The Voice in the Fog

Sometimes late in the evening, we get a fog bank that sits for days due to the tropical climate. This brings worries of the winter and how the snow will not be white and fluffy but harsh sheets of ice. Very rarely do people venture out without a buddy when the weather is like this. If anyone has to, there is a person on speed dial or the other line knowing exactly where their loved one is.

I went out with my husband for a smoke break behind the building that houses our art studios. Usually I sit and make books, but something was just nagging at the back of my mind. I was in a creative slump and was enjoying music videos hoping for some sort of creative bomb to explode when he came to get me.

The building is an old bank building dating back to the early 1900's. Hearing strange things and seeing them are common among the people that visit late at night. Outside of the old brick walls, downtown likes to house the homeless once everything is closed down. Usually we just go to the car and back to avoid any needless danger. My husband usually just stands on the back stoop while he smokes to avoid contact.

Since I was with him, we stood under the lamp post just feet from the door. We were having a lovely conversation about what we were going to do for breakfast since neither of us had to work the next day when we heard the first one.

The voice was gravelly and low. I could hear it whispering in my ear. At first we couldn't make out what it was saying. It kept repeating and neither of us knew what to do. On a cold night, I was hugged close to him for warmth. The voice sounded like it was speaking between us.

We took a step back from each other and tried to figure out where it could be coming from. The bushes are very short and in a state of dormancy for the winter to come. The trees are skinny and barren. No one could be hiding the dark as the restaurant next door has lights on their patio after closing. Just before a train came through the ditch, we heard it yell. It was still hard to tell what it was saying but once again, it came from between us.

He jerked me toward the door since he was closer and shoved me inside. He pushed me behind him and looked through the glass. A hand print slammed against it and instantly disappeared. We jumped back at the impact. There was no one there that could have caused it. The worrisome part was that was our only way out of the building.

We looked at each other and stayed together to shut down our studios. Once we were settled, we stood at the back door again. We listened. We watched. We waited. I could hear my pulse in my ears. He kept his hand on my arm. I could tell he was scared. I was scared! We decided to take a chance and run for it, no need getting someone else involved.

As soon as he flung the door open, a chorus of voices started yelling. The fog grew dense, making the 15 feet to the car unbearable. I felt like I was drowning on air. We both slammed into the back of it and he hit the power locks. We nearly killed each other climbing in. The car cranked just fine. As we backed up, he slammed on the brakes. I jerked at the impact.

A thousand hand prints covered the windows. He couldn't see and didn't want to kill us just trying to leave. The voices grew to angry shouts like a mob was coming at us. He judged that we were backed up enough and slammed it into gear. We peeled out of the parking lot and ran the red light to escape whatever was trying to get us.

We never talk about that night and we never found out what that thing was. When its foggy, we don't go out anymore. We have cozy nights at home together.