Lost in the Fog

Por and hostile. Sounds were swallowed before they could fully form. A dog’s bark dissolved into a choked gasp. A distant voice calling out became a wordless, desperate plea that faded into nothingness.

Panic, a cold, creeping thing, began to bloom in the heart of the village. It started with hushed rumors, then escalated to outright terror. Children cried, their voices thin and reedy, quickly lost to the oppressive silence. Adults, their faces pale and drawn, peered out of doorways, their eyes wide with a dawning dread.

Then, the disappearances began. Not subtle, like the chickens. These were people, known to us, who simply… weren't there anymore. Elena’s grandson, young Tomás, had been playing near the edge of the woods, not far from the stone door. His mother, Marta, had gone to fetch him, her calls echoing only briefly before being devoured by the fog. She returned alone, her face a mask of horror, her hands trembling.