The Fog

There was a knock at the door. I look at my alarm clock on my nightstand and the time says 1:30 AM. I grab my pants and my sweatshirt and throw them on my cold body. I’m thinking to myself “this better be an emergency.” I look out the window next to the door and see three teenagers standing out front. I go to turn my light on, but it won’t work. Hmm that’s strange I think to myself. I go to open the front door, but all the hairs on my body stand up and my inner voice begins screaming not to open that door. Against my better judgment, I decide to address the kids at the front door. Now, I live in the middle of nowhere, my closest neighbors are 15 miles away so nobody would here my cry for help if this interaction didn’t go well. I’m sweating as I go to say hello. These kids seemed off, they were dressed funny—like they were out of the 1920s. They had jet black hair and I could have sworn they had pure black eyes. They were maybe 15, no older then 17 years old. “Hello,” I say, trying to keep my voice strong and still.

The kids spoke all at the same time, “Can we use your telegraph? We need to call for our ride.” My brain at this point is screaming to run, to run far far away. My blue-tick hound that was curled up on his bed is now barking and spit is coming out of his mouth. He is ready to attack.

I say, “No sorry,” slam the door, and lock it. I never noticed it before, but the fog outside was so thick you could cut it with a knife. I run up to my bedroom and take my dog with me. He was hard to move from the front door as he stood there planted—like he was waiting for my unwanted guests to make an entrance. It took some time, but he finally came with me.

10 minutes later and it sounds like there are 100 people knocking on my doors and windows. I can hear screaming and laughing outside. I don’t move from the bed, I only lay there frozen in fear. At this point, my dog had jumped off the bed and is going insane. He’s barking, running from window to window, losing his mind. I muster up the courage to get out of my bed and army crawl to a window. What I see scars the everliving shit out of me. There are now 10 kids running about my yard. They aren’t just running, but it looks like they are floating. I watch for a minute when one of them puts his hand up and all the kids stop. They turn in my general direction and start chanting something. My dog stops barking and runs under my bed. Oh shit I think to myself, I sink into the floor, hoping it swallows me up and spits me back in time. There are flies bouncing off the windows, I only knew this because a few got into the house and were crawling on me. I start praying to whoever would listen to me.

I wasn’t a believer in anything supernatural, I was just a regular person that nothing happened to. I lived on farm and raised cows and pigs and maybe a few dogs. Things like this do not happen to me! As all this is going on and I stand corrected; I became a believer that very night.

It goes dead silent—I mean the kind of silent that makes you so uncomfortable you want to crawl out of you skin. I get the courage up and look out my window. Some guy with no face is standing in front of an old 1940s looking car. He’s tall and moves very rigidity. He’s dressed in a tux with a top hat. The kids stop what they are doing immediately and look in his direction. He opens the door to the car, and I’m not shitting you, then all 12 kids get into this car. I thought 10, but maybe I miscounted, doesn’t matter how the hell are they fitting in his little car. I’m so puzzled and baffled by this entire thing. The man with the top hat looks up at my window and nods to me as if to say you're welcome. He gets into his car and he disappears into the fog.

The dog has emerged from under me bed and sits next to me at the window. His tail is wagging and he’s nudging me to pet him. As I’m petting him I say, “Roy, nobody is ever going to believe us.” I turn on the bedside lamp, grab the covers, and burrow in into my bed.

The next morning I wake up, get ready for the day, and try to figure out what the heck happened. I checked on the animals, I looked around my yard and around the house. A note was nailed to me door—funny, but I didn’t hear anyone hammering anything in my thick oak door. I open the letter and all it reads is: "You have been spared an awful fate. Take care."

I just stand there with my mouth open in utter disbelief. If this was a joke, it wasn’t funny. I knew it wasn’t a joke though. I could see the tire marks in the mud; they led to nowhere. I think to myself nobody is going to believe me. My advice to anyone who thinks about answering the door at 1 AM to total strangers and your body is telling you NO! Listen you never know what they have planned for your fate.