The Fog of October

 

October the First

A thick, unannounced fog descended upon the morning, chilling the air to a pre-winter bite. October dawned grey and indistinct, blurring the world into a monochromatic haze.

As I wandered through the fog, a whisper, faint but unsettling, seemed to brush against my ear. I couldn't discern the words, but a shiver ran down my spine. "Is there someone there?" I called out, my voice echoing in the mist. No response. 

Yet, the most unnerving discovery came when I realised, without conscious direction, that I had arrived at the gates of our local cemetery. The graves of those who came before me stood silent sentinels, their names etched into weathered stones.

A strange intuition gnawed at me. I was certain the whisper had originated from within these hallowed grounds. A hidden, malevolent force, perhaps unleashed by our ancestors' unwitting actions, was now stirring. A force that we, their descendants, would soon face. 

A peculiar sight caught my eye: a fresh excavation, a hole dug into the earth amidst the graves. A fleeting impression of fog seeping from the hole crossed my mind, but I dismissed it as a trick of the mist. Or was it? The thought sent a chill down my spine. I dared not delve further into that terrifying possibility.

October the Second

The fog had settled over the town like a thick, oppressive blanket, its tendrils reaching into every nook and cranny. It had been days since the ethereal mist had descended, and its presence had grown increasingly unsettling.

As I ventured out for my morning walk, the fog seemed to thicken almost imperceptibly. Suddenly, a chilling sensation washed over me. Before my eyes, the fog began to coalesce, swirling and twisting into a humanoid shape. With a speed that defied logic, the figure lunged towards me.

Terror surged through me as I fled, my legs pumping with a frantic energy. But the creature was relentless, its icy grasp closing around me with an iron grip. As it dragged me into the fog's depths, I was met with a face that seemed to exist solely to inspire dread. Piercing, icy eyes stared back at me, their gaze chilling me to the bone. 

A sickening suction pulled me deeper into the fog, my terror mounting with each passing second. I knew, with a certainty that defied explanation, that the fog had birthed a creature of pure malevolence, intent on extinguishing my life.

October the Third 

Consciousness returned in a haze, a fog mirroring the ethereal mist that had enveloped the city. As my vision cleared, a distorted cityscape emerged, its familiar contours warped and twisted. Buildings that had once stood tall had vanished, replaced by structures that seemed to defy both time and space.

A group of children, their attire reminiscent of a bygone era, played amidst the altered landscape. A chill ran down my spine as a sinister figure snatched one of the children, disappearing into the encroaching forest. I pursued, my heart pounding in my chest. Yet, when I reached out to intercept the kidnapper, my hand passed through his spectral form as if encountering a phantom, or were I the phantom? My hand looked like mist itself.

In that moment, I beheld the ethereal being that had created this surreal mist yesterday. Its mournful wail echoed through the fog, a haunting lament that seemed to carry the weight of centuries. A chilling realization dawned upon me: our city had been ensnared in a temporal anomaly. The enigmatic hole, the source of the fog, had unearthed a dark chapter from our past. 

The supernatural nature of this ordeal threatened to shatter my grasp on reality. Fear gnawed at me, a constant companion in this otherworldly realm.I am really scared!

October the Fourth

Days had turned into an endless cycle of disorientation. The fog had become a suffocating, ever-present entity, blurring the lines between reality and illusion. Each familiar landmark, each comforting memory, was twisted and distorted by its malevolent influence.

As I wandered aimlessly through the fog-shrouded city, I encountered others lost in its clutches. Their voices, once comforting and familiar, now sounded distant and ethereal. Yet, when I approached them, their forms dissipated like wisps of smoke, leaving me alone in the eerie silence.

A glimmer of daylight flickered as I stumbled upon a mirror lying on the damp ground. The faint light filtering through the fog reflected on its surface. With trembling hands, I picked it up, only to be met with a horrifying sight. The face gazing back at me was not my own, but that of a child, a child I had  seen before, I don’t know where. His eyes held a haunting sadness that chilled me to the bone.

Terror surged through me as I hurled the mirror to the ground. It shattered into a thousand pieces, then vanished without a trace, leaving me alone with the terrifying realization that even my own identity was a mirage in this fog-ridden nightmare.

