The Mist

The mist crept over the hill, lazily making its way towards the village. Its tendrils reached out, pulling itself closer to the unsuspecting townsfolk. Down, down, down the hill it moved, reaching out to the first villager, who contemplated it with bewilderment, as he stretched out a hand towards it with hesitation. The mist wrapped round his fingers, holding him fast. Even as he tried to yank his hand away, he could do nothing to break its hold as it made its way up his arm. He screamed in despair, as onlooking villagers struggled between their conscience and their innate response to run. As they backed away from the man, the mist took another villager prisoner, winding its way up her leg and around her body just as it reached the first man’s heart. It buried itself into his chest as his face distorted in pain. Then, all at once, he gave up. He stopped yelling and his eyes went dead as the mist pulled from his body, dropping his lifeless corpse to the floor, before moving onto the next victim.

The villagers were running for their lives now, dropping their baskets and scooping up their children in their arms, to run home before barricading themselves in. But the villagers were fools, as no locked door or window would stop the mist from getting in. No trap door would stop it from finding their families, as the witch who sent it would not allow their crime to go unpunished. It coiled round each one of its prey before leaving them to drop lifeless and forgotten.

The village was an orchestra of screams as the mist took each person prisoner for a brief moment in their last breaths before releasing them again, only for them to drop dead.  It wound its way into the homes of the rich and the poor, money doing nothing to hold back the thing that would bring them their end. The witch should not be crossed.

Some villagers had the sense to run from the small town, leaving their friends behind to be taken by the mist but they had all had a part in angering the witch and the mist did not let them leave alive. It raced up behind them, moving at a pace that could never be outrun, grabbing at their hands and feet before winding around their bodies and toward their hearts where it was stopped, never to beat again.

One young girl made it as far as the border of the village, her dirty blonde hair streaming behind her.  Adrenaline pumped through her veins, urging her little body forward as the mist chased her down. At the last minute, it stopped, leaving her to run from the terror it was causing, run towards the next village, to allow her to share their story. This would be their warning to never attempt to deceive the witch for it would result in the same miserable end.

So on the girl ran, leaving behind everyone she’d ever known to be engulfed by the mist.


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