Where I live, the mornings are very foggy; a true rival against the fog of London. One morning, I wanted to get some Silent Hill-esque shots, I’d walk down to the local café in town and snap a few dozen brooding pictures and then head on home.

I know my way around Silverado pretty well, even in a white fog, but Silverado is a small town. Small towns usually have many miles between homes and houses and businesses. The café was about 26 miles away and the way there was a winding road.

A voice called out to me, a voice I could not place. But it sliced through the fog just the same. It sounded neither male or female. It had no accent. “Victoria?”

I turned around but saw only white. I was alone. “I’m over here!”

I turned back around. “I’m so close to you I could reach out and my little knife could make you cry red tears.”

“Who are you?” I demanded.

“I’m over here!” I turned but saw again, only white. A fog as white as snow. I was going mad!

“Over here now, Victoria Hume!” I turned back around. This must be someone from my old high school, fucking with me. If it were someone I knew, they’d know I was married and they’d know I took his last name. But if they were someone from my old high school, that meant they could hurt me. I am a high school dropout, due to the danger levels and death threats I received on any given day.

“Who are you!? Jami? Chelsea? Melanie? Adam!?” I cried. “What do you want?”

“All I want is your life on the end of my blade, Mrs. Landis.” I took off running, back home. I tripped and fell in some dirt. “You should quit chastising girls in horror movies for wearing heels in the woods, Victoria.”

I ran all the way home in a panic. Locked all the doors. And to this day, I refuse to leave the house without my husband by my side.