October the Fifth

The fog's grip tightened, its ethereal tendrils wrapping around me like a suffocating embrace. The visions of the past, the mirror's chilling reflection—all pointed to a supernatural force at work. Survival hinged on unravelling the fog's sinister purpose. Halloween loomed, a potential end to this ordeal, but I knew my chances were slim unless I gained an edge.

As if sensing my determination, the fog intensified, whipping up a fierce wind that threatened to unbalance me. My hat soared into the air, catching on a nearby tree trunk. It was a stroke of luck, a sign perhaps. Upon examining the tree, I discovered a strange symbol carved into its bark. Its meaning remained a mystery, but I hastily copied it into my notebook, a glimmer of hope amidst the encroaching darkness.

October the Sixth

The symbol, once a beacon of hope, seemed to have stirred a dormant power within the fog. Its ethereal presence, once oppressive, now felt almost... intimidated. Breaches were appearing in the fog's veil, revealing glimpses of the world beyond. Through one of these breaches, I discovered a weathered manuscript, its pages warped and frayed by the fog's moisture. 

Yet, the fog had been unable to destroy this book. Something within its pages held a power over the ethereal entity, causing it to tremble. With trepidation, I turned the pages, my fingers tracing the erratic script. To my astonishment, I understood the words, though the writing was fragmented, as if the author struggled to articulate the truth about the fog.

A chilling realization washed over me. The author had experienced something similar, trapped within the fog's clutches. Had I become ensnared in a recurring nightmare? Was I destined to meet the same fate? Desperation fueled me as I continued to read, searching for answers, for a way to escape this terrifying ordeal. My life hung in the balance.

October the Seventh 

The newfound hope kindled by the symbol and the diary flickered and died as the fog man reappeared. This time, he approached with deliberate, measured steps. I retreated into the shadows, my heart pounding in my chest.

My brief respite was shattered as I felt his presence circle around my hiding place. He knew I was there, his awareness palpable. Yet, something seemed to obscure my vision, preventing him from locating me. Was it the symbol, or perhaps the diary? The question hung heavy in the air.

Escape was impossible. He was too close, his spectral form looming over me. The thought of being kidnapped again sent a shiver down my spine. Desperation gnawed at me. What could I do to evade his grasp?

October the Eighth

The fog man's presence had vanished, leaving behind an unsettling silence. Fear gnawed at me as I fled in the opposite direction, my heart pounding in my chest.

My escape was cut short as I stumbled over a hidden branch, tumbling to the soft ground. As I lay there, disoriented, a strange brooch caught my eye. The intricate jewel seemed familiar, a vague memory stirring within me. Then I recognized it. The symbol etched upon the brooch was identical to the one I had found on the tree.

It was no coincidence. The pieces of this puzzle were slowly falling into place, each revelation more chilling than the last. My life depended on understanding the fog's sinister purpose, and the brooch held a key to its unravelling.

October the Ninth

The diary continued to unfold a tale of eerie parallels. A century ago, a similar fog had descended upon the city, instilling fear and panic in its inhabitants. As I ventured through the fog-shrouded streets, a familiar sensation washed over me.

A figure emerged from the mist, its outline indistinct. Cautiously, I approached, offering assistance. Yet, as I drew closer, a chilling realization dawned upon me. The figure's body was twisted and distorted, a grotesque parody of humanity.

Turning to face me, the figure revealed a horrifying visage. Its features had been erased by the fog, leaving only hollow shadows where eyes and mouth should have been. Terror surged through me as I fled, the specter's haunting gaze etched into my mind.

October the Tenth

The grotesque figure from yesterday haunted my nightmarish morning, its haunting visage burned into my memory. A chilling certainty settled upon me: I recognized the creature, a spectre from a century past, the same one who had kidnapped the children.

The fog man reappeared, circling the deformed figure, his presence seeming more an annoyance than a threat. A connection formed in my mind: the mystery of the fog was intertwined with the children's disappearance a century ago.

Fear gripped me as I realized the deformed figure was following me, a silent, relentless pursuer. Every corner I turned, there it was, lurking in the shadows, its distorted form a constant reminder of the danger that lurked in the fog.

