What lies hidden in the fog
The fog is thick again this morning. Like an ethereal blanket – covering the landscape in a vision-blocking mystery-inducing haze.
Eyes can penetrate no more than an inch or so through the greyish-white land-hovering clouds. Even a hand waved in front of your face has to be mere inches away in order to see clearly. Trees are invisible. Houses disappear. Even the sky has melted into the vapor, becoming one with the murky whiteness.
But vision is not the only thing that is affected. Sounds of nature, of urban life, of even the wind have disappeared.
And the silence is deafening.
It’s eerie when the birds don’t make their calls. When the sound of the grass rustling in the wind is gone. It’s frightening when the only thing you can hear is your own heartbeat pounding faintly in your ears.
With your vision blocked, and your ears straining for sound, but hearing nothing, you find yourself willing to believe in things you previously thought were not possible.
And then you hear it.
The faintest rustling in the grass. The sound comes closer, and you know without a doubt it is something approaching you. Your vision, still blocked by the thick fog ground-cover does little to help identify the creature that approaches. Your sixth sense however, that inexplicable tingle that perceives more than you can rationally process, knows that what approaches is not quite human. And if the fog were to lift, and you would be able to see what was approaching, you’d know that that chill up your spine was justified.
For while the fog is a foe of man, hiding what wants to be unseen, it is a dear friend of the werewolf, allowing him to wander freely.
The fog shrouds the werewolf in darkness and haze, allowing him to come closer to you than you would ever be comfortable knowing. And when the werewolf is standing a mere foot from you, you are at its mercy.
So the next time you see the fog thickening out your window, remember what is out there. The fog, like the night, is the domain of the werewolf.