if I told him the truth. Who would? If someone came to me with the same story, I’d think they’d lost their mind. So I lied. “The fog slowed me down, and then my car broke down,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Had to walk the rest of the way.” He didn’t ask why I had the bat.

The rest of the day passed in a haze. No matter how hard I tried to focus, all I could think about was how close I had come. How lucky I was. I only got away because it was cocky—it could have had me either time, but it wanted to play with me first. Torment me. Savor my fear.

Since then, I’ve never truly been alone. I see it sometimes, just at the edge of my vision. A flicker in the corner of my eye. A shadow that shouldn’t be there. In mirrors, its silhouette appears just behind me, vanishing the moment I turn. On rainy days, I hear faint tapping on my window—soft, deliberate, a cruel reminder that it’s still watching. In my dreams, I hear its laughter—low, guttural, and mocking. There is no escape from it, no respite.

But foggy days are the worst. That’s when its presence is strongest. The scar on my leg aches with an icy, unnatural chill, a reminder that I was marked. A reminder that it’s waiting for me. Watching.
One day, I’ll slip up. One day, I’ll let my guard down. And when I do, it’ll be there. I won’t be so lucky a second time.

Credit: Echoes In The Dark

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