October the Eleventh

The haunting encounter with the distorted figure had left me shaken. I returned to what I believed to be my home, the familiar door offering a glimmer of hope. Yet, as I reached out to open it, a sudden movement in the fog caught my attention. The fog man was upon me once more, his spectral form a chilling reminder of the danger that lurked in the mist.

Before I could react, he seized me, dragging me deeper into the fog's suffocating embrace. As consciousness faded, a haunting image lingered in my mind: a child, their eyes filled with a profound sadness. Could it be one of the children who had vanished a century ago?

October the Twelfth

The fog's veil was beginning to lift, revealing a chilling truth. The fog man, the grotesque kidnapper, and the missing children were all connected, entangled in a century-old mystery.

Trapped in this ethereal realm, I knew I had to reach my home, the place where I had glimpsed one of the missing children. The fog man and the deformed kidnapper stood between me and my goal, but I would face them, no matter the cost.

The diary held the key to unravelling this chilling enigma. I needed to speak to the children, to enlist their aid in deciphering its cryptic message. Perhaps the symbol etched into the tree, a talisman against the fog, could also ward off the kidnapper.

The stakes were high, the dangers immense. But I would not give up. I would fight, I would struggle, until I had brought justice to this fog-shrouded world.

October the Thirteenth 

Terror gnawed at me, but I refused to succumb. A plan was forming, a desperate gamble to escape this fog-shrouded nightmare. After days of wandering through the unrecognisable city, I stumbled upon the familiar door to my home.

Four children, their faces etched with a haunting sadness, stood before me. I greeted them, my voice trembling. Sensing the fog man and the twisted creature drawing near, I held up the symbol. Their advance halted, their spectral forms faltering.

With trembling hands, I fished out my keys, unlocking the door. I beckoned to the children, inviting them inside. The door slammed shut, sealing us away from the fog's clutches. It was a small victory, a glimmer of hope in the midst of despair.

October the Fourteenth

The children stood in the centre of the room, their silence as unsettling as their presence. I urged them to sit, but they remained rooted in place.

Desperate for a way to communicate, I handed them the diary. Their voices, a cacophony of distorted sounds, filled the room. The fog outside seemed to react, its ethereal tendrils growing thicker, obscuring the daylight. It was three in the afternoon, yet darkness enveloped us.

The children's voices, reminiscent of an old jukebox, continued their eerie performance. I focused on the diary, its letters suddenly becoming clearer. The children's voices were amplifying my perception.

The diary revealed a chilling truth: the children had been kidnapped a century ago, each taken on a different October day. The fog, a recurring phenomenon, had been linked to their disappearance. The fog man, a malevolent force, had appeared that fateful Halloween.

The twisted kidnapper, driven mad by the fog's influence, had targeted the children. As I pieced together the puzzle, the children's eyes met mine, a silent acknowledgment of the truth. I had unravelled a portion of the fog's century-old mystery.

October the Fifteenth

A false sense of security had crept into my heart. I believed I had conquered the fog's mysteries, but my triumph was short-lived. The children were gone, vanished into the ethereal mist.

Panic gnawed at me. I needed to understand, to plan my next move. The diary held the key, and I delved into its pages with renewed fervor.

Sleep came, a fleeting respite from the torment. But even in dreams, the fog man haunted me. I awoke with a start, my heart pounding in my chest. The dream persisted, a nightmarish reality. The fog man stood in my room, his spectral form a chilling presence.

I closed my eyes, desperately trying to shake off the illusion. But the fog man remained, a constant spectre, both in my dreams and in my waking hours. Madness threatened to consume me.

October the Sixteenth

The morning sun painted the city in hues of gold and amber, yet the streets remained eerily devoid of life. As I wandered through the deserted landscape, a peculiar sensation washed over me. People were present, their forms visible in the distance, but none acknowledged my existence. It was as if we were all ghosts, drifting through a world that had forgotten us.

Calls echoed through the silent streets, unanswered and unheard. I was not alone in my isolation. Others, too, were reaching out, their voices lost in the void. A chilling realisation dawned upon me: we were all trapped in a silent world, our existence ignored, our words unheard.

In the distance, a child stood motionless, a spectral figure amidst the spectral city. I approached, drawn to their solitary presence. The other people seemed oblivious to their existence, their gaze fixed on the empty horizon.

