Our wisdom flows so sweet. Taste and see…
TRANSMIT – initiate New England signal – RECEIVE – initiate the murk frequency – LOW VISIBILITY WILL BRING TRAFFIC TO A CRAWL – initiate necrotic syntax – WITNESS – The Fog.
There was no forecast. There were no screams. There was no sound. Only the fog. It crept in, and it crept out. The people walked, and the people died. Then they walked again.
The fog followed the return of the lost fishing vessel, the Lady Margaret. The crew had a story to tell, of a graveyard of ships, of the red seaweed cloaca that birthed the fog. Ask us about the Lady Margaret, sweetling. Ask us properly, and we will tell you.
Initiate the pied piper melody.
The fog did not stay long. It retreated out to sea, and the people followed. Everything was echo-riddled silence as the unfortunates chased the vapour. Cars sat running. Dinners sat cooling. Playground roundabouts spun empty. With no panic and no sound, they calmly walked into the cold water.
It wrapped around the island, and fog and silence held illimitable dominion over all.
A scant few souls escaped the fog by chance. On trembling feet, they stepped out and saw their town turned to a nightmare painting – an un-still life in waterlogged meat. In the empty streets, silence turned to sobs, sobs to shrieks. Those who vanished with the fog returned as the shambling dead. Some of the living stood transfixed by the rotting stench, as their loved ones tore them to pieces.
Though the generations and fast food dilutes you, some of your species still have a spark of instinct. Some survived, fortified, showed ingenuity, and became cold killers of the undead. But as much as they fight back, there is no escape, not by land, air, or sea. The fog chokes all who try to leave – electronics failure…inevitable – nervous system failure…inevitable – suffocation…inevitable. Flight is impossible. Fight is possible. For a while.
The island is deaf and blind. The world outside no longer exists. We now gaze at this wondrous petri dish, a vertical slice of isolated humanity. What will it breed? The only variable is you, sweetling, those with the anima to walk here by the Agartha paths. What will you do?
What of the fog? Some say it is a bio-chemical weapon, being tested by the government. Some say it is divine punishment for Kingsmouth’s many hidden sins. Some say it is an assault on Illuminati interests. A few individuals of the Wabanaki tribe say the fog is the tool of a hidden malevolence in Solomon County – a name their ancestors knew but they have forgotten. They claim hope lies in the Wabanaki warding circle that has protected the area for centuries, but they do not know what it protects. Did the circle hold back the fog?
What do you say?
Regardless of what is believed, the fog will end all life should it swallow Kingsmouth again.
On the porch of Norma Creed’s house
Next to a door at the backyard between Main Street and Angell Street
Under the slide in playground
On a back porch of the wooden house
On a roof of a house
Behind a world boss, you can go behind him, no need to kill it
On a boat at the beach