the fog rolled in tonight. driving along the roads by the shore, it was so thick you could knit a blanket from it. "thick enough for stew" grandma would say. familiar sights and places became strange and twisted, wrapped up in ghostly grey tendrils of mist.
on the road home, headlights from cars carried miles in the fog, illuminating the cloud from within. but once the car passed, it was just me and the mist.
in a small coastal town, when the mists come, it's no joke. everything shuts down- everyone goes inside. inside it's bright and cheerful against the chill, but once you step out, you wish you hadn't. things crawl in from the sea. you can never see them- they're good at staying only in the corners of your eye- but you feel them there. things that aren't meant to be touched. they brush up against you when the mists come in.
i had to jump over the threshold with both feet so the sprites wouldn't catch hold of the foot left behind and sneak a ride into the house to cause trouble. you never know on nights like these...