As I drew closer, I saw that the child was a creature of fog, a miniature replica of the fog man. It turned, its faceless form a haunting reminder of the past. This child was a relic, a remnant of a time long forgotten, a silent witness to the city's spectral existence.

October the Seventeenth

The fog boy's gaze pierced through me, a chilling, malevolent stare that sent a shiver down my spine. He was not one of the children, but a spectre from the past, the fog man of a century ago.

His eyes, filled with a venomous blend of hate, emptiness, and hunger, sent a wave of terror through me. I turned and fled, my heart pounding in my chest. The fog man of these weeks had been a formidable adversary, but this fog boy, this ancient evil, was a force to be reckoned with. His determination to end my life was palpable, his pursuit relentless.

I ran for my life, the fog boy's chilling gaze hot on my heels.

October the Eighteenth

The fog boy's spectral form continued to haunt the house I had miraculously reached. Yet, a glimmer of hope appeared as the kidnapped children materialized in my living room. I greeted them with joy, eager to finally speak with them.

But a chilling figure stood among them, a woman of ethereal beauty. A strange attraction pulled me towards her, but a sense of unease held me back. Her eyes, vast and empty, mirrored the fog boy's haunting gaze. They were filled with a profound sadness that chilled me to the bone.

I retreated, keeping a safe distance. The children's voices, clear and distinct, echoed in the room. "Mother," they said, their words carrying a weight of unspoken pain.

October the Nineteenth 

The mother's presence had unleashed a torrent of emotions, her children clinging to her in a desperate mix of fear and comfort. She seemed to be both their source of solace and the cause of their suffering.

One of the children approached me, their small hands pointing to a hidden compartment in the diary. Tucked between two pages was an ancient map of the city, a relic from a century ago. A chilling message, marked in bold strokes, warned of "danger" at the library.

The fog's sinister intent was clear. The mother and children remained frozen in place, their presence a haunting reminder of the danger that lurked within the fog. I knew I must act alone.

As I stepped outside, the fog child transformed back into the fog man, his spectral form looming over me. The twisted kidnapper, too, emerged from the shadows, his malevolent gaze fixed upon me. With renewed determination, I raced towards the library, my heart pounding in my chest. The fate of the city, and perhaps my own, hung in the balance.

October the Twentieth

The fog man and the twisted kidnapper pursued me relentlessly, their spectral forms a constant threat. I evaded the kidnapper's grasp with relative ease, but the fog man was a persistent adversary. Each time I neared the library, the fog would thicken, blocking my path and forcing me to change course.

The fog man's relentless pursuit continued, his form shifting between child and adult. When he closed in, I would brandish the symbol I had drawn on the diary page, repelling him for a fleeting moment. Yet, my strength was waning, my resolve faltering. Time was running out, and I feared I would be consumed by the fog's malevolent embrace.

In a final, desperate push, I broke through the fog's barrier, forcing my way towards the library. The heavy doors swung open, revealing a glimmer of hope. I stumbled through the doorway, collapsing onto the library floor.

October the Twenty First 

The fog man burst into the library after me, his spectral form a chilling presence. The twisted kidnapper followed, his movements slower but no less menacing. I fought back, the symbol my only defense against the encroaching fog and its malevolent inhabitants.

For a time, the symbol held, keeping the fog man at bay. But the twisted kidnapper proved more resilient. Our fists clashed, a brutal dance of desperation. His strength surpassed mine, and I fell, unconscious, to the library floor.

The fog's mystery remained unsolved. Perhaps the danger symbol had warned me against venturing here, a chilling reminder that my safety lay within the confines of my home. The fog's secrets would remain forever hidden, a haunting enigma that would haunt my dreams.

October the Twenty Second

The fog man, now in his childlike form, had managed to breach the library's defenses. His presence, along with the twisted kidnapper, intensified the battle. A secret lurked within the library, a key to unravelling the fog's mystery.

I fought with the kidnapper, my strength waning. The fog child clung to my neck, his grip tightening. The diary lay a few feet away, an enticing prize. With a desperate lunge, I snatched it, pushing the child aside.

The kidnapper attacked, his cane a deadly weapon. A blow to my head sent me reeling, blood trickling down my face. Fury ignited within me. I seized a chair, swinging it with all my might. The kidnapper fell, his body crumpling to the ground.

October the Twenty Third

The fog child, seemingly affected by the kidnapper's defeat, underwent a startling transformation. Its diffuse form solidified, its shapeless face morphing into that of a child dressed in a suit and tie. A chilling familiarity washed over me. I had seen that face before, but the memory was elusive.

The fog child's identity was revealed in a shocking twist. The face, once so young, was identical to the mother's. Could they be siblings? As the child took a step forward, a transformation occurred. He aged before my eyes, his youthful features maturing into those of a young adult.

The fog man's true identity was laid bare. The kidnapper, the fog man, the child—they were all the same person, their forms shifting through time. With a chilling intensity, he lunged at me, his eyes filled with a malevolent gleam.

October the Twenty Fourth

The fog man, the fog child, and the twisted kidnapper were one and the same from different ages, a chilling revelation that sent a surge of rage through me. I lunged at my nemesis, knocking him to the ground.

Desperate to escape, I raced up the library stairs, seeking refuge in the newspaper archives. I barricaded the door, using pens from the librarian's desk to create a makeshift protective symbol that I learned from the engraved tree. The fog seemed unable to penetrate my sanctuary, giving me a moment of respite.

Minutes turned into hours as I delved into the newspaper archives, searching for any mention of the kidnapped children. A startling discovery emerged: the mother had a brother. His name was nowhere to be found, yet.

A breakthrough came as I stumbled upon a newspaper article from the time of the disappearances. The mayor, a man named Richard Stanton, vowed to find the missing children. A chill ran down my spine. There was a picture of the Major: Richard Stanton was the fog man!

The puzzle pieces began to fall into place. The mayor's sister, Emily Stanton, was my great-great-grandmother. Her maiden name, Smitherson, held a key to the mystery.

I consulted the ancient map in the diary, searching for Emily Smitherson's family home. A chilling message, "danger," was etched beside the location. The risk was immense, but I was determined. I would confront the fog, unravel its secrets, and bring an end to this century-old nightmare.

October the Twenty Fifth

The truth, a dark and horrifying secret, was revealed. Emily and Richard Stanton, my ancestors, were the perpetrators of a heinous crime. Knowing their names, a sense of power surged through me. I was unsure why, but I felt a strange conviction that their names held a power to protect me.

The fog outside the library window began to dissipate, its ethereal grip loosening. As the light grew stronger, a rhythmic knocking echoed against the door. Richard Stanton, the fog man, was at the threshold. My body tensed, preparing for the inevitable confrontation.

The ultimate question remained: why had they murdered their own children? The answer lay within the fog's dark history, a secret that would soon be unveiled.

October the Twenty Sixth

I burst out of the library, Emily and Richard as both the fog man and the twisted kidnapper hot on my heels. The children, bound by ethereal chains of fog, followed their spectral captors as balls and chains. As the fog man shifted between forms, I brandished the symbol, but it held no power against their malevolent intent.

Desperate, I charged towards the Smitherson house, a surge of adrenaline fueling my movements. Grabbing one of the children, I struck the mist chain with the symbol, severing the spectral bond. I pulled the child inside the house, slamming the door shut.

The spectral figures vanished, leaving me alone with the child. As I sat, catching my breath, the child stared at me impassively. I pulled him closer, the child's cold touch sending shivers down my spine. "Why did your mother and uncle do this to you? What did they take your lives for?" I asked, my voice barely a whisper.

October the Twenty Seventh

The spectral child gestured towards the mantelpiece, a chilling intent in his eyes. A portrait of a man, my great-great-grandfather, hung there. "Father," the child whispered, a chilling confirmation.

As I touched the portrait, a surge of power coursed through my veins, a primal energy that threatened to consume me. It was a weapon, a tool to defeat the fog's malevolent forces, but it was also a dangerous gamble.

The child directed my attention to the diary, a specific page highlighted. As I began to read, the child's voice, eerie and otherworldly, took over, narrating a dark tale of family betrayal. My great-grandfather, bearing my own name, had been murdered by his wife’s brother, Richard, out of jealousy. Emily, driven mad by grief, had succumbed to Richard's twisted will, leading to the kidnapping and subsequent demise of the innocent children.

The revelation was both horrifying and liberating. It was time to confront the twisted fog man and his sister, to break the cycle of terror. But could I save the children, lost to time? Perhaps I would have to find their remains, lay them to rest.

With the portrait's power coursing through my veins, I stepped into the unknown. The fog was lifting, the town on the brink of freedom. The fate of the past and the future rested in my hands.

October the Twenty Eighth 

A sense of being watched, a shadow looming over me, pervaded the streets. The ghost boy, my silent companion, seemed to share my apprehension. The portrait of my great-great-grandfather, imbued with a strange power, had granted me a temporary reprieve from Richard and Emily's relentless pursuit. But I knew their threat was not entirely neutralized.

The cemetery, the birthplace of the fog's nightmare, was our destination. As we approached, the boy's features began to take shape, a look of fear etched upon his face. A question formed on my lips: "What is your name?"

October the Twenty Ninth

Richard stood at the cemetery gate, a monstrous figure wielding his mayoral sceptre. Emily, the spectral mother, loomed nearby, the captured children bound to her by ethereal fog chains. The path to the grave, the source of the fog, lay ahead.

With the child's hand clutched tightly in mine, I braced myself. Armed with the amulet, the diary, and the portrait of my ancestor, I stepped into the heart of darkness. Fear gnawed at me, but the stakes were too high. I would not be deterred from arriving at the profaned tomb, doorway to the fog, almost a month ago.

The battle was inevitable. The fate of the town, and mine, hung in the balance.

October the Thirtieth

The boy, a silent guardian, clung to my side as we navigated the treacherous path. Richard and Emily, their power waning in the face of my ancestor's portrait, pursued us relentlessly. Finally, we reached the source of the fog, a grave marked with the name Smitherson.

A chilling revelation unfolded. My great-great-grandfather, the man in the portrait, had died a century ago. Soon after, the children had met their tragic fate. The town had blamed a deranged kidnapper, never suspecting the mayor's sinister involvement.

The fog, a sentient entity, began to speak, a mournful voice echoing through the mist. It pleaded with me to end its torment, to release it from the eternal cycle of suffering. I would grant its wish, to honor the memory of the innocent children and to break the curse that had haunted the town for a century.

October the Thirty First

As I stood before the grave, a sense of profound completion washed over me. This was the end of the journey, the culmination of a month-long ordeal. The fog began to coalesce, taking shape, and my great-grandfather materialized before us.

The child's face lit up with joy as he runs to his father, who embraced him warmly. A bittersweet smile crept across my lips. But the moment of tender reunion was short-lived. My great-grandfather's expression hardened, his eyes filled with righteous anger.

His wife and brother-in-law, the architects of the fog's malevolent reign, born from the crimes against him and his children, appeared. A silent battle ensued, a clash between the dead. My great-grandfather, fueled by love and vengeance, lunged forward, ready to confront the evil that had stolen his children's lives.

At the same time, the child guided my attention to the diary, his voice, once ethereal, now more grounded. He read aloud the chilling passages, detailing the tragic fate of the children, the dark deeds of their mother and uncle, and their subsequent lives as respected members of the community. The diary revealed a pattern of disappearances, a trail of victims claimed by the fog.

I knew it was my duty to break the cycle, to close the door to the fog's malevolent influence. With each page, the truth became clearer, and the urgency to confront the darkness grew stronger.

I looked up from the diary, my heart pounding. The fog man stood before me, his malevolent gaze fixed upon me. As he lunged, I saw my great-grandfather confront his wife and brother-in-law, a battle between good and evil unfolding before my eyes. The child, freed from the chains of mist, stood nearby, a witness to the unfolding drama.

With a desperate heave, I pushed the child away from the encroaching fog. I turned to face the fog man, my body and that of my great-grandfather shielding the child from the impending doom. As we were enveloped by the mist, I saw the look of resignation on my great-grandfather's face. We were trapped, invisible to the world, doomed to close the cycle.

A sense of peace washed over me as I walked into the fog, my great-grandfather by my side. Although we were unable to rescue the other three children, we had broken the cycle, ensured the survival of a new generation, of the town folks. We are the ones that had paid the ultimate price.

This is the result of playing Charlie Fleming's The Fog of October this month. I had such a good time writing this nightmare-adventure that I wanted to keep it here. Happy Halloween!

If you're interested in this game and others like it, here's the link to get it.